It was Gart, heading towards them from the gathering of soldiers. He was completely soaked through, rain dripping off of his face as he approached. His attention was focused on Izlyn.
“Lady de Poyer,” he glanced at Chrystobel, greeting her, but his focus quickly returned to Izlyn. “What’s this I hear? You have given George a posy and not me? My lady, I am sincerely crushed. I thought you liked me best of all.”
Izlyn grinned broadly and flushed furiously. She was much better with her speech these days but still not completely comfortable. She struggled to bring forth her reply.
“He… is going,” she said haltingly. “You will… will stay here.”
Gart’s eyebrows lifted as he was horribly offended. “Is that all?” he demanded, although there was no force behind it. “You give him a flower because he is leaving? I will not stand for it. I will go fight him right now for your affections. I will not allow George to be your favorite.”
Izlyn was giggling, as was Chrystobel. It was so wonderful to see her sister happy, with affection and attention lavished upon her by knights who understood how terrible her life had once been. They seemed determined to make up for every horror Gryffyn had ever inflicted upon her, which made Chrystobel feel a good deal of respect and admiration for these men. They were near and dear to her heart, men of honor and compassion, and she would defend them to the death. She came to realize some time ago that she was more loyal to her English husband and his English knights than she was to the Welsh people. She’d only known pain and suffering from the Welsh. With the English, she’d only known joy, as had Izlyn. It wasn’t difficult to be loyal to them.
As Gart postured and threatened to fight George, Izlyn put up a hand and grasped his wrist. “N-nay,” she said, sounding firm. “You… cannot fight George. I… I will be angry with you.”
Gart stopped in the middle of his rage and looked at her, his expression conveying the best dramatics of a broken heart. Then, he turned away from her, wiping his eyes as if weeping. As he headed back towards the army, he kept turning around to see if she was watching him. When he saw that she was, he would resume wiping his eyes. Chrystobel sighed heavily and looked at her sister.
“You had better go give the man his own posy before he embarrasses himself with his sobbing,” she said, pointing to the garden. “Go along and find Gart a flower so he will not feel so bad.”
Izlyn nodded and turned in the direction of the garden, but paused a moment to grasp her sister’s fingers in order to get her attention.
“I am marrying George now,” she said haltingly.
Chrystobel laughed softly as Izlyn ran back to the garden to find Gart a flower. As she stood there, watching her sister disappear around the side of the keep, a big body walked up beside her and grabbed her around the waist.
“Greetings, my lovely,” Keller said as he kissed her on the cheek. Then, he hissed when he realized how wet she was. “By God’s Bloody Rood, woman! You are soaked through.”
She giggled. “I know,” she said. “I am returning to the keep, have no fear. But I should tell you something.”
“What?”
“Izlyn just told me she is marrying George and Gart is very upset that her affections have turned.”
He pursed his lips wryly. “Gart will overcome.”
“Gart said he is going to fight George.”
“Then George’s days are numbered.”
Chrystobel grinned at the jest, noticing that Keller kept turning around to see to his men’s state of readiness. She found herself looking at the army as well.
“Are they nearly ready to depart?” she asked.
Keller nodded, his gaze lingering on his men for a moment before turning to his wife. “Aye,” he replied. “Once they leave, you and Izlyn will stay to the keep and keep it locked. You will not come out, no matter what, and you will not open the door for anyone but me or my knights. Is that clear?”
The conversation had taken a serious turn and Chrystobel nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I had better go and make sure there are enough provisions in the keep.”
Keller nodded. “That would be a good idea,” he said. “I have no way of knowing just how long you are going to be trapped in there, so you’d better make sure you have everything you need.”
Chrystobel eyed him. “And you?” she asked softly. “Where will you be during this time?”
He heard the wistfulness in her tone and pulled her into his arms again. He had to get his fill of her before they were separated by necessity. This was a serious business they were about to face and although he was confident of victory, there were always unknown factors. It was those factors that concerned him.
“Keeping to the shadows,” he said softly. “I have no way of knowing when your brother will decide to make his move, but I have a feeling I will not have to wait long. Therefore, I will be keeping to the shadows, in the kitchen mostly, waiting for him to make an appearance. You and I must be clear on this, Chrystobel – you must stay to the keep no matter what you see or hear. Is that clear? If you open that keep door, you expose yourself to terrible danger and I will not be able to focus for fear of your safety. If I cannot focus, then your brother might have the opportunity to gain the upper hand. He might even have the opportunity to kill me. Do you understand how serious this is?”
Chrystobel nodded solemnly. “I do,” she said sincerely. “I promise I will stay to the keep no matter what.”
He kissed her on the tip of the nose. “Good,” he replied. “Now, make sure you have enough provisions. I will return to you as soon as the army is gone to seal you up in the keep.”
Chrystobel headed off, moving for the kitchens that were now filled with heavily armed men because the passage to the gorge had been unblocked. After giving Gart a small purple flower that had lost most of its petals, Izlyn joined her and together they finished gathering what they needed and had a few servants carry it all into the keep. There were dry stores, of course, beneath the small hall, which would hold them for quite a length of time, but Chrystobel made sure they had enough water to cook and wash with, and pots and utensils to eat from.
In all, the keep was fairly self-sufficient, as it was meant to be. By the time they were moving the last water barrel into the keep, the last of the army was just leaving the gatehouse. Chrystobel stood at the top of the keep, watching the army trickle out and the portcullis slam down behind them. There was something very ominous about the finality of that event. Now, they were open to prying eyes. They would be watched. Gryffyn would be watching. The very thought made her shudder.