Keller fought off a grin. His boys had a wild imagination, but they were sweet little terrors and it crushed him every time he had to discipline them, which was often. Every day saw them stealing chicken eggs, or fist fighting each other to the point of bloody noses, or pulling their sisters’ hair, which often garnered their mother’s displeasure as well.
“You will not be burning down drawbridges any time soon,” Keller said, holding out a hand. “Give me your kindling.”
Unhappy, Cal came out from underneath the table, begrudgingly placing a few sticks of kindling in his father’s hand. Staff, on his brother’s heels, did the same. But Keller kept his hand outstretched.
“The flint, please.”
Cal frowned terribly, producing a small piece of flint he’d been keeping in his other hand. Both boys started to walk away but Keller grasped Staff, preventing him from going any further, and frisked him until he found a second flint stone. He eyed his boys sternly.
“No more fire,” he told them, calmly but firmly. “If I find that you have been playing with fire again, I will punish you. Is that clear?”
The boys nodded, frowning faces and averted gazes. As Keller leaned forward and kissed both boys, Cal on the forehead and Staff on the cheek when the child squirmed, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the second floor above.
Chrystobel descended the stairs with a baby on her hip, a small girl in one hand, and another small girl trailing after her. She helped her second youngest child off the stairs and the little curly-haired lass ran straight for her father, who picked her up and hugged her. Chrystobel stood at the base of the stairs as her middle child, a daughter with her blond hair and Keller’s blue eyes, carefully made her way down the steps. When the little girl got to the bottom, she ran to her father just as her younger sister had. Four year old Iselle and three year old Genevieve were quite attached to their father, and he to them. He hugged his little girls happily, forgetting all about the map and his naughty boys.
Chrystobel, with her year-old son Tallys on her hip, smiled as she watched her husband with the girls. He was really quite sweet with them, spoiling them with hugs and kisses and gifts. In fact, he did that with all of the children. The man was a giver, in every sense. But he could also be very stubborn and she braced herself for that possibility as she prepared to deliver some news.
“I have something to tell you,” she said, watching him bounce Genevieve on his knee.
Keller glanced at her. “What is it?”
“George is here,” she said. “I have been watching him for quite some time. He is now heading up the hill and should be here shortly.”
Now, Keller’s gaze fixed on her. “How do you know it is him?”
“Who else could it be?”
Keller shrugged. Already, Chrystobel could see the scowl coming. “It does not have to be George,” he insisted. “It could be anyone.”
“He is coming from the south, from Pembroke Castle where he is now stationed.”
“It is probably just a bachelor knight, wandering from castle to castle.”
Chrystobel sighed faintly. “Keller,” she admonished softly. “You told George and Izlyn that they had to wait until she was eighteen. She turned eighteen almost a year ago. George wrote you six months ago and said he would be coming for Izlyn around her nineteenth birthday, which is next month. You must face facts, my love. George has come for her.”
As Keller sat and looked at the two babies in his lap, pondering the fact that George had finally come to marry Izlyn, the young lady in question came bounding down the steps. Keller could tell her steps. She always sounded as if she was scurrying. Izlyn scurried down the great stone steps from the floor above, racing into the small hall and throwing her arms around her sister and baby nephew.
“He is here!” she exclaimed. “George has come!”
Chrystobel was thrilled for her sister but still aware of her husband’s feelings. Keller had been terribly protective of Izlyn since the day he married Chrystobel and basically treated the girl like a daughter. Izlyn had spent her formative teen years not fostering in a cold household, but living with her sister and husband, deeply loved. Therefore, Keller felt as if he was losing a daughter.
“Mayhap you should go to the gatehouse,” Chrystobel said helpfully. “The sentries have a much better view of the road and will know for sure. Where is William?”
“He should be at the gatehouse,” Keller said, his voice sounding sad and dull. He sighed heavily. “I will go and see if it is indeed George.”
Izlyn took Genevieve from Keller’s lap as he set Iselle carefully on the floor. As he headed out of the hall, Iselle whimpered and ran after him, so he picked her up and carried her out with him. Chrystobel and Izlyn watched him go, feeling his melancholy mood.
“Is he upset?” Izlyn wanted to know. “Surely he is happy for me.”
Chrystobel nodded. “Of course he is happy for you,” she said. “But you know he is very attached to you, to all of his girls. It will be difficult for him to turn you over to another man, even another man as wonderful as George.”
At the mention of George’s name, Izlyn broke into a big smile. A woman grown now, she was blond and beautiful and elegant, and the speech that had evaded her for so long had returned with a vengeance after her brother’s death. She was eloquent and articulate now, and very much in love with George Ashby-Kidd, and he with her. That fondness from years ago had developed into something much, much more.
“Keller will send word to St. Peter’s, won’t he?” Izlyn wanted to know. “He said he would when the time came. I would like to be married there.”
Chrystobel nodded patiently. “He will, I am sure,” she said. “If he does not, then I will do it. Have no fear that you shall be married, Izzie. Even if I have to drag my husband kicking and screaming to the church, I swear you shall be married there.”
Izlyn laughed softly, very excited to see George. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas of last year and it was a very long time to be separated from the man she loved. With Genevieve still on her hip, she left the keep, standing on the steps just outside of the entry, watching the activity at the gatehouse. Chrystobel came out to stand behind her, noticing that Keller was ordering the portcullis to be raised. Beyond, straddling the Gorge of the Dead, was the big wooden bridge that connected the castle to the road. As the ladies watched from the vantage point in front of the keep, men began to appear on the bridge, heading for the gatehouse.