Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(146)

He kissed her hand again, smiling when she giggled. In the midst of this hellish situation, it was a tender moment that saw something of a relationship between them take hold. A spark had ignited, and Keller was again thinking on kissing her lips, privacy be damned, when he heard scuffling behind him. Before he could turn around, something violent and painful rammed into the right side of his torso.

He pitched forward as Chrystobel screamed, struggling to keep him from falling even as he collapsed onto his bum. Horrified, they could both see the dagger jutting from his right side, about a foot below his armpit. And there was a hand on it.

Gryffyn stood behind Keller, his good hand on the hilt of the dirk as he crammed it into the man’s flesh. Ripping it from Keller’s body, he pushed the man aside and aimed for his sister with the blade held high, but Chrystobel threw herself sideways, out of his line of fire, and Gryffyn’s blade came down on the wall behind her.

Screaming, Chrystobel was barely out of the way when the Ashby-Kidd twins pounced on Gryffyn. It was a bad fight from the onset, with fists flying, feet kicking and Keller somewhere underneath it all. The knife that had gored Keller fell to the floor in the process and Gryffyn began to howl as his broken wrist was further injured.

Chrystobel, meanwhile, had lurched to her feet, trying to keep free of the fighting men as she skirted the battle, attempting to find Keller in the chaos. It was difficult because all four of them were rolling about, throwing punches and grunting, and she could see a thin trail of blood on the stone that must have been from Keller. Horrified, she attempted to stay clear of the fight.

“Keller?” she cried. “God’s Bones, Keller!”

He didn’t answer but she could see that he had Gryffyn by his good arm, twisting it. It was as much as he could do given the position he found himself in, laying on his chest with three other men on top of him. George had Gryffyn around the neck while Aimery was fighting off the effect of a kick straight to the face. As Aimery fell back, hand to a bloodied nose, Gryffyn reared his head back and head-butted George. As George staggered, Gryffyn rolled off of Keller and scrambled to his feet, falling to his knees before scrambling up again.

It looked like a panicked flight of a man who knew his life expectancy was only counted in minutes now. Deep down, Gryffyn was a coward. He knew he was out-manned and the eventual outcome would not be in his favor. He had to get away from the knights who were intent on killing him. He ran straight to the hearth and shoved open the servant door, bolting through it as George, followed by a bleeding Aimery, went in pursuit. Chrystobel could hear the scuffling and shouting as they ran off.

With the fight having moved on without him, Keller was struggling to push himself up off the floor as Chrystobel raced to his side, trying to steady the man. Horrified, she could see deep red blood staining the right side of his tunic and leaking onto his mail.

“Keller,” she gasped. “Stay down. Let me look at your injury.”

He shook his head as he attempted to get to his feet. “Later,” he grunted. “I must go after your brother.”

Chrystobel had her hand on his shoulders, trying to keep him from rising. “You are in no condition to go after him,” she said, sounding as if she were scolding. “Your knights are in pursuit. He will not get away.”

Keller was on his knees, looking up at her and realizing she was more than likely correct. He trusted George and Aimery to subdue Gryffyn. More than that, he didn’t feel particularly well. If he were to go after Gryffyn, he would only be a hindrance. Frustrated, he sighed heavily.

“Then I should find Wellesbourne at the very least,” he said. “He must know what has happened.”

“We will find him in a moment,” Chrystobel insisted. “You must let me tend your wound.”

Keller didn’t seem particularly concerned about it. “It is not too severe,” he said, although his lips were pale with shock. “I would wager that a few stitches should take care of it.”

He was trying to stand up and no amount of pushing could force him to remain down, so Chrystobel got him by the arm and pulled him over to the bench next to the feasting table. He sat heavily as she pulled away layers of clothing and mail to get to the puncture wound. Keller tried to hold her off but she wouldn’t be dissuaded. Eventually, he gave up trying and sat there as she finally revealed the wound. He heard her sigh heavily at the sight.

“It does not seem to be bleeding too heavily,” she said, concern in her tone, “but I need to sew it up right away. Can you make it up to my chamber?”

Keller nodded, suddenly feeling very weary. He hadn’t slept in almost two days and his fatigue, now compounded by the injury, was catching up to him. So he stood up as Chrystobel positioned herself next to him, slinging his big left arm over her slender shoulders. She was very determined to assist him and he was touched by her resolve. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had showed him such concern.

“I must find Wellesbourne,” he repeated as they slowly moved for the hall entry. “He must know what has happened.”

“Then we will send one of your men for him,” Chrystobel replied steadily. “You’ll not go on the hunt for him.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even a little.”

He fought off a grin at her firm tone but didn’t argue with her. He rather liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to deny him, so he kept his mouth shut as they moved out into the bright bailey beyond. As they walked across the mud, carefully, heading for the keep, they could hear shouting off to the right where the kitchen yard was located. Soldiers were breaking their posts and running in the direction of the yard. Keller watched them run, wondering what was so vital that had them breaking posts. But as he watched his men, a thought occurred to him.