Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(189)

Keller turned to look at him. “You are half-Welsh, are you not?”

Rhys nodded. “My mother is Welsh,” he said. “But only by name and by blood. Our heart and our family culture is more English than most.”

“Then what do you think of the situation, as a man with Welsh blood in him?”

Rhys exhaled calmly, looking around the town at the peasants dressed in heavy wools and durable, if not well-used, clothing. “I think that the Welsh have conveniently shown up both times in a town you happen to be visiting,” he said. “To me, that reeks of a traitor.”

Keller cast him a long glance. “Someone is informing the resistance of my movements?”

“It is possible.”

Keller turned around to look at the women in the wagon, now being moved to the bed of the wagon by William. He watched Chrystobel as she carefully followed her sister into the back of the wagon. After a moment, he faced forward, wracked with thought.

“Not my wife,” he said. “I do not think she would be capable of that kind of deception.”

Rhys was careful with his words. “But you have only known the woman three days,” he said quietly. “She is Welsh, Keller. Is it possible she has been deceiving you?”

The mere thought made Keller sick. He shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he said. “She would not do such a thing. There are other possibilities more viable than that.”

Rhys didn’t pursue the wife. He moved on to the next possibility. “What about the sister?” he asked. “Gart tells me she can write. Is it possible she has been sending messages?”

Keller shook his head, more firmly this time. “You are chasing phantoms,” he scolded softly. “With what went on at Nether before we arrived, do you truly think either of those women would want to chase us off so it would be as it was before? That’s madness.”

Rhys shrugged. “I am simply listing possibilities,” he said. “Eliminate the improbable and, no matter how impossible, whatever remains must be the truth.”

“Find another truth.”

“Very well,” Rhys was undaunted. “What about the brother? You said that he escaped and you have mentioned your fear that he is lurking about, watching the activities at Nether. Mayhap he is behind the Welsh rebels that appear in this town every time you do.”

Keller sighed heavily. “That is as good an explanation as any,” he said. They were drawing near the church so he shifted his focus to what lay ahead. There would be time for speculation later. “We are nearly to the church. Assign six men to remove the coffin from the wagon. I want to get inside the church as quickly as possible.”

Rhys nodded and reined his horse around, heading back into the column of men. Keller could hear him making assignments, calling out men and rearranging the defensive line around the wagon. The church of St. Peter loomed large off to the right, the gray, squat building that Keller became acquainted with yesterday. Before they entered the structure, he would send some men in to make sure no Welsh were lying in wait for them. At this point, he didn’t trust anyone or anything. Bad tidings were on the wind and he would not be caught unaware, especially with Chrystobel and Izlyn with him. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to either one of them, and he was positive he would never recover if harm befell Chrystobel.

As the column pulled up to the church, he made sure that the men-at-arms created a defensive circle so that the coffin and ladies could be moved into the church with ample protection, and he had William send a few soldiers into the church to clear it. Even as Keller dismounted his charger and headed for the wagon, he felt distinctly uneasy. He didn’t like that they were being watched but he was very thankful that the merchant had the courage to warn him. At least now they would not be caught off guard. Or, at least, that was the hope. Still, he could feel the tension rising. Everyone was uneasy.

When he reached the wagon, he smiled at Chrystobel as he lifted her out of the wagon bed and set her on her feet. Izlyn followed shortly and he took both women politely by the elbow, steering them clear of the coffin that was just being removed from the wagon. As they stood by and watched, the men-at-arms heaved the coffin off the wagon bed and turned for the church. The pace was slow because the coffin was heavy, and as they approached the entry, the soldiers that had been sent in to clear the sanctuary emerged to signal that no danger wait beyond.

That was good enough for Keller. Taking the women by the arms, he moved in front of the coffin, heading for the protective innards of the church. It was cool and dark in the sanctuary beyond, and he could smell the pungent scent of incense. Just as he reached the doorway, he heard several high-pitched noises, sing-song, and he knew immediately what they were. He’d heard them many times before, in battle or in conflict of some kind. Keller knew the sound of an arrow when he heard it.

He shoved Chrystobel and Izlyn into the church as several arrows rained down upon them. As everyone began to run for cover, two of the soldiers holding the coffin were hit and they went down in the street. The coffin, now unbalanced, fell heavily and tipped onto its side, knocking open the lid and spilling Trevyn d’Einen’s body out into the mud.

Chrystobel and Izlyn, watching this terrible scene from the entry to the church, screamed in horror as their father’s corpse lay askew in the street. Keller was bellowing at his men to get under cover as more arrows rained down, but just as quickly as the second wave fell, men began running at them from all directions, weapons held high. Before Keller could take a second breath, they were entered into the throes of mortal combat.