Kathryn Le Veque (7 page)

“Aye, my lord.”

He continued to gaze at her as she stared at the hands in her lap. She had the most glorious beauty, something he was more intrigued with by the moment. Her lashes were thick and feathery, sweeping against her cheeks when she blinked. He noted the bruise on her cheek, her split lip, and he even saw blood on her scalp. When he reached out to inspect the bloody spot on her blond hair, she flinched but he put a big hand on her arm to still her. Carefully, he inspected the split on her scalp. Then his eyes moved down to her ear and he could see a bit of dark blood in the canal. Inspecting further, he noticed that her neck was bruised.

Chrystobel couldn’t see him but she could certainly feel and hear him. She could feel his eyes upon her, inspecting every inch of her, knowing she was lying about what had happened. She knew he would question her on it and she was terrified for that moment. Still, she had to stay strong. She could not let him know the truth. It was her shame alone to bear and she did not want her future husband judging her by such weaknesses or by dark family secrets.

She heard him sigh heavily. “Did you fall on your neck?” he asked quietly.

Chrystobel looked at him, confused and wary. “My… my lord?”

Keller lifted his chin in the direction of her neck. “Your neck is bruised.”

Her hands flew to her neck nervously as if to hide what he had already seen. “I must have hit it somehow,” she replied, her voice weak and soft. “I am sorry that my appearance has been so unsuitable. I will make all effort to make myself presentable.”

Keller suddenly grasped her by the chin and forced her to look at him. When their eyes met, Chrystobel felt an exciting jolt, as if his eyes had somehow reached out to grab her. It was like a lightning strike, quickly come, quickly gone. Her breathing began to come in quick little gasps for reasons she could not understand.

“You will stop saying that,” he growled softly. “You are not unseemly nor are you unsuitable. You are the loveliest woman I have had the fortune to lay eyes upon so I do not want to hear those words from your lips again. But I would know why you feel it necessary to lie to me.”

She looked shocked, blinking rapidly and trying to pull away from him. But he would have no part of it. He grabbed her by the arms with those enormous hands and refused to let her move.

“I… I do not know what you mean,” she lied again, hating herself for it but unwilling to divulge the truth.

“Aye, you do,” he said calmly, watching her face flush pink. “Who did this to you? And do not tell me that you fell because I do not believe you.”

Chrystobel’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs, the strength from the man’s grip both terrifying and thrilling her. She struggled to pull away, bumping into Izlyn in the process. The youngest d’Einen sibling burst into tears.

Keller looked at the young girl, concerned. “Why is she weeping?” he asked.

Chrystobel craned her neck back to look at her sister, watching the girl put her hands over her face. It was difficult to get a good look at her because Keller had her in an iron grip and she was unable to twist around sufficiently. She tried to pull from his grasp but it was impossible. The man had hands of steel.

“Izlyn?” she asked softly. “Why are you weeping, sweetheart?”

The young girl didn’t answer her, bawling into her hands. Chrystobel turned back to Keller, her expression pleading.

“Please,” she begged softly. “Let me comfort her. She is frightened.”

“Of what?”

Chrystobel’s lovely brow rippled. “Of… of you, my lord. She is easily frightened.”

Keller gazed at her intently a moment longer before releasing her from his grasp. Chrystobel turned to her sister and put her arms around her, kissing her head.

“All is well, sweetheart,” she said softly. “You need not be afraid.”

The girl continued to cry and Chrystobel put her hands on the pretty young face, forcing Izlyn to look at her. She smiled encouragingly to the girl. “Look at me,” she commanded gently. “See that I am unharmed? Sir Keller has not harmed me. All is well, I promise. Stop weeping.”

Keller watched the exchange carefully. His detailed ear digested every sigh, every whisper, every expression and sound. He had spent his life reading people and attempting to deduce their thoughts. In his profession, it was mandatory if he wanted to live a long and healthy life. He was coming to see that there was something beneath the surface of this family that he was not being told. He could see it in their faces and in their actions. Although he was coming to suspect what it was, still, he wanted to hear the truth from their lips.

“What did I do to frighten her?” he asked quietly.

Chrystobel turned to look at him. “It is difficult to know,” she said. “Izlyn is very delicate. She weeps often.”

“Why?”

Chrystobel shrugged, looking back to her little sister. “It is the only way she can communicate. She cannot speak, so she weeps.”

Keller watched as Chrystobel dried the last of her sister’s tears. He could see in those small actions that she was a very compassionate and caring individual. He could feel his interest in her deepening, unable to resist.

“Was she born mute?” he asked.

Chrystobel shook her head. “Nay,” she looked at him. “As a baby, I remember her speaking a few words. Then, when she was about two years old, she simply stopped speaking. She has not uttered a word since.”

Keller didn’t know why he was beginning to feel some strange emotional pull towards these women. He shouldn’t have and he knew it. Perhaps it was because he would soon be related to them both or perhaps it was because they looked so pale and helpless at the moment. Perhaps it was because they now belonged to him, as did everything else at Nether. He watched them both with his intense dark eyes.

“Why did your brother put her in the vault?” he asked.

Chrystobel’s head snapped to him as if startled by the question. She looked back to Izlyn, almost fearfully, struggling over an answer. She wasn’t a particularly good liar and the truth, before she could stop it, came out in pieces.

“Because… because she will not speak to him,” she almost choked over the words, horrified that they came out but unable to stop them. “It frustrates him and he punishes her for her disobedience.”

Keller couldn’t help it. His brows drew together and he looked at the pair as if they had gone mad.

“Because she does not
speak
to him?” he repeated, his tone bordering on incredulous. “Is this the truth?”

