The thunder rolled overhead and a few more drops pelted her face. Chrystobel crossed through the smaller inner wall that sectioned off the kitchen yard from the rest of the castle. She could see the kitchen straight ahead, a structure with a roof and three walls. One entire side of it was open to the elements, but it was a cozy and functional place nonetheless. As she approached, the slender cook with only one good eye informed her that the meal was well underway. A sheep was being turned on a big spit, fat from the carcass dripping into the open flame and creating bursts of flame. Chrystobel spoke to the one-eyed cook long enough to inform the woman that Gryffyn had requested honey cakes with walnuts. The woman listened but seemed more interested in inspecting Chrystobel’s red cheek.
It wasn’t bad enough that her brother struck her but that the servants, long-time pledges of the d’Einen household, could not be discreet about the marks she bore. Most of them had known Chrystobel since she had been born. They had watched the little bully Gryffyn grow into the bigger, stronger bully who seemed to take delight in taking his frustrations out on his sisters. The eldest, Chrystobel, was a glorious goddess of beauty while the younger girl, Izlyn, was a mute; sweet, silent, lovely little Izlyn. They were all extremely protective of the girls and they had all paid the price at one time or another. Gryffyn viewed it as interference in his world and he would not tolerate it from anyone, not even their father. Trevyn was the recipient of his son’s wrath as well.
Chrystobel left the fretting cook, not wanting to get sucked up into the woman’s emotional turmoil. Her first impulse was to leave the kitchen yard and go back to the hall to make sure the room was prepared for the English, but she remembered that her brother was there the last time she saw him and she did not want to run into the man again. She couldn’t take another welted cheek. The postern gate was to her left, tucked into the wall of the kitchen yard, and she made way for it immediately.
The tunnel that passed through the twelve foot thick outer wall led to an iron door that was implanted into the exterior edge of the wall. She threw the three bolts on the inside of the gate and shoved it open, emerging into the rocky area outside the great walls of Nether. The castle had been built on a rocky mountain that had been somewhat graded down so that a structure could be built on the strategic pad. And strategic it was. The castle commanded a spectacular view over the surrounding countryside, surrounded by a sheer cliff on the north side, mountains on the east side, and a steep slope on the south side. The west was the entry, facing a mountain road called the Nether Pass. It was dramatic scenery at its best, a mountain fortress nestled deep in the wilds of Wales.
Chrystobel was well aware of the location of her home. She loved the isolation, the green, the pure beauty of her valley to the south. She stood on the edge of the steep slope, her gaze falling over the vast valley below, her thoughts wandering from her welted cheek to her sister to the husband she would be meeting this day. She had always been the pragmatic sort. Trouble was, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to make peace with the idea of an English husband. She’d known about it for weeks but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. It would be so much easier to simply wind her way down the mountain trails and wander off into oblivion.
Something caught her attention off to the left and she could see a wounded rabbit picking its way down the rocky crevice known as the Gorge of the Dead. It was really the fancy name for the moat that had been hacked out over a hundred years ago by her ancestors who had built Nether Castle. It was a deep, rocky and treacherous pit where the bodies of the enemy were once thrown. But there was a path that cut across it and she followed the path, watching the little creature as it limped its way across the rocky trail. When she reached the bottom of the gorge, she came close to catching it but it scampered away on three good legs. She followed.
The path came up on the other end of the gorge and wound its way down the lush, green slope. It was about three hundred feet down to the valley below and Chrystobel took the path carefully, keeping an eye out for the rabbit as the wind whipped her about. She ended up grabbing her long blond hair in a bunch and holding it tight because the winds had teased it into a frenzy. The raindrops had increased and she now found herself in a full-blown rainstorm. Knowing she needed to return to the castle whether or not she wanted to, she turned around on the muddy slope and promptly lost her footing.
Down the hill she slid.
*
Keller saw her coming.
At first, he wasn’t sure what it was. The rain was somewhat blinding him but he could see something sliding down at him from the slope above. He reined his charger to a halt on the narrow path as the object came closer and he soon realized that it was a woman. She was trying frantically to stop her momentum but she was gaining speed by the second. Keller knew that if he didn’t stop her, she would slide a very long way down to the valley below. It wouldn’t kill her but it would surely be an uncomfortable and frightening trip. Dismounting his charger, he put himself on an intercept course.
He managed to grab the woman just as she slipped past him. He had ahold of her arm. She shrieked when he grabbed her and her body snapped with the abrupt halt, but Keller had a strong grip. The woman threw up her other hand and grabbed hold of him as he pulled her up and onto the path. Even then, she didn’t let go of him. She struggled to catch her breath, still holding him with a death grip.
“My thanks,” she breathed heavily, pushing the hair from her eyes. “How fortunate that you were here to save me.”
Keller gazed down at the woman. She was petite with gold-colored hair that fell in great silken sheets. In spite of the fact that the rain had dampened it, it was the most beautiful hair he had ever seen. But when she shoved the hair from her face, he was doubly-intrigued. Her face could only be described as exquisite. She looked up at him with great brown eyes, big and round with a fringe of dusky lashes. Her features were delicate and lovely, her cheeks red from the weather. For a moment, he was speechless. It actually took him a moment to move past the wonder of her beauty to realize she had spoken to him.
“I would say it was most fortunate,” he replied, tearing his gaze away from her to look up the slope. “Where did you come from?”
She struggled to stand and he held on to her a moment while she steadied herself. “Up there,” she pointed to the obvious. “I was chasing a wounded rabbit.”
“For supper, no doubt.”
She gave him a lopsided grin. “Not really. I felt sorry for the poor little thing.”
“And you were going to heal it rather than eat it?”
“That was my intention.”
“Seems like an incredible waste of effort.” Keller took his hands from her because she seemed steadier. Still, his gaze moved over her. He couldn’t help it. She was magnificent. “You are from the castle.”
Chrystobel returned his gaze, curious about him now that her fright had eased. “I am,” she replied. “And you are with the Marshal’s men.”
“How would you know that?”
“Because you are not from Wales. I can tell by the way you speak, your manner of dress, your fine charger, your….”
He held up a hand to silence her, though it was done in a light-hearted way. “I can see you are a bright woman. Clumsy perhaps, but bright.”
She laughed softly, displaying a beautiful set of white teeth with slightly prominent canines. Keller was instantly captivated.