Kathryn Le Veque (23 page)

He cut her off, his manner growing agitated. “I do not want a finer woman,” he snapped. “I was once betrothed to a very fine woman, a widow of a great and powerful knight, but she was cold and terrible, no matter what I did. I tried to woo her. God knows, I tried. And those two children she had, too. I managed to woo them quite nicely and the girl and I were good friends. But the woman… the harder I tried, the more she pushed me away. It was an exercise in utter futility. And then, do you know what happened? Her husband was not dead after all. He returned, took her and the children away, and left me with empty hands and broken dreams. And that was the end of it.”

He was speaking rather animatedly, chattering even, but Chrystobel didn’t miss the gist of his words. It began to occur to her now why the man had walled himself up, why he seemed so guarded. At least, he had seemed guarded until now. He’d had his heart broken. She began to feel very sorry for the man.

“That is a terrible story,” she said softly, looking upon him with pity. “I cannot imagine how it must have hurt to have someone you love taken away from you.”

He looked at her as if startled by the statement. “I did not love her,” he clarified. “She was lovely and high born, and she had moments of kindness, but I did not love her. The unfortunate part is that I allowed myself to get close to the children. When they left… well, that
did
pain me, just a little.”

Chrystobel felt a great deal of sympathy for him. Timidly, her hands found their way onto his big arm as it embraced her. She patted him gently.

“I am sorry for you,” she said gently. “I promise that I will never leave you. I have no husband to come back from the dead, and there are no children to take away.”

He looked at her a moment and the emotions across his face seemed to ripple. There was sadness there, and anger, and resignation. There was an entire gambit of emotion and he suddenly stood up, nearly dumping her onto the floor. Off balance by his swift movement, Chrystobel toppled into the nearest chair.

“Nay, you will not leave me, but there are all manner of terrible things that have happened here at Nether,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “Your brother beat you silly and you would not tell me who did such terrible things to you. When I asked you, you lied to me repeatedly. And this same bastard brother has abused your sister so much that the child will probably never speak because that whoreskin scared the speech right out of her. And your father – by God’s Bloody Rood, do you know what he told me? He allowed your brother to abuse you all because he promised his wife he would never discipline him. Is this really true? Because if that is the case and your mother granted your brother privilege to do whatever he pleased, then I fear your mother was a fool of a woman and she took your father right down with her. How do you think I felt seeing the bruises on your face, knowing it was your brother’s doing but being helpless to protect you because you would not trust me? It was as horrible as that shrew of a woman I was betrothed to who scorned me as if I was the lowest form of life. She treated the servants better than she treated me. And now I come here, find a wife I could never have imagined, and it scares me to death to realize that I feel something for you. I feel….”

He suddenly stopped himself, looking at the expression on Chrystobel’s face. The look of shock, hope, and of deep sadness stopped him bluntly and Keller began to realize that he had let his emotions run rampant, spouting out of his mouth without a dam to stop them. He was too damn drunk to realize he was saying things he shouldn’t. He gazed back at her with more horror and regret than he had ever felt in his life.

“Oh… Chrystobel,” he breathed. “I did not mean what I said… please forgive me… I did not mean any of it. I do not know why I said anything at all except… except… except that I cared for a woman and children once, much like you and your sister, and it ended badly. If this ended badly, I am not entirely sure I would recover.”

Chrystobel was looking at him with the unguarded depths of sympathy. It came pouring out of her; her eyes, her expression… everything. Reaching out, she grasped his big hand.

“It will not end,” she promised softly. “I understand you have been hurt, but I promise I will do all in my power not to hurt you, ever. I… I am sorry I lied to you about Gryffyn, truly, but I did not know you. You were an outsider and what he did… it was so shameful. It was such a terrible thing to admit, even to you.”

Keller could feel her hand on his, her warm fingers caressing him, and he wanted so badly to give in to the comfort. Was it possible that she was able to give him comfort, to show him affection? He’d never known such a thing in his entire life. Was it really possible that this glorious creature could find it within her heart to tolerate him? Or, perhaps someday…
more
than tolerate? It was a terrifying, hopeful thought.

Looking into her beautiful face, he suddenly felt very embarrassed and very self-conscious about his outburst. He felt like a fool. Pulling away from her grasp, he headed for the door.

“I must go,” he muttered. “I must see to my guests.”

Chrystobel ran after him, grabbing him by the arm to stop him from leaving. “Wait,” she said. “Please do not leave.”

He tried to pull away from her, but not too hard. Not hard enough to really make a difference. “I must,” he said, refusing to look her in the eye. “I have not seen Rhys or Gart in over a year and there is much… we have much….”

“You will see them in the morning,” Chrystobel said firmly, cutting him off and putting herself between Keller and the door. “I did not see my husband last night and… you said yourself that we have not spent… well, spent time together. You slept through the night with your injury and your weariness. Will you be away from me this night, too?”

Keller was still having difficulty looking at her but, eventually, he had little choice other than looking her in the eye. When their gazes locked, Chrystobel smiled timidly and he could feel himself relent. But he was still horribly embarrassed for his outburst and he was having a difficult time overcoming that.

“Nay,” he murmured. “I will not be away this night, too.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear.”

Chrystobel smiled. “Then go and see your friends if you must, but you will return to me,” she said. “In fact, I will prepare my father’s chamber for us. We can sleep in there tonight.”

He eyed her. “Mayhap there is another chamber we can sleep in,” he tried to suggest kindly. “Mayhap it will be too difficult for you to sleep in your father’s chamber so soon after his passing.”

