Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(165)

She ripped off the clothing pile and the top layer of linen on the bed to punctuate her angry sentence. Everything when sailing onto the floor. Keller stood there and watched her, feeling the familiar angst welling in his chest. Once, when he had been betrothed to the widow who broke his heart, he felt these same emotions when she callously dismissed him. The old, horrible feelings were sweeping him again. God, not again, he thought. Why do I bring these things down upon me? I cannot go through this again! He stopped popping his knuckles because he nearly broke a finger in his turmoil.

“I am sorry that I did not keep my promise to return,” he said, his voice soft and low. “I feel terrible about it. All I can tell you is that it was unintentional and that I am truly sorry.”

Chrystobel’s gaze lingered on him a moment before turning to the pile on the floor. “You need not apologize,” she said. “It is your right to do as you please.”

He sighed sharply. “Do you not believe a man when he says that he is sorry?”

Her head snapped up, the dark eyes fixed on him. “I believed him when he swore he would return last night. Mayhap it is the last time I shall believe anything he says.”

It was like a punch to his gut. Keller could tell just by the expression on her face that she was attacking his honor. After a moment, he simply shook his head. “What must I do to prove I am sincere, Chrystobel? I do not want to go the rest of my life at odds with you because of a mistake.”

She looked at him a moment, appraisingly, and he swore that he could see the turmoil in the big brown eyes. She was hurt and defensive, he could clearly see it. But she tore her gaze away after a moment and looked back at the pile and, as he watched, planted herself on the floor beside it. She began sifting through it.

“Go about your duties,” she told him. “I will make sure your chamber is prepared by tonight.”

It was evident she didn’t wish to speak to him about it. He groaned inwardly. “I am going into town to make arrangements with the priests for your father’s mass,” he said quietly. “I thought you wanted to go with me.”

Chrystobel shook her head, focused on her task. “You can make the arrangements quite adequately,” she said. “I do not need to go with you.”

There wasn’t any use arguing with her. He could see that plainly. She was essentially shutting him out and he felt horrible about it. But it was probably justified. He had promised to return last night. He didn’t blame her for thinking he was not a man of his word. With a lingering gaze at her blond head, he silently quit the chamber and shut the door behind him.

The landing was dimly lit and cold as he turned for the stairs. He had a knot in his stomach from his emotions, coupled with his pounding head. He deserved all of it, he told himself. Every misery he had, he deserved. As he began to descend the stairs, he glanced up and saw Izlyn standing in the doorway to the chamber she shared with her sister. Keller came to a halt.

Izlyn was dressed in a sweet pink-colored linen surcoat with an embroidered apron over it. Her pretty blond hair was pulled into two adorable braids draped over each shoulder. She looked clean, groomed, and well-rested. In fact, the child looked better than he’d ever seen her. He smiled weakly.

“I do not suppose you can tell me how to beg forgiveness from your sister,” he muttered wryly.

It had been a somewhat rhetorical question but, to his surprise, Izlyn nodded. Keller was about to continue down the steps but the child’s gesture had him pausing.

“You do?” he asked, interested. “She is very angry with me. But I suppose you know that.”

Izlyn nodded solemnly. Keller wriggled his eyebrows in defeat. As he shrugged his big shoulders dejectedly and began to move down the steps, Izlyn rushed forward and stuck her hands out. He caught the movement from the corner of his eye, pausing to look up at the pale young woman. As he watched, she rushed over to him and grasped his sleeve, tugging. Keller ended up ascending those few stairs he had just taken and following Izlyn as she pulled him into the chamber she shared with her sister.

Keller was quite curious at her actions. She led him over to one of the chairs near the hearth and pointed to it, indicating for him to sit. He did, uncomfortably, in his heavy armor, watching Izlyn as she went over to a small table that was on the opposite side of the bed. The girl had scraps of what looked like parchment or vellum. She picked up a quill and, dipping it in ink, began scratching onto the parchment. When she was finished, she blew on it to dry the ink and rushed over to him, thrusting the parchment in his face.

Keller had to dodge his head or risk being hit by the parchment. He took it from her, holding it at arm’s length to read it because his eyes weren’t very good these days. It was often very difficult for him to read. The letter was written very careful, in Welsh:

Roedd hi’n drist pan nad oeddech yn dychwelyd

She was sad when you did not return.

Keller sighed heavily when he finished reading it. He felt like a monster. “I had every intention of returning, I assure you,” he told the young girl. “But… by God’s Bloody Rood, this is embarrassing, but that cider your sister provided put me to sleep. I fell asleep with my face pressed into the top of the feasting table. The next I realized, it was morning.”

He put his hand on his nose and smashed it down to demonstrate his sleeping position, watching Izlyn giggle. She was a pretty little thing when she smiled which, he suspected, was not that often. She snatched the parchment out of his hand and ran back to the table to collect her quill. She scratched a few more words out onto it before blowing furiously on it and racing back to him, thrusting it at him. Keller took the parchment and held it far away from his face to read it.