Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(148)

“Will one of your soldiers escort Izlyn to retrieve the hot water?” she asked, gingerly pulling the tunic over his head. “I need to cleanse the wound.”

Keller grunted as it pained him to lift his right arm. “I will send one of my men for it,” he said. “With all that his happening around the fortress, it would be safer if she remained here.”

Chrystobel nodded and, once the tunic was off, went to the chamber door and opened it. A soldier stuck his head inside in response to Keller’s summons and the man was soon off on a mission to retrieve hot water. When the man was gone, Chrystobel returned to her patient.

His tunic was in a pile on the bed beside him as she stood back, inspecting the mail coat for the best way to remove it. Keller surmised what she was doing.

“The best way to remove the mail is for me to bend at the waist as you pull it over my head,” he told her as he stood up, towering over her by head and shoulders. “I will bend over and you can pull.”

Chrystobel had never removed a knight’s mail before, so this was an entirely new project for her. In fact, she felt a little giddy and daring, undressing her new husband, even if it was only moderately so. Keller bent over and extended his arms, grunting because his back pained him, and instructed her to take hold of the shoulders first. She did and pulled, moving the mail over his big body incrementally. The mail was ungiving and wanted to bunch up like a log jam in places, so Chrystobel found herself working it in sections. Keller, in excruciating pain with the angle of his body, never uttered more than soft encouragement to her.

It was a new experience for them both. Keller could only see her lower body as she worked with the mail, which would have come off much easier with the help of someone who knew how to do it, but Keller was showing remarkable patience for a man who usually had none. When Izlyn brought over the sewing kit and set it upon the table next to the bed, the young girl actually attempted to help her sister with the task, and soon Keller had two rather weak females pulling at his mail in all the wrong places. They tugged and shifted, and all they managed to do was bunch it up round his head and shoulders so that the weight of it was nearly bending him in half. Chrystobel could see what they had done and she was mortified.

“It is stuck,” she gasped, tugging on the arms with all her might. “God’s Bones, I managed to twist you up in your own mail coat.”

Keller was in a bad way with the mail. “It might help if you try to move the arms off first,” he said patiently. “The rest should follow.”

At Chrystobel’s instruction, Izlyn took one arm and she took the other. There was a good deal of grunting and groaning going on as the two women struggled to pull the mail coat off, and somewhere in the midst of it, Keller found himself grinning at the activities. Izlyn was literally jumping up and down as she pulled, dramatically struggling with the heavy mail, and Keller had to bite off the giggles at her antics. It was really quite humorous to watch and it was the most animated that he’d seen the child since he had first met her.

He was watching Izlyn’s great struggles when Chrystobel’s portion of the mail suddenly slipped free and Keller went right along with it. He lost his balance and pitched forward, sending them both to the ground. His full body weight came down and Keller ended up on top of her, gazing into her painful expression.

“God’s Bloody Rood,” he grunted, bracing his hands on either side of her and pushing himself up. “Are you well? Did I hurt you?”

Chrystobel groaned softly as his weight lifted from her. “You did not hurt me,” she said, rubbing the back of her head where it had hit the floor. “I am well. Are you? I did not hurt you, did I?”

Keller rolled back on his haunches, grasping Chrystobel by both arms and pulling her to a sitting position. “I am well enough,” he said, glancing at Izlyn, who was standing a few feet away with a fearful expression on her face. “’Twas your sister and her amazing strength that did this. She is a fearsome wench.”

A smile bloomed on Chrystobel’s lips and she looked at her sister, who was looking rather confused by Keller’s statement. “Aye, that she is,” she agreed, rising to her feet and helping Keller as he struggled to his. “She is very fearsome, indeed.”

Keller eyed the younger girl as he pulled the rest of his mail coat off. “Do you think the fearsome wench can find me a chair to put this coat on?” he asked. “It should be left to dry.”

Chrystobel turned to her sister, who had heard the request. She still appeared rather fearful and confused, but she dutifully went on the hunt for a chair. There was one near the hearth and she dragged it over, presenting it to Keller with the greatest timidity.

Keller took it and thanked her politely, which almost sent her cowering to the wall again because the man had spoken directly to her. But she didn’t get too far. In fact, her curiosity was overcoming her fear of the great English knight. He hadn’t been cruel to her and he certainly hadn’t been cruel to her sister, so her nervous edge was easing somewhat. She began to creep closer to the bed but backed up when Keller noticed her movement. When he looked away, she would resume inching forward.

Keller was aware of Izlyn’s game. He was trying very hard not to smile as she shuffled discreetly in his direction. Every time he looked at her, she would stop, pretending that she was doing nothing more than casually standing there, but then he would look away and he could hear her shuffling feet again. He looked at her quickly one time and she nearly fell over in her haste to come to a stop. It was a cute little diversion and he was content to play along, but in truth, there was something more prevalent on Keller’s mind.