Chrystobel’s smile faded and she glanced over her shoulder at Izlyn to see if the girl was listening. Fortunately, Izlyn seemed to be dozing off. Chrystobel lowered her voice.

“I have had much to think about since my father’s death,” she said softly. “Although it is true that he is my father and for that reason alone I will mourn him, the truth is that he was never much of a father to me or to Izlyn. He let Gryffyn beat us, hurt us, and he never did much to stop it. I often begged him to but he would never take action. Eventually, I stopped begging. It was of no use. Is… is it wicked of me to feel more resentment towards him than grief? I cannot seem to help it.”

Keller’s expression reflected her own. “If it is wicked, then we are sinning together,” he said with some regret. “I have harbored a great deal of disgust towards your father and his reasoning for why he did not prevent your brother from wreaking havoc. How does your sister feel about all of this? Have you been able to tell?”

Chrystobel glanced over her shoulder at her sister, back in the shadows of the room. “I believe she feels much the same way I do,” she said softly. “Whenever Gryffyn would throw her in the vault, or strike her, more often than not she would come to me for comfort. My father... he would release her from the vault only to stand by and do nothing when Gryffyn would put her back in again. Much like me, she learned not to depend on him. I am sure she feels grief, but I do not know to what extent.”

Keller pondered that. Both women with an ineffective father, struggling to come to terms with his death. He was their father, a fixture in their lives... but he was also a failure. It was difficult to know how to feel. After a moment, he let out a quiet breath.

“I suppose to your father, his reasons were sound for what he did,” he said. “Mayhap he ultimately feared your brother because your brother beat him as well. But I suppose we will never truly know why he let Gryffyn spread his terror as he did.”

Chrystobel shrugged vaguely, in agreement, trying not to linger over the anger she felt towards Trevyn now that he was gone. She was very torn between natural grief and bitterness. Taking a deep breath, perhaps to help her move past the memories, she looked up at Keller.

“Mayhap you are correct,” she agreed. “In any case, I will go and prepare his chamber for us now. I will expect you once you have seen to your guests.”

Keller nodded and moved past her without so much as a kiss or a hint of affection. She was his wife, after all, and he should have at least shown some consideration, but he found that he was too embarrassed. The woman had been the recipient of his unguarded thoughts and the more he thought about it as he headed out of the keep, the more ashamed he became. Unused to such feelings, he had no idea how to handle them.

When he reached the hall, most of the men had either passed out around the room or left entirely to go sleep off the effects of the powerful cider. George and Aimery were gone, but William, Rhys, and Gart were still sitting where Keller had left them. When they saw the man enter the hall, they waved him over to join them.

Keller, trying to shake off his shame from his outburst with Chrystobel, gladly allowed himself to be swept away with memories from The Levant. He also allowed William to pour him more cider. The combination of embarrassment, old memories, and the cider was too much for him to overcome.

The next thing he realized, he was lifting his head off the feasting table when someone opened the door to the great hall and let the weak morning light filter in. There was drool all over his right cheek and a big puddle on the table beneath him. The moment he tried to move, the pounding anvil in his head started.

It was not going to be a pleasant day.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN

She was stupid. Truly, deeply, and terribly stupid. As Chrystobel moved about in what used to be her father’s chamber, she was feeling like the biggest fool in the world.

Keller had sworn to return to her last night but he hadn’t. The sun was rising and she hadn’t seen him since he’d left her chamber the night before. As Chrystobel pulled items out of her father’s wardrobe in preparation for storing them in a trunk, she was feeling so terribly embarrassed about everything she’d said the night before. She should have been smarter about it. She should have known that Keller was full of ale and cider, and that all of those things he had said were foolish words to gain her sympathy. He’d even apologized for them, and she had forgiven him. But the truth was in the actions – after telling her of a failed love, after swearing he would return to her later, he had failed to come back at all.

She didn’t know where the man was and she didn’t care. She’d felt sorry for him as he’d told her of his lost love, but gaining her sympathy had probably been part of his ploy. He’d made her think that he was a poor, lonely soul, but the truth was that he was a liar. He wasn’t a man of his word, as he’d broken his promise to return to her, so she could only assume everything else he’d told her had been a lie.

Damn him!
She tossed one of her father’s tunics into a pile on the ground. Keller had made her believe that he was sympathetic to both her and Izlyn. Finally, a man who would show them both the kindness they’d so lacked in their young lives. But he hadn’t meant any of what he’d said. He’d been drunk and running off at the mouth. Hurt, angry, she continued to clean out her father’s chamber.

Her back was to the door when she heard boot falls and a soft knock on the panel. Turning around, she caught sight of Keller standing in the doorway in full armor. She looked at him, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, and couldn’t help but notice that he looked pale and bleary-eyed. But the moment their eyes met, she thought of him last night as he looked her in the eye and swore he would return to her, and she quickly returned to her project.

“Good morn to you, husband,” she said, her voice clipped.

Keller heard her tone. It was cold and angry, just as he knew it would be. He’d put off coming to see her for a solid hour because he was so afraid that she might be angry with him and he’d been correct. She was furious. From her stiff back to her curt words, she was bloody well furious.

“Good morn to you, Lady de Poyer,” he said timidly. “My lady… Chrystobel… I am truly sorry I did not return last night. I am sure you are….”

She cut him off, throwing more of her father’s items into a pile on the floor. “It does not matter in the least,” she said, pulling at a pair of ripped breeches. “I slept in my chamber with my sister and we were quite comfortable. In fact, I am cleaning out this chamber for you so that you may have it. It ‘tis a big chamber, and comfortable, and it should be very pleasant for you. I plan to have the servants pull the bed apart and re-stuff the mattress.”