Gart fought off a grin. “That time will come, my fine lad,” he said. “I suspect those rebels might report your presence to a bigger militia, and that means we might see trouble here at Nether.”
Keller sighed at that thought. He had hoped to avoid trouble in his new home. His saddlebag was in his hand and his eyes moved over the great hall of Nether, with smoke rising from the chimney. He wanted to get inside and out of the rain.
“That was bound to happen sooner or later,” he finally said. “It has always been my intention to call a meeting with local chieftains to announce my marriage to Chrystobel, among other things, but it seems now that I must do it right away. I was able to hold the peace, more or less, at Pembroke Castle for seven years, so I am hoping Nether will know the same measure of peace.”
Gart nodded his big, wet head. “With you in command, I have confidence that peace will hold,” he said. “It was always a mystery to me why a man with your social ineptness could negotiate with the enemy where the rest of us would fail.”
Keller shrugged humbly. “I understand them, I suppose.”
Gart thought on that for a moment, in brief. “I would believe that, for I have seen the proof,” he said. Then he pointed to the keep. “Go inside and get out of this rain. I believe your wife has a feast planned in honor of your return.”
Keller looked at him, surprised. “She does?” he asked, hope in his voice. “Is she inside?”
Gart nodded. “I believe so,” he said, whistling to nearby soldiers to help take the horses to the stables. “She and her sister are somewhere inside. And do you know the sister followed me around today like a shadow? I couldn’t shake the girl.”
Keller grinned. “Izlyn followed you about?”
Gart seemed genuinely outraged. “She did,” he declared. “I actually had to stay in the gatehouse all afternoon because she would not leave me alone.”
Keller chuckled, not at all feeling sorry for Forbes. If there was such a man who struck terror into the heart of all men, it was Gart Forbes. The men-at-arms had a nickname for him, in fact. Sach, they called him. It meant “madness” in Celtic, and when Gart was on the field of battle, he literally became mad with bloodlust, so to hear that he had been hiding from a twelve-year-old admirer brought Keller to giggles. He never thought he’d see the day when Gart Forbes would hide from anything.
As Gart remained out in the bailey and disbursed the escort party, Keller headed for the great hall. The rain was pounding so hard that it was difficult to see even a few feet in front of him, so he entered the great hall rather blindly behind William and Aimery. He was hit in the face with the heat and smoke from the room as he nearly staggered through the doorway. Wiping the rain from his eyes, he grasped Aimery by the arm before the lad could wander away.
“Wait,” he said. “Before you eat, we must have your wound tended. We must find Lady de Poyer.”
William was standing with them, his dark eyes searching the room for Lady de Poyer’s blond head. A swift perusal of the hall did not produce her, so he grabbed the next servant that passed him and sent the woman on the run for Lady de Poyer. As they stood there and removed wet gloves and helms, Chrystobel suddenly appeared from the eastern portion of the hall.
She emerged through the smoke and bodies, a goddess of a woman wearing a dark green surcoat that brought out the pale creaminess of her skin. Keller watched her come towards him, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest, wondering how to start the conversation and praying he wouldn’t say the wrong thing. He wasn’t entirely sure time had eased her anger against him in spite of what Gart had said about planning the meal in honor of his return from Machynlleth. Therefore, he braced himself as she drew close.
When their eyes met, Chrystobel smiled as beautifully as he had ever seen her smile. It was enough to cause his knees to weaken.
“Lady de Poyer,” he greeted softly. “You are looking well this evening.”
Chrystobel dipped her head graciously. “My thanks, my lord,” she said, her dark eyes glittering at her husband. There were a thousand words bottled up there, words that would have to wait until they were alone to be spoken. As if remembering there were more men standing around, she suddenly extended her hand to indicate the feasting table. “If all of you will sit, I will have your meals brought out.”
Looking between Keller and Chrystobel, and seeing the longing in their expressions, William went to go sit with a smile on his lips. He felt as if he were intruding on a private moment and made haste to leave. Keller, however, remained behind with Aimery still in his grip. The young knight was pale and weary as Keller indicated his injury to Chrystobel.
“We had a bit of a skirmish in town,” he told her, pointing at the bloodied thigh. “Aimery sustained a wound that requires tending. Mayhap you can assist him now.”
Chrystobel peered at Aimery’s wound with great concern. “Of course,” she said, beckoning for them to follow her. “I have my things in my chamber. I will tend him there.”
Keller had a grip on Aimery’s arm as he watched Chrystobel collect a sheepskin cloak, which was protection from the rain, and pull it over her head. Holding the cloak over her so she would not get wet, and lifting her skirts up to keep them out of the mud, she picked her way across the soaked bailey with Keller and Aimery behind her. The stone steps leading into the keep were slippery and she took them slowly, but once in the keep, she dropped the cloak next to the door and indicated for the two knights to follow her up the stairs. They did, ending up in the smaller chamber she shared with Izlyn.
It was very warm in the room with its comfortable furnishings and brightly snapping fire. She headed for her sewing kit on the opposite side of the chamber.
“I will need to get at the wound,” she told them both. “Because the injury is so high on his leg, mayhap he should remove both the mail coat and his breeches.”
Aimery looked at Keller, stricken by the fact that the woman had virtually ordered him to disrobe, but Keller stoically indicated for him to remove his tunic. Unhappy, and embarrassed, Aimery removed his tunic and gloves. Next came the helm, which ended up by the door, and then then the mail coat and hauberk. All of it ended up in a pile near the chamber door. But when it came to removing his breeches, the young knight balked.
“The breeches are torn where the spear entered,” he said, moving to the nearest chair and indicating the big hole in the leather. “I am sure Lady de Poyer is skilled enough that she can tend my wound without my removing… anything.”
Keller could see that the young knight was vastly embarrassed, which was somewhat amusing, so he turned to his wife. “Can you work through the hole?”