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“You were not earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I asked you who had left you bloodied. You lied to me.”

Chrystobel abruptly lowered her gaze, her manner suddenly nervous. She had been quite calm until Keller brought up the incident in her bower. Now, she didn’t know what to say. She had sincerely hoped that subject wouldn’t come up but Keller had cleverly introduced it into their conversation. Off-guard, his sly action both irritated and embarrassed her. She didn’t like being embarrassed.

“It is not polite to accuse a lady of lying,” she told him with more boldness than she had exhibited since their introduction. “A man of courtesy and tact would not question a lady’s answer in any fashion.”

Even as she said it, she cringed. It was an instinctive reaction, waiting for a hand to come flying out at her. That was what usually happened when she showed any amount of insolence, at least when Gryffyn was around. The flinching reaction was drilled into her brain, the result of too many slaps from a man who was full of them.

But Keller didn’t react as Gryffyn often did. In fact, he did exactly the opposite. He stared at her a moment as if surprised by her response before actually cracking a smile.

“I have never been a tactful man but I have been known to be a courteous one,” he said as he popped his knuckles in a fidgeting gesture. “I should not have called you a liar.”

“How would you have reacted had someone called you a liar?”

“Not very well, to be sure. You were far more gracious in the face of slander than I would have been.”

Chrystobel eyed him, curious at his change in manner, especially the knuckle-popping. Suddenly, he didn’t look like the cold, imposing English knight. Now, there was a measure of humanity to him, a real man with human ticks. His guard, somehow, had gone down with the course of the conversation and it was an unexpected twist. Her gaze lingered on him.

“In fairness,” she said, “I supposed it was a natural question, but it was still rude of you to dispute my reply.”

Keller conceded the fact. “Indeed it was,” he said. “You told me that your injuries occurred when you fell and I should have accepted that.”

“It would have been the polite thing to do.”

A smile played on his lips. “You are correct. I apologize for calling you a liar.”

The man has a handsome smile, she thought. He had big white teeth and massive dimples in each cheek, carving big ruts through his face. More than that, she noticed that rather than rise to a verbal confrontation, he seemed to back down, to ease up his cold and stiff manner. It was a startling realization, as if the man didn’t want to upset her with a combative conversation. In what world was it possible that the man would be respectful enough not to argue with her? She wondered.

“I accept your apology,” she said, noting that his dusky eyes were still glimmering at her. It was a warm glimmer. “But in the future, should I give you an answer, I would like to have the courtesy of not being called a liar.”

“As you wish,” he said. “But may I ask a question?”

“You may.”

“Will you tell me what really happened?”

Chrystobel gazed at him steadily. In truth, she was debating what to tell him. He had just apologized for calling her a liar even though she was. Still, there were secrets at Nether, dark and terrible secrets that she was embarrassed to admit to a man she’d only known a few hours. Even if the man was her husband. After a few moments of looking into his dusky eyes, all-knowing eyes that most certainly saw through her feeble attempt at avoiding the truth, she averted her gaze. She simply wasn’t brave enough to look him in the eye whilst she lied to him again. He was asking for the truth and she hadn’t the courage to tell him.

“It was of no consequence,” she murmured. “I am well enough and that is all you should be concerned with. Now, what more would you like to know about Nether that I can tell you? Would you like to know about our herds of sheep? We have several large herds. They graze to the north of the castle, upon the slopes of the Cemmae mountains. The herds are our primary source of income and are so well regarded that our soldiers stand guard over the flocks in the fields.”

Keller was well aware that she was shifting the subject. It was very clear that she didn’t wish to discuss her injuries. Twice he had asked her and twice she had avoided giving him an answer. That same sense of self-protection that kept him bottled up and cold threatened to overshadow the conversation at her refusal to answer his question but he fought it. Perhaps she had her reasons for not divulging the truth even though Keller suspected what the truth was. That loud, obnoxious, rude brother had everything to do with it, he was certain. But for some reason she was protecting him.

But in hindsight, he understood why. The English were the enemy in her eyes, even an English husband. She had been taught not to trust them and he could see that it was going to be difficult to convince her otherwise. She had to learn that he was far more trustworthy than her boorish brother, but something like that would take time and he was impatient. With a sigh, one that conveyed his displeasure in her evasive answer, he nonetheless followed her lead. She wished to discuss sheep. He would allow her the privilege of turning the conversation.

“Come tomorrow, I will post my own men on the herds,” he told her. “If they are truly that valuable, then I do not need your father’s men absconding with them simply to keep them out of my reach. I will place my assets under my control.”

Chrystobel wasn’t surprised at the answer but she struggled not to become offended by it. “My father’s men are trustworthy, I assure you,” she said. “They would not steal the sheep.”

He looked at her, that hard edge returning to his eyes. “Your father’s men are loyal to him and, consequently, to Wales,” he said. “I mean no offense when I say I would rather have Nether’s assets, all of them, under my control. It is the prudent thing to do.”

Chrystobel didn’t argue the point, suspecting he was more than likely right, especially with Gryffyn so resistant to the situation in general. She knew that his disquiet had upset her father’s men. They had been upset since the day they had been told that soon they would have English overlords. Perhaps Keller was more astute to the mindset of Nether’s men than she gave him credit for. He was a knight, after all, and a seasoned one. He knew better than she did in matters of war and rebellion. She was about to reply to his statement when a shout from the Tower Twilight caught their attention.

Keller and Chrystobel turned to see Aimery make his way towards them. The young knight was running, his mail making grating sounds as he moved. It echoed oddly off the cold stone walls surrounding them. He slowed when he came upon them, kicking up mud from his dirty boots. The mud landed on Chrystobel’s skirt.

“My lord,” Aimery was breathless as he addressed Keller. “Someone has made an attempt on my brother’s life. You must come.”