Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(166)

Mae’n rhaid i chi ddweud wrthi ei fod yn ei bai hi am ei bod yn rhoi i chi y ddiod

You must tell her it is her fault because she gave you the drink.

Keller smiled wryly after reading it. “Alas, I cannot,” he sighed. “I did not have to drink it and I should not have. I cannot blame her for my failings. I wish she would at least accept my apology. Mayhap I need an envoy to soothe the savage beastie.”

Izlyn took the parchment away from him but she didn’t run over to write. She just stood there and looked at him as if she didn’t know what else to say. Much like Keller, she was socially inept. The lack of voice made it so, and the isolation, and in that realization Keller felt a somewhat kindred spirit with Izlyn. He was a bumbling idiot at times, too, as evidenced by the current situation with Chrystobel. He smiled at her and she smiled back. At least one d’Einen sister is smiling at me, he thought ironically. Noting the parchment still in her hand gave him an idea.

“Would… would you do something for me, my lady?” he asked. “I would be most grateful.”

Izlyn nodded eagerly and ran for the chamber door, but he called her back. “Nay, not that,” he said, rising out of the chair as he waved her over. “I was jesting when I said I needed an envoy. I do not want you to go to her on my behalf. Is that what you were going to do?”

Izlyn nodded, looking rather confused because she thought he wanted her to fetch her sister. But Keller put his hand on her slender shoulder.

“You are good at writing,” he said. When she nodded firmly, he continued. “I must go to town now and will not have the time to make amends to your sister today, so I was wondering if you would help me.”

Izlyn nodded eagerly and Keller patted her shoulder, directing her back over to the table with the pieces of parchment and pewter inkwell that was modeled to look like a flower. As Izlyn collected her quill and rifled through her pieces of parchment in order to find one that didn’t have any writing on it, Keller thought about what he wanted to say. It was rather sly, really, using the sister to beg forgiveness from his wife, but at that point, he was willing to do what was necessary to gain her good favor again. He also thought that he might see what stock the merchants in the town had once he’d finished with the priests. He’d been known to lavish gifts on those that warranted it, and even to those who didn’t. The widow he’d been betrothed to had accepted many lavish gifts from him. Keller hoped that giving gifts to Chrystobel wouldn’t be the same lesson in pointlessness.

As Keller dictated and Izlyn carefully scratched the words, in English this time, upon a piece of yellowed parchment, he sincerely hoped she would read the missive and not burn it in anger. He thought that perhaps she wouldn’t destroy it because it might hurt Izlyn’s feelings, the creator as well as bearer of the message. In fact, he was counting on it.

Fifteen minutes later and satisfied with the heart-felt missive, he left Izlyn to deliver it while he took William, Rhys, and Aimery with him into the town of Machynlleth, leaving Gart and George behind to see to the castle and her security. He hoped that, when he returned from town, Chrystobel might be more receptive to his presence.

And he would swear a thousand times over that he would never touch that devil cider again as long as he lived.

*

“The bloody castle is crawling with English!” Colvyn hissed. “You did not tell me there were so many!”

On a rocky, wind-swept crag overlooking Nether Castle in the distance, Gryffyn and Colvyn could see hordes of English soldiers both in and out of the castle. In fact, they were spilling out over the Gorge of the Dead and onto the roadway beyond. Some were setting off in groups, no doubt patrols, while others were lingering around the gatehouse. Gryffyn blinked in both surprise and concern at so many English.

“More must have come,” he muttered. “There were not so many when I left yesterday.”

Colvyn eyed the English milling in and around Nether Castle. Now, what Gryffyn had told him was starting to make sense. There were far more English than he had imagined. They have a foothold in Wales! Perhaps Gryffyn had been correct. He thought the man was merely being dramatic but by the looks of things, that wasn’t the case at all. There was a hive of English in the heart of Wales and it was most definitely a cause for alarm.

Around them, the wind was picking up and the smell of rain wasn’t far off. They could see it over to the west. Gryffyn and Colvyn hunkered down against the rocks, watching the activity in and around Nether. Mostly, they were there so that Gryffyn could prove to Colvyn that the English had indeed overrun the castle.

Based on their observations, Gryffyn hoped that Colvyn would plan some sort of attack or other restless action. If de Poyer wanted to hold Nether, then Gryffyn was going to make it exceedingly difficult for him.

“Well?” he asked Colvyn. “Do you believe me now that they have confiscated Nether?”

Colvyn’s dark hair whipped up in the wind as he pulled his rough woolen cloak more tightly around his neck. “Aye,” he replied, his dark gaze on the castle. “I believe you. It would seem that we must do something about it.”

“Agreed,” Gryffyn said as if Colvyn’s statement was the most obvious thing in the world. “You must contact your teulu for support. We will need many men to regain Nether.”

Colvyn pondered that scenario and as he did, there was something that didn’t quite make sense to him about this situation. “Nether is built to withstand a siege,” he said. “It is surrounded by the Gorge of the Dead and has sheer walls. How did the English manage to take it?”