Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(193)

“Hen Domen is the seat of the Earl of Shropshire, Robert de Boulers,” Colvyn said, torn between interest and refusal. “I have had dealings with them before, as has my father. They are rather warring towards the Welsh.”

Gryffyn leapt on that bit of information. “Do you have a missive from Shropshire?” he asked. “Does your father? We will need to see the de Boulers seal in order to duplicate it on the feigned message.”

Colvyn shook his head. “I do not but I am sure my father or brothers might,” he said. “My father had some dealings with de Boulers’ father several years ago when they were trying to set boundaries of the earl’s properties.”

Gryffyn was excited at the prospect. “Then we must have a missive with a seal that is intact or at least repairable,” he said. “You have a smithy here. Mayhap the man can recreate the seal. Then we can send a missive to de Poyer, lure him away from Nether, and claim the castle and her riches while he is gone. We can do this, Colvyn! Can you not see the possibilities? We can rid Nether and this region of the English that so badly want to conquer both.”

Colvyn still had his doubts, although they were fading. “So we lure the English away from Nether,” he said. “There will still be English at the fortress. Are you truly convinced we can overcome them, even if we enter from the hidden passage?”

Gryffyn had an answer. “If we can get one man from the passage to the postern gate near the stables, he can open the gate for the rest of your men,” he insisted. “Believe me when I tell you that this will be the best way to gain control of Nether. With enough of your men overrunning the place, we should be able to easily subdue the English left behind.”

Colvyn looked at the man, seeing the light of excitement in his eyes. In truth, it was a viable plan and, if Colvyn thought hard on it, he was looking forward to the reward of regaining Nether for Gryffyn. Coin, food, perhaps even a few sheep would be his reward. He was tired of being so poor and desolate. He was tired of being hungry, of living a pitiful existence from day to day. He had no future and only a sorrowful past because at Castell Mallwyd, there was no hope. It was a doomed place. But what Gryffyn offered was optimism, no matter how unattainable the scheme. At least it was something, and Colvyn was willing to take a chance on something if it meant extracting him from his soulless existence. It was a weakness he had. With a sigh of resignation, he nodded his head.

“Very well,” he said. “I will send a message to my father and ask him for a Shropshire seal and explain the circumstances. But this will take time, you know. We will not be able to accomplish this in a matter of days. And this missive, when you send it, must be written in English. I cannot write in English.”

Gryffyn was nearly weak with relief in the knowledge that his battle against de Poyer was not yet over. They had one chance left and he was going to take it.

“I can write in English,” he said. “I fostered in England in my youth because my father thought it would be wise for me to learn their ways and I learned their vile language, so you needn’t worry over that.”

Colvyn still had doubts. “What about your sister?” he wanted to know. “Wouldn’t she know your writing? What if she sees the missive?”

Gryffyn shook his head. “I am sure that de Poyer would not share his business with my sister,” he said. “She is a mere woman, after all. Why would he confide in her or discuss it with her? Nay, it is a chance we must take.”

Colvyn wasn’t so sure about the risk of Gryffyn’s writing being recognized but he let it go. There was no use fighting d’Einen because, in the end, he would only persuade him otherwise. So he backed off, with nothing more to say, and headed towards the great hall where a meager amount of food await. That is the first thing I am going to do upon reaching Nether, he thought to himself. I am going to eat myself into oblivion. He justified his compliance by focusing on his end reward.

Hunger had a way of making strange bedfellows. The wheels of deceiving the English were now in motion.





Chapter Nineteen





Early November

In the big master’s chamber that she shared with her husband, Chrystobel was helping one of the house servants tend freshly washed clothing. Since their marriage almost three weeks ago, Chrystobel had come to learn that her husband was somewhat slovenly. Not in the literal, terrible sense, of course, but the man didn’t keep his clothing clean in the least. Therefore, he had several tunics that had hardly been washed, if ever, and that included two heavily padded tunics he wore under his mail coat.

Upon acquiring such knowledge, as it wasn’t difficult considering how badly some of his clothing smelled, she was able to coax him into turning over all of his clothing to her so she could wash it. Keller was embarrassed that his wife had to wash his filthy laundry, but Chrystobel was thrilled to do it.

As she was ironing freshly washed and dried tunics with a hot stone upon a smooth, worn tabletop, she kept hearing what sounded like strained voices outside. Sticking her head from the lancet window that faced north over her garden, she was able to look down and see George and Aimery wandering through her garden, evidently chasing something. She called down to them.

“Watch out for my garden,” she said. “Do not step on anything!”

The knights looked up at her. “We are being careful, Lady de Poyer,” George said, pointing. “There is a rabbit in your garden.”