Chapter Nineteen #2
Keller didn’t particularly want to talk about his knights with Chrystobel in his arms. He could think of much better things to talk about but he dutifully answered her.
“When we returned from the ambush at the church those weeks ago, you will recall that I sent out several missives, one of which was to William Marshal,” he said.
“I informed him of my first few days at Nether and told him that, for the time being, it is wise to keep Rhys and Gart here with me. The two attacks against me could be local rebels or it could be something bigger. We simply do not know, so I would rather err on the side of caution and keep Rhys and Gart at Nether until we can determine if there will be more hostilities. The Marshal will inform de Lohr that I intend to keep his knights.”
“Is William Marshal de Lohr’s liege?”
“William Marshal is everyone’s liege.”
Chrystobel thought on the man who seemed to control every fighting man in England, the very man who had brokered her marriage. She realized that she owed him everything.
“When do you think William Marshal will send his reply to you?” she asked.
“It could be months.”
It seemed like a very long time to wait for an answer, but Chrystobel supposed the Marshal was a busy man and would get to it when he could. “What about those other missives you sent out to local warlords?” she asked. “Have any of them replied?”
Keller shrugged. “The missives I sent to my allies down around Pembroke have seen responses,” he said.
“My old friends will be coming to Nether at some point to help me establish relationships with some of the local Welsh chieftains. As for those local chieftains, however, I have not had any responses. It has only been a couple of weeks, however, so I am not concerned. They will respond, eventually.”
She smiled faintly. “Do you think it would help if I went to call on the warlords personally?” she asked. “I know a few of them. I may be able to help you.”
It wasn’t a bad idea but he didn’t want to play up his marriage to a Welsh wife just yet. He wanted to see how the local chieftains would react to him and him alone, as the new lord of Nether.
“I appreciate your offer,” he said as he pulled her close once again. “I will certainly let you know should I decide to accept it.”
He kissed her again. The taste and smell of her filled him and he wrapped his big arms more tightly around her, kissing her deeply as she turned weak and pliable in his arms. He loved it when she went limp.
It made him feel powerful and dominant. His kisses grew more forceful but they were interrupted when the entry door opened, slamming back on its hinges.
Keller released his wife as Rhys entered the small hall.
The man was dressed in full armor, which was now required by anyone manning the gatehouse.
But it wasn’t the fact that he was in full armor, it was the expression on his face.
Before Keller could open his mouth, Rhys held out a big gloved hand.
Within it was clutched a large piece of sealed parchment.
“A missive for you, Keller,” he said, his expression grim. “The messenger who delivered it said that Hen Domen Castle is under siege. They are requesting assistance.”
The mood of the room darkened. Keller’s brow furrowed as he reached out and accepted the missive.
“The messenger told you this?” he clarified. “Where is he?”
Rhys shook his head. “The man handed it to our sentries and swiftly departed,” he said. “He said he had to return immediately. What messenger would do that? He should have waited for a response from you at the very least.”
Keller was growing increasingly puzzled as he noticed the seal on the message.
The dark green wax bore the stamp of Shropshire – a shield crest with a diagonal line through it and the words “Deum super omnia.” God above all.
Keller gazed at the seal a moment before breaking it and unrolling the parchment.
As Rhys and Chrystobel stood by in tense silence, Keller read the carefully written missive. It looked as if an educated man had written it. The seconds ticked away as he digested every word. By the time he got to the end of the parchment, he began to speak.
“De Boulers has been attacked by a local Welsh warlord,” he said. “He asks for help. Hen Domen, if I recall correctly, is near the town of Trefaldwyn on the marches. I must see my map to be sure.”
Since Keller had been conducting most of his business in the small hall, the maps, parchment, and writing instruments he had brought with him were stored on a rather large writing table that had been brought into the room for just that purpose.
He set the missive on the small feasting table and went over to his collection of maps and other items, rifling through them until he came to the map he had been looking for.
As he turned back for the feasting table, he glanced at Rhys.
“You had better find the other knights and send them to me,” he said. “And wake William. He will need to hear this, too.”
