Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(199)

Chrystobel continued to follow her sister as the girl returned to the bailey where the army was nearly formed. The knights were yelling and a quartermaster’s wagon was being moved into place. Men were soaked, and unhappy, but there wasn’t much that could be done about it. Izlyn headed straight for the army, peering at the men she came across. It was clear that she was looking for someone and as she stood there, looking rather lost, George came through a row of men and nearly ran into her.

As Chrystobel watched, Izlyn’s face lit up and she smiled brightly at George, who smiled in return. He had genuinely become fond of the girl over the past few weeks, as they had spent a good deal of time together chasing rabbits or trying to fish from the small, overgrown pond near the garden. When George smiled at her, Izlyn extended the thistle to him, giving him the bud, and he took it graciously. He even tucked it into his armor in the folds near his neck. Then he patted her on the cheek and turned away, heading to the front of the column where his charger was.

Izlyn watched him go, an aura of happiness and longing on her face. Chrystobel had seen the exchange, as sweet as it was, but she called her sister over to her once George walked away because she didn’t want to see her sister get trampled with the men still moving about. Izlyn scooted over to her and they headed back towards the keep, where it was dry, until a shout caught their attention.

It was Gart, heading towards them from the gathering of soldiers. He was completely soaked through, rain dripping off of his face as he approached. His attention was focused on Izlyn.

“Lady de Poyer,” he glanced at Chrystobel, greeting her, but his focus quickly returned to Izlyn. “What’s this I hear? You have given George a posy and not me? My lady, I am sincerely crushed. I thought you liked me best of all.”

Izlyn grinned broadly and flushed furiously. She was much better with her speech these days but still not completely comfortable. She struggled to bring forth her reply.

“He… is going,” she said haltingly. “You will… will stay here.”

Gart’s eyebrows lifted as he was horribly offended. “Is that all?” he demanded, although there was no force behind it. “You give him a flower because he is leaving? I will not stand for it. I will go fight him right now for your affections. I will not allow George to be your favorite.”

Izlyn was giggling, as was Chrystobel. It was so wonderful to see her sister happy, with affection and attention lavished upon her by knights who understood how terrible her life had once been. They seemed determined to make up for every horror Gryffyn had ever inflicted upon her, which made Chrystobel feel a good deal of respect and admiration for these men. They were near and dear to her heart, men of honor and compassion, and she would defend them to the death. She came to realize some time ago that she was more loyal to her English husband and his English knights than she was to the Welsh people. She’d only known pain and suffering from the Welsh. With the English, she’d only known joy, as had Izlyn. It wasn’t difficult to be loyal to them.

As Gart postured and threatened to fight George, Izlyn put up a hand and grasped his wrist. “N-nay,” she said, sounding firm. “You… cannot fight George. I… I will be angry with you.”

Gart stopped in the middle of his rage and looked at her, his expression conveying the best dramatics of a broken heart. Then, he turned away from her, wiping his eyes as if weeping. As he headed back towards the army, he kept turning around to see if she was watching him. When he saw that she was, he would resume wiping his eyes. Chrystobel sighed heavily and looked at her sister.

“You had better go give the man his own posy before he embarrasses himself with his sobbing,” she said, pointing to the garden. “Go along and find Gart a flower so he will not feel so bad.”

Izlyn nodded and turned in the direction of the garden, but paused a moment to grasp her sister’s fingers in order to get her attention.

“I am marrying George now,” she said haltingly.

Chrystobel laughed softly as Izlyn ran back to the garden to find Gart a flower. As she stood there, watching her sister disappear around the side of the keep, a big body walked up beside her and grabbed her around the waist.

“Greetings, my lovely,” Keller said as he kissed her on the cheek. Then, he hissed when he realized how wet she was. “By God’s Bloody Rood, woman! You are soaked through.”

She giggled. “I know,” she said. “I am returning to the keep, have no fear. But I should tell you something.”

“What?”

“Izlyn just told me she is marrying George and Gart is very upset that her affections have turned.”

He pursed his lips wryly. “Gart will overcome.”

“Gart said he is going to fight George.”

“Then George’s days are numbered.”

Chrystobel grinned at the jest, noticing that Keller kept turning around to see to his men’s state of readiness. She found herself looking at the army as well.

“Are they nearly ready to depart?” she asked.

Keller nodded, his gaze lingering on his men for a moment before turning to his wife. “Aye,” he replied. “Once they leave, you and Izlyn will stay to the keep and keep it locked. You will not come out, no matter what, and you will not open the door for anyone but me or my knights. Is that clear?”

The conversation had taken a serious turn and Chrystobel nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I had better go and make sure there are enough provisions in the keep.”