“You do?” he asked, interested. “She is very angry with me. But I suppose you know that.”
Izlyn nodded solemnly. Keller wriggled his eyebrows in defeat. As he shrugged his big shoulders dejectedly and began to move down the steps, Izlyn rushed forward and stuck her hands out. He caught the movement from the corner of his eye, pausing to look up at the pale young woman. As he watched, she rushed over to him and grasped his sleeve, tugging. Keller ended up ascending those few stairs he had just taken and following Izlyn as she pulled him into the chamber she shared with her sister.
Keller was quite curious at her actions. She led him over to one of the chairs near the hearth and pointed to it, indicating for him to sit. He did, uncomfortably, in his heavy armor, watching Izlyn as she went over to a small table that was on the opposite side of the bed. The girl had scraps of what looked like parchment or vellum. She picked up a quill and, dipping it in ink, began scratching onto the parchment. When she was finished, she blew on it to dry the ink and rushed over to him, thrusting the parchment in his face.
Keller had to dodge his head or risk being hit by the parchment. He took it from her, holding it at arm’s length to read it because his eyes weren’t very good these days. It was often very difficult for him to read. The letter was written very careful, in Welsh:
Roedd hi’n drist pan nad oeddech yn dychwelyd
She was sad when you did not return.
Keller sighed heavily when he finished reading it. He felt like a monster. “I had every intention of returning, I assure you,” he told the young girl. “But… by God’s Bloody Rood, this is embarrassing, but that cider your sister provided put me to sleep. I fell asleep with my face pressed into the top of the feasting table. The next I realized, it was morning.”
He put his hand on his nose and smashed it down to demonstrate his sleeping position, watching Izlyn giggle. She was a pretty little thing when she smiled which, he suspected, was not that often. She snatched the parchment out of his hand and ran back to the table to collect her quill. She scratched a few more words out onto it before blowing furiously on it and racing back to him, thrusting it at him. Keller took the parchment and held it far away from his face to read it.
Mae’n rhaid i chi ddweud wrthi ei fod yn ei bai hi am ei bod yn rhoi i chi y ddiod
You must tell her it is her fault because she gave you the drink.
Keller smiled wryly after reading it. “Alas, I cannot,” he sighed. “I did not have to drink it and I should not have. I cannot blame her for my failings. I wish she would at least accept my apology. Mayhap I need an envoy to soothe the savage beastie.”
Izlyn took the parchment away from him but she didn’t run over to write. She just stood there and looked at him as if she didn’t know what else to say. Much like Keller, she was socially inept. The lack of voice made it so, and the isolation, and in that realization Keller felt a somewhat kindred spirit with Izlyn. He was a bumbling idiot at times, too, as evidenced by the current situation with Chrystobel. He smiled at her and she smiled back. At least one d’Einen sister is smiling at me, he thought ironically. Noting the parchment still in her hand gave him an idea.
“Would… would you do something for me, my lady?” he asked. “I would be most grateful.”
Izlyn nodded eagerly and ran for the chamber door, but he called her back. “Nay, not that,” he said, rising out of the chair as he waved her over. “I was jesting when I said I needed an envoy. I do not want you to go to her on my behalf. Is that what you were going to do?”
Izlyn nodded, looking rather confused because she thought he wanted her to fetch her sister. But Keller put his hand on her slender shoulder.
“You are good at writing,” he said. When she nodded firmly, he continued. “I must go to town now and will not have the time to make amends to your sister today, so I was wondering if you would help me.”
Izlyn nodded eagerly and Keller patted her shoulder, directing her back over to the table with the pieces of parchment and pewter inkwell that was modeled to look like a flower. As Izlyn collected her quill and rifled through her pieces of parchment in order to find one that didn’t have any writing on it, Keller thought about what he wanted to say. It was rather sly, really, using the sister to beg forgiveness from his wife, but at that point, he was willing to do what was necessary to gain her good favor again. He also thought that he might see what stock the merchants in the town had once he’d finished with the priests. He’d been known to lavish gifts on those that warranted it, and even to those who didn’t. The widow he’d been betrothed to had accepted many lavish gifts from him. Keller hoped that giving gifts to Chrystobel wouldn’t be the same lesson in pointlessness.
As Keller dictated and Izlyn carefully scratched the words, in English this time, upon a piece of yellowed parchment, he sincerely hoped she would read the missive and not burn it in anger. He thought that perhaps she wouldn’t destroy it because it might hurt Izlyn’s feelings, the creator as well as bearer of the message. In fact, he was counting on it.
Fifteen minutes later and satisfied with the heart-felt missive, he left Izlyn to deliver it while he took William, Rhys, and Aimery with him into the town of Machynlleth, leaving Gart and George behind to see to the castle and her security. He hoped that, when he returned from town, Chrystobel might be more receptive to his presence.
And he would swear a thousand times over that he would never touch that devil cider again as long as he lived.
*
“The bloody castle is crawling with English!” Colvyn hissed. “You did not tell me there were so many!”
On a rocky, wind-swept crag overlooking Nether Castle in the distance, Gryffyn and Colvyn could see hordes of English soldiers both in and out of the castle. In fact, they were spilling out over the Gorge of the Dead and onto the roadway beyond. Some were setting off in groups, no doubt patrols, while others were lingering around the gatehouse. Gryffyn blinked in both surprise and concern at so many English.
“More must have come,” he muttered. “There were not so many when I left yesterday.”
Colvyn eyed the English milling in and around Nether Castle. Now, what Gryffyn had told him was starting to make sense. There were far more English than he had imagined. They have a foothold in Wales! Perhaps Gryffyn had been correct. He thought the man was merely being dramatic but by the looks of things, that wasn’t the case at all. There was a hive of English in the heart of Wales and it was most definitely a cause for alarm.