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As he pondered that thought and prepared to mount his charger, something swift and deadly passed over his head, sailed between the two men-at-arms behind him, and hit an innocent peasant standing across the road. The knights turned swiftly to see that the man had been struck by an arrow. It had come from the south, behind the merchant stalls.

There was instant chaos in the air. As the peasant fell to the road and the man’s wife began to scream, men came hurling out from between the merchant stalls with weapons raised. Keller had to duck to avoid being decapitated as he unsheathed his broadsword. Using a massive fist, he plowed it into the face of the man who had aimed for his head and, with blood spurting in all directions from a broken nose, shoved the man to the ground next to his horse. Keller’s charger, smelling a fight, finished off the man with his heavy, sharp hooves to the head and chest.

Men were screaming in all directions and the fight was bad from the onset. William had been ambushed by two men and had managed to dispatch one, now in a nasty sword fight with the other. His opponent had an old double-headed battle axe, still quite viable, and he was swinging it with some power at William’s head while the knight mostly stayed out of his way. The battle axe was a heavier weapon but the sword had more range, so it was only a matter of time until William saw an opening and plunged his blade into the man’s ribcage. With both opponents down, he went to help the men-at-arms who were swarmed by fast-moving Welsh and their smaller, but just as deadly, weapons.

Rhys, too, had been attacked by two men at a time but in his case, it had been a foolish tactic by his opponents. Rhys was a rarity in that he fought with dual blades, custom-made broadswords that he carried in a double sheath strapped to his back, so when he was attacked by two men, the dual blades flew into action and in little time he’d had both men put down. Then he went to help Aimery, who had been caught by a spear in the thigh, creating a bright red stream of blood down his left leg. When Rhys leapt into the fight with the dual blades flying, both of Aimery’s antagonists wisely fled.

The fight was short but vicious, and in little time, the Welsh were fleeing back into the village, disappearing behind huts or running down alleyways. Keller’s men went to chase them but he called them off. It was more important that they return to the safety of Nether rather than try to pursue rebels who knew the land, and hiding places, better than they did. Therefore, the knights mounted swiftly and encouraged the men-at-arms to do the same.

“Return to Nether!” Keller commanded. “Go!”

Men began to scramble and spur their horses back the way they had come. Mud and dirt kicked up, hitting walls and individuals as the horses struggled for traction on the wet road, but soon the group was thundering out of town, racing past St. Peter’s church in their haste to get clear of the village.

The road to the east was carved into the side of a sheer, rocky mountain, giving them a good view of the lands below. The mist had turned to rain by the time they hit the open road, however, blurring their vision as they went. As they ran, the knights turned their attention to the town and any sign of the enemy laying chase, but that vision never materialized. Even so, Keller saw no need to let his guard down. He would be in defensive mode all the way home.

They were, after all, in enemy territory. The attack simply reminded them of the fact.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“And you are surprised that you were attacked by Welsh?” Gart asked. “Surely you expected it, Keller. But what I find interesting is that they found you in that town, at that point in time, and they were fully armed. Rebel militia doesn’t usually hang around in villages and especially small villages where their activities cannot be camouflaged.”

Keller and the party from Machynlleth were in the great bailey of Nether, having raced the entire way back to the castle in the driving rain. The horses were exhausted, as were the men, and Aimery was dealing with a rather nasty puncture wound on his thigh that would require stitches. Keller watched Aimery very gingerly dismount his charger.

“Then they must have been following us, although I did not see signs of that,” he told Gart. “We managed to kill at least six of them and the rest fled.”

Gart eyed Rhys as the man joined their conference. “I suppose the dual blades had flesh for supper this day,” he said to the man.

Rhys lifted his dark eyebrows. “All that and more,” he said. “It was an excellent fight but not nearly long enough. I barely had time to warm to it.”

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.