Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(211)

Epilogue





1204 A.D.

It was a bright day in August and surprisingly warm. The door to Nether’s keep was open and a balmy breeze blew through the cold stone rooms, warming them. Keller was sitting at the feasting table in the small hall, peering at an updated map of the marches he had purchased in Gloucester a few months ago. He had taken his two oldest children with him, Caledon and Stafford, and the boys had gotten into a good deal of trouble that Keller still hadn’t told his wife about. The twins reminded him a good deal of George and Aimery Ashby-Kidd in that if there was disorder to be had, those two would find it. He never thought he’d see the day when he’d have two troublemaking twins.

Even now, they were under the table trying to light the dogs’ tails on fire. He kept having to stamp on the small pieces of kindling, extinguishing the fire, before the boys could get to the dogs.

“Lads,” he finally muttered, his gaze still on the map. “If one of those dogs ignites, I will blister you both. Is that clear?”

Two blond heads popped up from underneath the table. Identical brown eyes looked at their father innocently. “We were not lighting the dogs, Papa,” Staff insisted. “We were just playing.”

Keller looked up from the map, his eyes narrowing at his six-year-old son. “I know you were playing,” he said. “You were playing with fire.”

Cal nodded his head seriously. “We were practicing, Papa.”

Keller didn’t believe his child for a minute. “Practicing what?”

Cal was animated. He stood up and raised his arms in emphasis. “When we are great knights, we will capture a castle,” he said. “We must know how to burn the drawbridge down.”

Keller fought off a grin. His boys had a wild imagination, but they were sweet little terrors and it crushed him every time he had to discipline them, which was often. Every day saw them stealing chicken eggs, or fist fighting each other to the point of bloody noses, or pulling their sisters’ hair, which often garnered their mother’s displeasure as well.

“You will not be burning down drawbridges any time soon,” Keller said, holding out a hand. “Give me your kindling.”

Unhappy, Cal came out from underneath the table, begrudgingly placing a few sticks of kindling in his father’s hand. Staff, on his brother’s heels, did the same. But Keller kept his hand outstretched.

“The flint, please.”

Cal frowned terribly, producing a small piece of flint he’d been keeping in his other hand. Both boys started to walk away but Keller grasped Staff, preventing him from going any further, and frisked him until he found a second flint stone. He eyed his boys sternly.

“No more fire,” he told them, calmly but firmly. “If I find that you have been playing with fire again, I will punish you. Is that clear?”

The boys nodded, frowning faces and averted gazes. As Keller leaned forward and kissed both boys, Cal on the forehead and Staff on the cheek when the child squirmed, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the second floor above.

Chrystobel descended the stairs with a baby on her hip, a small girl in one hand, and another small girl trailing after her. She helped her second youngest child off the stairs and the little curly-haired lass ran straight for her father, who picked her up and hugged her. Chrystobel stood at the base of the stairs as her middle child, a daughter with her blond hair and Keller’s blue eyes, carefully made her way down the steps. When the little girl got to the bottom, she ran to her father just as her younger sister had. Four year old Iselle and three year old Genevieve were quite attached to their father, and he to them. He hugged his little girls happily, forgetting all about the map and his naughty boys.

Chrystobel, with her year-old son Tallys on her hip, smiled as she watched her husband with the girls. He was really quite sweet with them, spoiling them with hugs and kisses and gifts. In fact, he did that with all of the children. The man was a giver, in every sense. But he could also be very stubborn and she braced herself for that possibility as she prepared to deliver some news.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, watching him bounce Genevieve on his knee.

Keller glanced at her. “What is it?”

“George is here,” she said. “I have been watching him for quite some time. He is now heading up the hill and should be here shortly.”

Now, Keller’s gaze fixed on her. “How do you know it is him?”

“Who else could it be?”

Keller shrugged. Already, Chrystobel could see the scowl coming. “It does not have to be George,” he insisted. “It could be anyone.”

“He is coming from the south, from Pembroke Castle where he is now stationed.”

“It is probably just a bachelor knight, wandering from castle to castle.”

Chrystobel sighed faintly. “Keller,” she admonished softly. “You told George and Izlyn that they had to wait until she was eighteen. She turned eighteen almost a year ago. George wrote you six months ago and said he would be coming for Izlyn around her nineteenth birthday, which is next month. You must face facts, my love. George has come for her.”

As Keller sat and looked at the two babies in his lap, pondering the fact that George had finally come to marry Izlyn, the young lady in question came bounding down the steps. Keller could tell her steps. She always sounded as if she was scurrying. Izlyn scurried down the great stone steps from the floor above, racing into the small hall and throwing her arms around her sister and baby nephew.