Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(186)

“It has always been to save my sisters from the English,” Gryffyn fired back. Knowing that Colvyn’s men were mostly following him and his promises of riches gave him such confidence. “Once we have the women safe, we can move on the castle. I have told you all of this before.”

Colvyn simply grunted at him and looked away, frustrated that he had become swept up in Gryffyn’s scheme. He shook his head and growled. “I should have turned you away when you came to me with tales of English at Nether,” he muttered. “I should have punched you in the face and sent you away.”

Gryffyn was watching the man carefully, smelling Colvyn’s defeat. It fed his courage. “But you did not,” he said. “You did the right thing, Colvyn. You are helping me rid Nether of the English. Once we have my sisters back, we can recruit more Welsh to help us purge the castle. What Welshman would not live for the opportunity to kill English?”

Colvyn wouldn’t answer him, mostly because whatever he managed to say, Gryffyn would twist to his own advantage. There were over one hundred men now waiting to ambush the funeral party from Nether and Colvyn would not interfere with that plan. Perhaps they would be more successful with more men than he was yesterday with just a select few. A few of those big English knights were as formidable as the devil himself and Colvyn didn’t look forward to facing them again.

As the morning began to deepen and the minutes ticked away, Gryffyn finally gave the orders to move on the town but remain concealed. He didn’t want the English spooked, so the men had orders to hide and wait for the signal. That signal would be as the knights gathered at St. Peter’s church and moved Trevyn d’Einen’s coffin into the entry. With the knights focused on the coffin, and the funeral in general, it would be a perfect time to strike.

With eager anticipation, they laid the trap.

*

As the morning dawned bright and cold, the party from Nether Castle set off for Machynlleth. The sky was surprisingly clear and birds were singing as the group of four knights – Keller, Rhys, Gart, and William – two ladies, and fifty men-at-arms plodded down the muddy, rocky road. George and Aimery had been left at Nether to man the castle’s defenses.

It was one of Izlyn’s very few trips out of Nether and she was excitedly inspecting the world around her as she sat next to her sister on the wagon bench. On the wagon bed behind them was their father’s coffin, into which Izlyn had asked Keller to put a note she had written to her papa. He may not have been much of a father but he was the only one she had, so she had written him a note telling him that she was sorry he had died. Keller thought it was rather touching.

The smell of wet grass was heavy in the air as they traveled and, at one point, they passed a field of Nether sheep that were being guarded by four d’Einen men and two black dogs. The spring lambs were several months old now, fat and fluffy, and Izlyn kept pointing to them as they played in the early morning sun. Gart figured that she wanted one so he spurred his charger forward, galloping across the field, and jumping the rock barrier that kept the sheep contained. As Keller and the others watched, he herded a few of the little sheep into a cluster but the moment he dismounted, the sheep bolted away. Everyone laughed at Gart’s expense as the man mounted his charger again and gave chase.

Izlyn was practically standing up on the wagon bench in raw anticipation as she watched Gart chase down frightened little sheep. He finally managed to capture one, returning to the wagon with the sheep slung across his thighs. It was bleating with fright but he brought it up to Izlyn so that she could pet it. Even though sheep was the primary revenue of Nether, Izlyn had never been allowed contact with them. Therefore, the opportunity to pet the little sheep thrilled her.

Gart eventually put the sheep back with its flock as the party continued to travel onward towards Machynlleth. The land was very mountainous and the scenery dramatic, and birds of prey flew high overhead, searching for their morning meal. Chrystobel was enjoying the journey immensely, enjoying the landscape and enjoying watching her husband up at the head of the party. The last time she had seen him dressed in full battle regalia, he had been entering Nether’s bailey as the new lord of the castle. At the time, the sight had frightened her. Now, it thrilled her. He looked so proud and strong and handsome riding on ahead. As she admired him from afar, Izlyn grabbed her hand and pointed frantically to the roadside again.

A family of cotton-tailed rabbits was foraging in the morning sun and there were several babies. Izlyn was beside herself with glee and Gart, riding just behind the wagon, saw what she was pointing at. He rode up beside her.

“Lady Izlyn,” he said. “If rabbits excite you, I can only imagine you want to eat one.”

Izlyn looked at him in horror, shaking her head. Gart teased her. “I’m sure you have had many rabbits to eat,” he said. “They are quite delicious. Mayhap I shall capture all of them, make a rabbit stew, and then use their hides to make a cape for you. I will put their little white tails on the front of the cape as an ornament.”

He was indicating his neck and Izlyn frowned terribly at him, scowling to the point where Gart had to look away or risk laughing in her face. He was looking at the rabbits again, who were coming up on their right as the party passed down the road.

“Ah,” he delighted, seeing Izlyn making faces at him out of the corner of his eye. “I love roast baby rabbit. I think I shall go and catch one for myself.”