Kathryn Le Veque (39 page)

Tears popped to Chrystobel’s eyes and she threatened to crumble but she fought it. It was such a spiritual moment, so ripe with the glorious beauty that was love, and she wanted to savor every second of it. Keller opened his mouth and she heard angels singing. This place, this darkened Netherworld, had never heard such exquisite words uttered. Suddenly, it was a darkened place no longer. It was a place of hope.

“What you have said to me,” she breathed, watching him kiss her fingers. “I have never thought to hear those words in my life. And I love you, too, so very much. You have shown me the glory and excitement and beauty of life. Everything I ever dreamed of, I found in you.”

Keller pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply and feeling every emotion and every dream she ever had pouring into him, sustaining him. He was fortified now, more than he had ever been in his life, and he would see this task through. He would emerge the victor. There was no other alternative. Kissing her one last time, he hugged her tightly.

“Remember what I told you about staying to the keep,” he whispered. “Do not open the door no matter what you see or hear. You will only open it for me or Rhys or Gart or William. Is that clear?”

Chrystobel nodded, suddenly very fearful for Keller’s safety. “It is,” she breathed. “You will be careful.”

“I will.”

She pulled back, gazing into his rugged face a moment before leaning forward, her forehead against his cheek.

“Be well and be safe, husband,” she whispered. “Remember that I love you. I pray it gives you strength.”

He pulled back, looking into her eyes with a knowing smile on his lips. “It gives me life,” he said softly. “Everything you are to me… it gives me life.”

With another kiss, he left the hall, moving past Izlyn as the girl stood at the doorway and touching her cheek affectionately with a big hand. Moving out of the keep, he turned one last time to see Chrystobel and Izlyn coming up behind him in preparation for bolting the entry door. He couldn’t take his eyes off of his wife, the woman who had become his all for living. He’d never felt more powerful in his life.

When Chrystobel blew him a kiss, he gave her a brief wave and quit the keep, hearing the door slam behind him and the big iron bolt being thrown. The women were safe now and he could focus on what needed to be done. He had a man to settle a score with.

He had an enemy to kill.



CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

By cover of darkness, the Welsh finally made their move.

It was raining heavily as Gryffyn, Colvyn, and one hundred and eight men made their way towards Nether Castle. Their scouts had returned earlier in the day to inform them that the English had taken the bulk of their army out of the castle, presumably heading for Hen Domen, and it was just as Gryffyn had predicted. He was confident that his plan was progressing as he had intended so as the rain pounded and the thunder rolled, he and Colvyn set out for Nether Castle.

They set out from Castell Mallwyd on their shaggy ponies, racing down a rocky, uneven path that led from the heights of Colvyn’s castle down to the valley below. It was a small road that led southwest from Mallwyd, through a narrow valley until they came to the crossroads. The road to the left went on to Nether Castle while the road to the right went on to Machynlleth. As the rain poured and the dark night grew darker, they dismounted their ponies and hid them in a small vale near the crossroads, as they wanted to make their approach to the castle on foot. There was less chance of them being seen that way. It was another two miles to Nether from the crossroads.

So they ran through the night, soaked to the bone by the cold Welsh storm, sliding on wet grass and passing near fields where wet sheep were huddled up for warmth. There were soldiers watching these sheep, Nether soldiers, so Gryffyn had warned Colvyn’s men to stay clear of those fields because the soldiers would launch their crossbows at them for fear they had come to steal the sheep. Colvyn’s men obeyed for the most part, sliding by the fields and staying low against the mossy stone walls to avoid detection.

Nether soon became evident, high upon the crest of a hill that divided two great valleys. As Colvyn and Gryffyn drew near, Gryffyn called a halt and the men gathered. Coughing, wet, and uncomfortable, they tried to hear Gryffyn’s voice over the driving rain.

“When it rains heavily like this, the Gorge of the Dead fills with water,” he said to those who could hear him. “It is possible that the gorge will fill up past the hidden entry in the rocks and if that is the case, we will have to swim underwater to get into the passage.

The men looked at each other, thinking a swampy moat to be less than pleasant. “You never said anything about swimming in the moat,” one man said loudly. “We will be drowned!”

Gryffyn shook his head. “It will not be deep enough for you to drown,” he assured them. “In fact, it will work to our advantage. As you make your way to the postern gate, stay low in the water and the sentries will have a difficult time seeing you. The path to the postern gate is clearly marked so you will have no trouble locating it. Once the gate has been opened, you will go directly to the keep. If we can take the keep, we can take the castle.”

It seemed like a sound plan and the men settled down somewhat. Gryffyn turned to Colvyn. “We will take ten men with us to breach the passageway,” he said. “That should be all we need. We shall kill anyone in the kitchen and remain there, hiding, and send a man out to unlock the postern gate. I would do it myself but for the fact that if I am seen, I might be recognized.”

Colvyn eyed him.
Is it another trick to keep himself out of danger?
“I will go unlock the gate,” Colvyn said. “I have been to Nether and know where the gate is.”

Gryffyn was satisfied with that. The more he remained out of sight, the better. Waving an arm at the men, he motioned for them to follow his lead, across the rocky hillside, camouflaged by the wet gray rocks, before reaching the eastern side of the keep where the battlements had a blind spot because of the height of the parapet. Gryffyn took the lead, sliding down the side of the hill and stalking his way over to the Gorge of the Dead.

Fortunately, there was only about three feet of water in the bottom of the gorge but it was filling quickly. It was terribly dark as they began to climb down the rocks into the moat but for a brief flash of lightning off to the north that illuminated the land for a split second. To a sharp sentry upon the wall walk of Nether, however, it was enough of a flash of light for him to catch sight of dozens of Welshmen entering the Gorge of the Dead.

