Chapter Five #2
Chrystobel shook her head. “We do indeed call it Nether Castle,” she said. “My grandfather called it by that name and so do we.”
Keller’s gaze was thoughtfully on his feet as they crossed the middle of the muddy bailey.
“Nether means far away or well behind,” he said, glancing up to the tall, imposing walls that enclosed them.
“This place is indeed far removed from most civilization. I understand why the Normans who first came to Wales gave it that name.”
Chrystobel glanced up at him, seeing that the man was still looking thoughtfully at his feet.
She couldn’t tell if his cold mood was easing but she continued nonetheless.
“When you arrived, you passed over a drawbridge that covers our moat,” she said, then cocked her head thoughtfully.
“It is really more of a pit than a moat, and it bears the name the Gorge of the Dead because back when the castle was first built, bodies of enemies were tossed in it. They were left there to rot.”
Keller wriggled his eyebrows in an understanding gesture. “It makes perfect sense, then, to call it the Gorge of the Dead,” he said. “Go on.”
Chrystobel did. “You have already been in the keep, which has six big rooms to it,” she went on, pointing at the big, square structure looming in front of them. “There are three floors to it and two rooms to each floor. We also have three big towers, as I am sure you have noticed.”
Keller came to a halt and Chrystobel along with him.
He paused to look at the three enormous towers that were built into the southeast, southwest, and northwest corners of the curtain wall.
The towers were nearly as large as the keep itself, “D” shaped in structure, and built from the same dark-veined, gray stone that comprised the rest of the castle.
“These towers could be seen from miles away,” he said. “When we were approaching from the valley to the south, they were the first things we saw.”
Chrystobel nodded as she pointed to the southeast tower.
“That is Tower Twilight,” she said. “It is houses the married soldiers and servants. The tower next to it, the southwest tower, is called Tower Night and it houses the armor and weapons. The northeast tower is Tower Day, and it houses our unmarried men or any visitors we may have. Your men will be housed there.”
Keller turned to look at her. “I have five hundred men with me and as big as that tower is, it will not be able to house all of them,” he said. “My knights will be rearranging the accommodations to suit us. I would assume your people have been told to cooperate.”
Chrystobel wasn’t so sure she liked that statement.
It sounded as if the Welsh occupants were beneath the English who were here to take control.
But the truth was that they were beneath the English.
Nether belonged to them now, and everyone within her, including Chrystobel.
She nodded in response to his statement.
“Aye, my lord,” she said. “They will be compliant.”
Keller’s eyes glittered at her in the weak moonlight. “Including you?”
“It is my duty to be compliant.”
“You were not earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I asked you who had left you bloodied. You lied to me.”
Chrystobel abruptly lowered her gaze, her manner suddenly nervous.
She had been quite calm until Keller brought up the incident in her bower.
Now, she didn’t know what to say. She had sincerely hoped that subject wouldn’t come up but Keller had cleverly introduced it into their conversation.
Off-guard, his sly action both irritated and embarrassed her. She didn’t like being embarrassed.
“It is not polite to accuse a lady of lying,” she told him with more boldness than she had exhibited since their introduction. “A man of courtesy and tact would not question a lady’s answer in any fashion.”
Even as she said it, she cringed. It was an instinctive reaction, waiting for a hand to come flying out at her.
That was what usually happened when she showed any amount of insolence, at least when Gryffyn was around.
The flinching reaction was drilled into her brain, the result of too many slaps from a man who was full of them.
But Keller didn’t react as Gryffyn often did. In fact, he did exactly the opposite. He stared at her a moment as if surprised by her response before actually cracking a smile.
“I have never been a tactful man but I have been known to be a courteous one,” he said as he popped his knuckles in a fidgeting gesture. “I should not have called you a liar.”
“How would you have reacted had someone called you a liar?”
“Not very well, to be sure. You were far more gracious in the face of slander than I would have been.”
Chrystobel eyed him, curious at his change in manner, especially the knuckle-popping.
Suddenly, he didn’t look like the cold, imposing English knight.
Now, there was a measure of humanity to him, a real man with human ticks.
His guard, somehow, had gone down with the course of the conversation and it was an unexpected twist. Her gaze lingered on him.
“In fairness,” she said, “I supposed it was a natural question, but it was still rude of you to dispute my reply.”
Keller conceded the fact. “Indeed it was,” he said. “You told me that your injuries occurred when you fell and I should have accepted that.”
“It would have been the polite thing to do.”
A smile played on his lips. “You are correct. I apologize for calling you a liar.”
The man has a handsome smile, she thought.
He had big white teeth and massive dimples in each cheek, carving big ruts through his face.
More than that, she noticed that rather than rise to a verbal confrontation, he seemed to back down, to ease up his cold and stiff manner.
It was a startling realization, as if the man didn’t want to upset her with a combative conversation.
In what world was it possible that the man would be respectful enough not to argue with her? She wondered.
“I accept your apology,” she said, noting that his dusky eyes were still glimmering at her. It was a warm glimmer. “But in the future, should I give you an answer, I would like to have the courtesy of not being called a liar.”
“As you wish,” he said. “But may I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“Will you tell me what really happened?”
Chrystobel gazed at him steadily. In truth, she was debating what to tell him.
He had just apologized for calling her a liar even though she was.
Still, there were secrets at Nether, dark and terrible secrets that she was embarrassed to admit to a man she’d only known a few hours.
Even if the man was her husband. After a few moments of looking into his dusky eyes, all-knowing eyes that most certainly saw through her feeble attempt at avoiding the truth, she averted her gaze.
She simply wasn’t brave enough to look him in the eye whilst she lied to him again.
He was asking for the truth and she hadn’t the courage to tell him.
“It was of no consequence,” she murmured.
“I am well enough and that is all you should be concerned with. Now, what more would you like to know about Nether that I can tell you? Would you like to know about our herds of sheep? We have several large herds. They graze to the north of the castle, upon the slopes of the Cemmae mountains. The herds are our primary source of income and are so well regarded that our soldiers stand guard over the flocks in the fields.”
Keller was well aware that she was shifting the subject.
It was very clear that she didn’t wish to discuss her injuries.
Twice he had asked her and twice she had avoided giving him an answer.
That same sense of self-protection that kept him bottled up and cold threatened to overshadow the conversation at her refusal to answer his question but he fought it.
Perhaps she had her reasons for not divulging the truth even though Keller suspected what the truth was.
That loud, obnoxious, rude brother had everything to do with it, he was certain.
But for some reason she was protecting him.
But in hindsight, he understood why. The English were the enemy in her eyes, even an English husband.
She had been taught not to trust them and he could see that it was going to be difficult to convince her otherwise.
She had to learn that he was far more trustworthy than her boorish brother, but something like that would take time and he was impatient.
With a sigh, one that conveyed his displeasure in her evasive answer, he nonetheless followed her lead.
She wished to discuss sheep. He would allow her the privilege of turning the conversation.
“Come tomorrow, I will post my own men on the herds,” he told her. “If they are truly that valuable, then I do not need your father’s men absconding with them simply to keep them out of my reach. I will place my assets under my control.”
Chrystobel wasn’t surprised at the answer but she struggled not to become offended by it. “My father’s men are trustworthy, I assure you,” she said. “They would not steal the sheep.”
He looked at her, that hard edge returning to his eyes. “Your father’s men are loyal to him and, consequently, to Wales,” he said. “I mean no offense when I say I would rather have Nether’s assets, all of them, under my control. It is the prudent thing to do.”