“It is bad!” Chrystobel answered for him. “He seems to think that he only needs a stitch or two, but it was a deep gash. He should rest today at least so the bleeding will stop.”
William was rather amused that Chrystobel seemed to be doing all of the talking, forcing Keller to stand there and wriggle his eyebrows in submission. In fact, it was a rather stunning situation because William knew Keller de Poyer to be anything but submissive. Yet with this woman, now his wife, that was exactly what he seemed to be. It was odd behavior coming from the usually humorless and rigid man. But, then again, the past two days had seen some remarkable behavior from him. Perhaps it was as William had mused. Perhaps, somehow, the man was learning to be human and the walls of protection were crumbling.
“Lady de Poyer will see to my wound,” Keller told William, “but I want you to take charge of the capture of Gryffyn. The man is deadly and needs to be dealt with. Put him in the gatehouse and await further instructions from me.”
William acknowledged the order but continued to aid Chrystobel in assisting Keller into the keep. The man took the narrow stairs slowly to the second level where several of his soldiers were still gathered to protect the door of Chrystobel’s chamber. It seemed rather useless to have them all there now, so Keller ordered them away, all but two, and the men disbanded. William followed them with the promise that he would send word to Keller once Gryffyn was secured.
Satisfied, but increasingly weak, Keller followed Chrystobel into her comfortable chamber where Izlyn was now sitting next to the fire, playing with some sticks on the ground in front of her. When she looked up and saw her sister and the English knight, she ran to the other end of the room and cowered against the wall.
“Izzie,” Chrystobel tried to soothe her sister as she helped Keller to sit on the bed. “Sir Keller is injured and I will need your help. Will you do this for me, please?”
Izlyn remained on the other side of the room but managed to nod. Chrystobel smiled at her sister. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “Now, I am going to need some very hot water and clean linen. I will also need for you to bring me my sewing kit.”
It took Izlyn a moment to come away from the wall and, hesitantly, move to the big wardrobe. She pulled open the doors, revealing the neatly-stacked items inside; shawls, shoes, belts, and other boxes containing possessions. As Izlyn retrieved the sewing kit, Chrystobel began removing Keller’s clothing, very carefully. His heavy green and yellow Pembroke tunic was first.
“Will one of your soldiers escort Izlyn to retrieve the hot water?” she asked, gingerly pulling the tunic over his head. “I need to cleanse the wound.”
Keller grunted as it pained him to lift his right arm. “I will send one of my men for it,” he said. “With all that his happening around the fortress, it would be safer if she remained here.”
Chrystobel nodded and, once the tunic was off, went to the chamber door and opened it. A soldier stuck his head inside in response to Keller’s summons and the man was soon off on a mission to retrieve hot water. When the man was gone, Chrystobel returned to her patient.
His tunic was in a pile on the bed beside him as she stood back, inspecting the mail coat for the best way to remove it. Keller surmised what she was doing.
“The best way to remove the mail is for me to bend at the waist as you pull it over my head,” he told her as he stood up, towering over her by head and shoulders. “I will bend over and you can pull.”
Chrystobel had never removed a knight’s mail before, so this was an entirely new project for her. In fact, she felt a little giddy and daring, undressing her new husband, even if it was only moderately so. Keller bent over and extended his arms, grunting because his back pained him, and instructed her to take hold of the shoulders first. She did and pulled, moving the mail over his big body incrementally. The mail was ungiving and wanted to bunch up like a log jam in places, so Chrystobel found herself working it in sections. Keller, in excruciating pain with the angle of his body, never uttered more than soft encouragement to her.
It was a new experience for them both. Keller could only see her lower body as she worked with the mail, which would have come off much easier with the help of someone who knew how to do it, but Keller was showing remarkable patience for a man who usually had none. When Izlyn brought over the sewing kit and set it upon the table next to the bed, the young girl actually attempted to help her sister with the task, and soon Keller had two rather weak females pulling at his mail in all the wrong places. They tugged and shifted, and all they managed to do was bunch it up round his head and shoulders so that the weight of it was nearly bending him in half. Chrystobel could see what they had done and she was mortified.
“It is stuck,” she gasped, tugging on the arms with all her might. “God’s Bones, I managed to twist you up in your own mail coat.”
Keller was in a bad way with the mail. “It might help if you try to move the arms off first,” he said patiently. “The rest should follow.”
At Chrystobel’s instruction, Izlyn took one arm and she took the other. There was a good deal of grunting and groaning going on as the two women struggled to pull the mail coat off, and somewhere in the midst of it, Keller found himself grinning at the activities. Izlyn was literally jumping up and down as she pulled, dramatically struggling with the heavy mail, and Keller had to bite off the giggles at her antics. It was really quite humorous to watch and it was the most animated that he’d seen the child since he had first met her.
He was watching Izlyn’s great struggles when Chrystobel’s portion of the mail suddenly slipped free and Keller went right along with it. He lost his balance and pitched forward, sending them both to the ground. His full body weight came down and Keller ended up on top of her, gazing into her painful expression.
“God’s Bloody Rood,” he grunted, bracing his hands on either side of her and pushing himself up. “Are you well? Did I hurt you?”
Chrystobel groaned softly as his weight lifted from her. “You did not hurt me,” she said, rubbing the back of her head where it had hit the floor. “I am well. Are you? I did not hurt you, did I?”
Keller rolled back on his haunches, grasping Chrystobel by both arms and pulling her to a sitting position. “I am well enough,” he said, glancing at Izlyn, who was standing a few feet away with a fearful expression on her face. “’Twas your sister and her amazing strength that did this. She is a fearsome wench.”
A smile bloomed on Chrystobel’s lips and she looked at her sister, who was looking rather confused by Keller’s statement. “Aye, that she is,” she agreed, rising to her feet and helping Keller as he struggled to his. “She is very fearsome, indeed.”