Chrystobel’s gaze was on her sister. She could hear the outrage in Keller’s tone, afraid it was directed at her. “Aye, my lord,” she said, more hesitantly. “He feels that she is being stubborn and if he punishes her enough, then perhaps it will compel her to speak. He has told her that if she tells him that she does not wish to be put in the vault, he will not do it.”

Keller stood up, his sheer size and massive presence causing Izlyn to collapse into her sister’s embrace as the two sisters gazed up at him fearfully. His expression was calm although the dark eyes were glittering with something emotional, something deep. He began to pop his knuckles through his heavy leather gloves as if the process would help him think more clearly. It was obvious that he was pondering the situation. He looked from one fearful face to the other and back again.

“That will not happen again,” he finally said. “It is apparent to me that Gryffyn d’Einen has wrought much distress upon this place and I do not appreciate nor respect men who wreak havoc simply for havoc’s sake. Lady Chrystobel, I will ask you a question and you will be truthful. Did your brother put those bruises on your neck and was it he who split your lip?”

Chrystobel’s eyes were wide with fright. She opened her mouth as if to reply, looking at her sister as she did so, and then suddenly shut her mouth. She didn’t know Keller well enough to trust him with the truth. She was fearful of what would happen to her or to Izlyn should Gryffyn find out that she told of his foul deeds. At the moment, fear of her brother outweighed the fear of her new husband. Unable to look at Keller, she looked to her lap.

“I…,” she began softly. “I am not sure….”

“The truth, lady.”

He had interrupted her stammering and she grew flustered. “I… I do not remember,” she whispered painfully, still looking at her lap. “I was walking across the bailey and… and perhaps I tripped. I do not remember.”

Keller stared at her. He didn’t like being lied to and since he wasn’t any good when it came to communicating with women, it produced a bad combination in a situation like this. He couldn’t decide whether he was furious or disappointed that she would not tell him the truth, which turned his demeanor to stone. His coldness was apparent. Reaching down, he took her hand in his massive gloved one and pulled her up from the bed.

“Come along, then,” he muttered. “There is a priest in the hall waiting to perform the wedding sacrament.”

He had her on her feet and Chrystobel visibly blanched. “But…,” she stammered. “I am not appropriately dressed to receive the sacrament, my lord. At least allow me to change from these dirty clothes.”

Keller’s gaze moved over her body, noting the shapely figure beneath the surcoat. “God does not care how clean you are, my lady.”

Horrified that he was not going to allow her to change into a clean frock and at least brush her hair, she grabbed Izlyn in a gesture of panic and perhaps comfort. Keller dragged both women from the chamber.

He realized, as he hit the bailey outside, that he was angry. Angry that the woman he was to marry would not give him the truth to a direct question. If she would not tell him the truth about a matter such as this, he couldn’t imagine what else she would hide or lie to him about.

Perhaps he should not have believed her when she said she was chasing a wounded rabbit down the slopes of Nether. Perhaps she really had been running away. If she wanted a marriage in name only, then he would be happy to oblige her. It would save him from becoming emotionally invested in yet another woman who would break his carefully-protected heart.



CHAPTER FIVE

Of everything Chrystobel had ever imagined her wedding to be, the actual experience was something quite different.

In the smoky, smelly hall of Nether, standing before a priest who smelled of urine and ale, she became Lady de Poyer. Izlyn clung to her during the mass and her father stood a few feet away with a rather sickened expression on his face. In fact, it made Chrystobel angry to see the expression on her father’s face since the man had knowingly entered into the contract that would use her as a pawn in his deadly game of tactics with William Marshal. She didn’t understand his visible show of remorse, late as it was, but it was of no matter. The wedding sacrament had been hastily, and sloppily, completed, and in short order Sir Keller became her husband.

Still in her muddied and bloodied dress, she’d turned a chaste cheek to Keller at the conclusion of the final blessing and he had deposited a swift kiss upon it to seal their marriage. It had been such a cold kiss, with no warmth about it, but Chrystobel hadn’t expected anything less. The man who had dragged her from her bower in her dirty clothes had not been warm in the least. He had been business-like and abrupt, and with those small gestures, he had set the tone for their marriage. Try as she might to maintain a pragmatic attitude, her heart sank at the thought. She had hoped there would be some fondness between them, however small.

She didn’t blame de Poyer, however. He had asked for the truth about her injuries and she had lied to him. Worse yet, he had known it. She could tell by the expression on his face. Nay, she didn’t expect anything from him but coldness and indifference. In truth, it was all she was worth. She felt sorry for the man, gaining a wife who wasn’t much of a prize. But he’d acquired a castle and property in the process, so she hoped that would make up for a worthless spouse.

As she stood there with Izlyn pressed against her and pondered her uncertain future, she watched Keller as the man dismissed the priest. Paying a few coins to the man, he then called his knights to him and they huddled in a private conference. There was something intriguing about the man she had just married, in spite of his coldness, and she watched his profile, strong and proud, as he spoke with his men. He was calm and relaxed for the most part but she could tell by his expression that the subject upon which he spoke was serious indeed. Wellesbourne and the Ashby-Kidd twins were serious, too, and Chrystobel wondered what had them looking so grim, which seemed rather odd in the wake of a wedding. When Keller’s knights quickly disbursed and went along their way, they all seemed to have the look of a hunter about them. The mode was professional and the eyes were steely. They were hunting for something, or someone, and a hunch told her that it might be Gryffyn.

Her brother hadn’t been present at the wedding and Chrystobel was grateful for small mercies because had he come, surely it wouldn’t have been the sedate ceremony she had experienced. It would have been one of apprehension and anger. Still, he was somewhere on the grounds, plotting his next move no doubt, and Chrystobel was certain that her new husband wished to know the man’s whereabouts.