He went on the run for William.



The worst part of an ambush was the wait.

Keller and Gart had been in the kitchen since leaving Chrystobel in the keep, and that had been almost twelve hours ago. The sun had set and the kitchen was now dark but for a small fire in the hearth, and Keller had remained fixed by the hidden door that concealed the passage that led down into the gorge, waiting patiently. On the other side of the hidden door, Gart leaned against the wall, still and silent. He had, however, been yawning for the past hour, the only sign that the man was actually alive and breathing. Other than that, there had been no conversation and little movement. The knights, as well as twenty soldiers, were crowded into the dark kitchen in utter and complete silence.

It was a waiting game. All day, Keller had been wracked with doubt. What if he had been wrong? What if Gryffyn hadn’t written that message, the one that Chrystobel had been positive that contained her brother’s handwriting? What if this had all been a horrible miscalculation and now here they were waiting on the receiving end of nothing. No Gryffyn, no Welsh, merely Keller and Gart, wasting their time. Keller could only pray it wasn’t true and that indeed he would be looking into Gryffyn d’Einen’s face soon. He had to rid his life of this evil that threatened everything he loved.

A day of uncertainty turned into an evening of the same. Time passed with painful slowness. More waiting, and more silence. But that silence came to an abrupt end when William showed up in the kitchen a few hours after sunset. Having run all the way from the battlements, he was understandably winded.

“The Welsh have been spotted, Keller,” he hissed. “As of two minutes ago, they were descending into the gorge from the northeast. Be ready!”

Keller perked up, as did Gart. The yawning stopped. What they were waiting for was actually coming to pass and the smell of a battle instantly filled the air. They fed off it, bolstering their courage for what was to come. All of Keller’s doubts fled as he realized his instincts had been correct.
Gryffyn was approaching
!

“Excellent,” Keller whispered with satisfaction. “So our ruse worked. Notify the postern gate and the gatehouse, William. Tell the men to be prepared.”

William nodded sharply. “I have already sent men to inform them,” he said. “I will wait here with you.”

Keller didn’t argue with him, mostly because he welcomed the fighting power of William’s sword. He found that he was very edgy, watching the hidden door, waiting for it to move. Slowly, silently, he unsheathed his broadsword and a few feet away, pressed against the wall, he saw Gart do the same. The steel blades glimmered weakly in the dim light as the rain outside continued to pour.

It was madness, truly, waiting for that one small movement, that hint of an enemy, throwing them all into the maelstrom of battle. Keller was anxious to get down to it, so much so that he actually began to sweat. All he could see was Gryffyn’s face, the cold and terrible face that had looked down upon Chrystobel so many times as he beat the woman senseless. A mindless beast of a man who did not deserve to live. The more Keller thought on him, the more enraged he became.
Come to me, Gryffyn
, he thought as he stared at the hidden door.
Come to me so that I may take your bloody head off!

The moments dragged by, elongated, surreal in their slowness. Keller turned to see all of the men crowded into the kitchen and it suddenly occurred to him that they would be seen the moment the door opened, so he waved his hand swiftly at them, motioning them out of the kitchen, a directive to which they swiftly replied once they understood his meaning. All twenty of them piled out of the kitchen and out into the rain, hovering just outside the door, prepared to go charging back in and massacre the Welsh.

And they waited. The thunder crashed and lightning blared, but still, they waited. Keller was about to move to the hidden panel to see if he could hear anything beyond when the door suddenly jerked. Startled, the English faded back into the shadows. The door jerked again, shifted, and slowly began to open.

Keller was pressed flush against the wall, no more than a foot or two away, watching the panel slowly open up. His heart was thumping against his ribcage and anticipation filled his veins just as a head stuck out of the open door, peering around the extremely dark room.
Come out just a little further
, he thought.
Just a little further so I can grab hold of you
. But the figure didn’t emerge any further, at least not right away. The head turned in Gart’s direction and Keller was fearful that the big knight was spotted because he wasn’t too adequately concealed. But Gart was still, and the kitchen was dark, so the intruder evidently didn’t see him right away.

The door opened wider, scraping against the floor of the kitchen. The head peering out was attached to a body that quietly stepped out onto the hard-packed floor. The minute he emerged into the room, Keller lashed out a big hand and grabbed the man by the hair, yanking him in his direction.

The man started to yell but Keller rammed a broadsword into his back, between his ribs, killing him instantly as Gart jumped forward and grabbed the next man, making quick work of him. The English soldiers that were waiting outside the kitchen saw the fight commence and they rushed in, crowding the door as more Welsh tried to push through. From a silent, dark room one moment to a crowded mass of chaos the next, the kitchen was upended in unholy style.

It was so dark in the kitchen, and so crowded, that two of the English soldiers nicked each other with their swords because it was difficult to see who they were fighting. Welsh were charging in through the open door, one at a time, being met with the English and their sharp blades. Because of the darkness and chaos, however, it was difficult to tell who was an enemy and who was a friend.

Men fell down onto the floor, being trampled and stabbed at, as the mass in the kitchen swelled. There was absolutely no room to fight so it was like being compressed in a big crowd with no opportunity for movement. Keller had dispatched four Welshmen but he was looking for Gryffyn, who he knew was amongst this group. He could see William near the door, doing battle with a Welsh rebel, but suddenly, he could see men spilling out from the kitchen into the yard beyond. The Welsh were escaping and the fight was following them.