Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(158)

“Look!” he cried. “The two most beautiful women in all of Wales!”

The entire room turned to look at Chrystobel and Izlyn, standing against the wall, and before they could run off, George and Aimery had them cornered.

“Come and dance with me, Lady de Poyer,” Aimery begged. “It is a night for celebration!”

Chrystobel was torn between fear and humor with Aimery’s drunken antics. He had her by the wrist and she was trying to pull away.

“Nay,” she insisted. “I do not dance.”

“What?” Aimery bellowed, outraged. “A beautiful woman who does not dance? It is a crime! A tragedy! An outrage!”

Chrystobel was shaking her head even as he tried to drag her away from the wall. “Nay,” she said, more firmly. “I do not dance. Please let me go.”

Aimery wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was simply drunk and had little self-control. To his right, George had managed to grab Izlyn, who was paralyzed with fear as the man held on to her. When Chrystobel looked over and saw the expression of terror on her sister’s face, something within her snapped. Izlyn was petrified and George didn’t seem to notice. All Chrystobel could hear or see were visions of Gryffyn as he grabbed Izlyn to haul her away to the vault while she had been helpless to intervene. How many nights had she lain awake, weeping because she couldn’t help her sister? But this was different. Gryffyn wasn’t here and Chrystobel wasn’t helpless in the least. She could defend her baby sister, however small the gesture, against a drunken knight. Yanking her arm away from Aimery, she reached over and slapped George across the face.

“Let her go!” she roared, clutching her sister fiercely against her. “Can you not see that she does not wish to dance?”

Izlyn broke into sobs as Chrystobel rushed the girl off, bolting from the hall. Keller, having been over on the opposite side of the room, barely caught the commotion. All he saw was Chrystobel slapping George and his protective instincts began running wild.

Pushing himself away from the table, he was trying to figure out why he was so dizzy as he headed over to where George and Aimery were standing. He was mad enough to kill and it began to occur to him that that he might be slightly drunk. Everyone else was, and he was coming to think he was no exception. There was no other explanation for the tilting room and his surging fury. He was never any good when he imbibed too much so he was usually very careful about it, but he seemed to have lost track of how much drink he had ingested this night. He seemed fine until he started drinking that powerful cider, and then….

By the time he reached George, his fury had gained full steam. He grabbed the young knight by the shoulder and spun him around to face him.

“What did you say to Lady de Poyer to cause her to slap you like that?” he snarled. “Well?”

George’s eyes opened wide with both fear and surprise. “N-nothing, my lord,” he insisted. “I only asked her sister to dance but she did not want to!”

Aimery was nodding fervently, confirming what George was telling his liege. Frustrated, angry, Keller looked between the two young knights.

“You will never again touch my wife or her sister,” he growled. “Do you comprehend me?”

George and Aimery nodded seriously. “Never again, my lord,” George assured him. “We apologize.”

That wasn’t good enough for Keller. He thumped George’s chest with a big hand. “You know what Gryffyn d’Einen did to those women,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “You know what hell he put them through, how he beat and humiliated them. By God’s Bloody Rood, you should have more sense than to grab women who have known little else but abuse. You’ll scare them to death!”

George readily agreed. “We are deeply sorry, my lord,” he repeated. “Should we go apologize to your lady wife and her sister?”

Keller eyed the two knights, knowing they were mostly harmless, and suddenly feeling rather foolish for becoming so angry with them. It was the alcohol forcing his manner.

“Nay,” he grumbled, pushing past them. “I will go and make sure they are well. You just stay away from them.”

George and Aimery watched Keller stagger from the hall, heading out through the darkened bailey towards the keep. As they stood there and wondered what more they should do to make amends to Lady de Poyer, from across the room, William, Rhys, and Gart were watching.

The older knights were fairly drunk themselves. Gart, in fact, was having a difficult time remaining upright. The tabletop kept trying to rise up and hit him in the face. Rhys was more exhausted than anything, but William was just plain liquidated. Everything about him was liquidated and sloshy. He watched Keller rough up George before leaving the hall. When the man was gone, he turned to Gart.

“I think that I should follow him to make sure all is well,” he muttered, putting his feet under him in the hopes of being able to stand up and not tip over. “He does not do well when he has had too much to drink.”

Gart was holding on to the tabletop for balance, even though he was seated. “Before you go, tell us the truth of the matter now that de Poyer is out of earshot,” he said. “I have been wanting to ask you this since we arrived. Was it true that Keller was betrothed to Garren le Mon’s widow?”

William nodded gingerly. Too much movement would have him toppling over. “The Marshal gifted de Poyer with le Mon’s widow,” he confirmed. “It was reported the le Mon perished in the battle for Lincoln Castle, but that was erroneous information, for Garren le Mon did not die. From what I was told, Keller was fairly in love with the Lady le Mon and her two children. He was looking forward to a beautiful family and when le Mon returned, it nearly destroyed him.”