Rhys nodded and was gone, quitting the keep as Chrystobel stood there in fearful silence. Her gaze was fixed on her husband.
“What does this mean?” she asked, trying not to sound frightened. “Are you leaving to go to battle?”
He had his map half-unrolled but went to Chrystobel and put an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. “It is not as bad as all that, I am sure,” he reassured her. “By the time we get there, the fighting will more than likely be over.”
He kissed her again and dropped his arm from her shoulders, taking his map over to the feasting table and unrolling it, anchoring the ends with fat tapers.
As he hunched over it, studying the map that depicted all of Wales and the entire stretch of the marches, Chrystobel came up behind him.
She studied his broad back, his powerful form, as he scrutinized the map.
He was thinking of the marches and she was thinking of him.
God’s Bones, how she would crumble if something were to happen to him.
She was so very frightened for him. Reaching out, she touched his back, her hand moving across his broad body until it came to rest on his hip.
Laying her cheek against his upper arm, she held her husband to her, feeling his warmth and life, trying not to let her fear get the better of her.
Instead, she focused on the map to take her mind off her disquiet.
“That is a lovely map,” she said quietly.
Keller’s eyes were on the mid-marches. “It belonged to my grandfather,” he said. “When I was assigned to Pembroke Castle, my father gave it to me. It has been invaluable.”
Chrystobel noted the lovely designs and clean lines. She also noted the de Poyer family crest – a big red shield with three birds of prey in yellow. She’d never seen it before.
“My father has maps,” she said. “They were in his chamber and I packed them away.”
Keller nodded. “I found them,” he said. “I went through his possessions before they were stored and took the maps. They are mingled with mine now. His maps of the interior of Wales are more detailed than mine.”
Chrystobel’s gaze moved to the pile of maps and papers over on the writing desk against the wall.
She could see her father’s smaller maps neatly stacked on the table with Keller’s bigger ones.
Not wanting to further distract her husband with chatter, which was really just nervous chatter on her part, she remained silent, leaning against him as he continued to study the map.
Too many sorrowful things were going through her head. She knew Keller was a knight and had fought many great battles. Perhaps, foolishly, she had hoped that would end when they married and they could live in peace for the rest of their lives. Aye, it had been a foolish thought, she knew.
Sighing sadly, she moved away from Keller, wandering over to the end of the small feasting table where the missive from Shropshire lay partially opened.
She wasn’t trying to be nosy, nor was she particularly curious about the missive, but she happened to look at it as she moved towards the end of the table.
As her gaze moved over the letters, she noticed something suspicious about them.
She’d seen letters like that before, many times, and she reached out, snatching the parchment and unrolling it completely.
As she read the scribed characters, her eyes widened with both shock and dismay. Dear God… it couldn’t be!
“Keller!” she gasped. “This… this missive!”
Keller looked up sharply from his map at the sound of her voice. “What is it?”
Chrystobel’s mouth popped open. She couldn’t help it. Horror flushed her veins as she held the missive out to Keller.
“This is my brother’s writing!” she hissed. “Gryffyn wrote this!”
Keller snatched the missive from her, peering at it. He could feel the woman’s terror and it bled over onto him. But, more than terror, his most predominant emotion at that moment was rage. Pure, unbridled rage.
“Are you certain?” he demanded, aghast.
Tears popped to Chrystobel’s eyes and she nodded furiously, so much so that her careful braid began to unravel. “Aye,” she said, her voice tight. “I would know his writing anywhere. I have seen it enough to know that Gryffyn wrote this missive!”
Keller stared at her, seeing her complete sincerity. But he still had his doubts, futile doubts clawing at him in the face of something quite shocking. Could it really be true?
“It is still possible for more than one man to have similar writing,” he said, having difficulty disputing her. “An educated man wrote this. I can tell from the words.”
Chrystobel wiped at her eyes. “Gryffyn is educated,” she insisted. “My father made sure all of his children could read and write. God’s Blood, my sister can write in three languages and so can Gryffyn. Believe me when I tell you this is his writing. He is trying to mislead you!”