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When their eyes met, Chrystobel smiled as beautifully as he had ever seen her smile. It was enough to cause his knees to weaken.

“Lady de Poyer,” he greeted softly. “You are looking well this evening.”

Chrystobel dipped her head graciously. “My thanks, my lord,” she said, her dark eyes glittering at her husband. There were a thousand words bottled up there, words that would have to wait until they were alone to be spoken. As if remembering there were more men standing around, she suddenly extended her hand to indicate the feasting table. “If all of you will sit, I will have your meals brought out.”

Looking between Keller and Chrystobel, and seeing the longing in their expressions, William sat with a smile on his lips. He felt as if he were intruding on a private moment and made haste to leave. Keller, however, remained behind with Aimery still in his grip. The young knight was pale and weary as Keller indicated his injury to Chrystobel.

“We had a bit of a skirmish in town,” he told her, pointing at the bloodied thigh. “Aimery sustained a wound that requires tending. Mayhap you can assist him now.”

Chrystobel peered at Aimery’s wound with great concern. “Of course,” she said, beckoning for them to follow her. “I have my things in my chamber. I will tend him there.”

Keller had a grip on Aimery’s arm as he watched Chrystobel collect a sheepskin cloak, which was protection from the rain, and pull it over her head. Holding the cloak over her so she would not get wet, and lifting her skirts up to keep them out of the mud, she picked her way across the soaked bailey with Keller and Aimery behind her. The stone steps leading into the keep were slippery and she took them slowly, but once in the keep, she dropped the cloak next to the door and indicated for the two knights to follow her up the stairs. They did, ending up in the smaller chamber she shared with Izlyn.

It was very warm in the room with its comfortable furnishings and brightly snapping fire. She headed for her sewing kit on the opposite side of the chamber.

“I will need to get at the wound,” she told them both. “Because the injury is so high on his leg, mayhap he should remove both the mail coat and his breeches.”

Aimery looked at Keller, stricken by the fact that the woman had virtually ordered him to disrobe, but Keller stoically indicated for him to remove his tunic. Unhappy, and embarrassed, Aimery removed his tunic and gloves. Next came the helm, which ended up by the door, and then then the mail coat and hauberk. All of it ended up in a pile near the chamber door. But when it came to removing his breeches, the young knight balked.

“The breeches are torn where the spear entered,” he said, moving to the nearest chair and indicating the big hole in the leather. “I am sure Lady de Poyer is skilled enough that she can tend my wound without my removing… anything.”

Keller could see that the young knight was vastly embarrassed, which was somewhat amusing, so he turned to his wife. “Can you work through the hole?”

Oblivious to the knight’s chagrin, Chrystobel peered at the puncture wound through the rather wide opening. “I believe so,” she said, crouching down beside him. “I will try to be as swift as possible.”

Relieved that he wasn’t going to have to remove his clothing in front of Lady de Poyer, Aimery sat perfectly still as she cleansed the puncture wound with wine. When she carefully threaded her needle with cat gut, she glanced over at her husband.

“Was the skirmish in town terrible?” she asked.

Keller, standing near the door, shook his head. “Nay.”

Chrystobel had expected more of an answer and she looked over at him as she poised over Aimery’s wound. “This is the only injury?”

“It is.”

“Who started the fight?”

Keller shook his head. “Not I, Lady de Poyer, I assure you,” he said. “We were attacked as we left. We assumed they were Welsh rebels of some kind.”

Chrystobel’s gaze lingered on him as she bent over and made the first stitch in Aimery’s leg. “It is possible but not likely,” she said thoughtfully, concentrating on her work. “There are no rebel strongholds in this region unless you include Colvyn ap Gwynwynwyn, but he is poorly supplied and poorly armed. The most he can claim is a strategic castle and an old family name.”

Keller thought on that. There was that name again – Gwynwynwyn. He’d heard it from the merchant in Machynlleth. Moreover, he’d heard it from Trevyn when the man listed an ally of Gryffyn. I find it strange that they happened upon you at that particular point in time. Wasn’t that what Gart had said? It was indeed strange, too strange. Was it possible that Gryffyn had been following his movements outside of Nether and was behind the attack? If that was true, then it meant Nether was being watched by Gryffyn and whoever he had managed to ally with. Perhaps they were being watched even now. It was an uneasy realization.

“Your father said that he is a friend of Gryffyn’s,” he said quietly.

She nodded as she placed the second quick stitch. “He is,” she concurred. “In fact, he somewhat courted me before my father arranged for a marriage with you.”

Keller was startled by the bolts of jealousy that rocketed through his body at that knowledge. The sensations were violent and harsh. But, in the same breath, he shouldn’t have been surprised by a courtship towards Chrystobel. She was a beautiful woman and, in truth, should have known many suitors before Keller came along. He found that he wanted to ask her many questions about ap Gwynwynwyn, and the courtship, but he kept his mouth shut as Chrystobel finished putting the remaining stitches in Aimery’s leg. He didn’t want the young knight hearing what would undoubtedly be a private conversation, so he bided his time until Aimery limped out of the chamber and down the stairs.

Closing the chamber door and bolting it as he heard the knight’s footfalls fade away, he turned to watch his wife as she put away her sewing kit. Then his gaze trailed to the saddlebags, laying on a big wooden chest over to his right, and thought on all of the wonderful things he’d brought Chrystobel. The storm outside caught his attention as lightning flashed and he was coming to think that this small, warm chamber was a much better place to be than the stuffy hall across the bailey. It was much more private. Aye, it was a better place, indeed.

“Tell me about Colvyn ap Gwynwynwyn,” he said as he began to remove his gloves. “So he courted you, did he?”

Chrystobel looked up from her sewing kit. “Aye,” she replied. “It was really only over the course of the past few months. He would send me little gifts such as a leather pouch filled with flower petals or a polished stone he had found and thought was rather pretty. Colvyn is a nice man, but he is rather grim and unexciting. I had no interest in him.”

Keller removed his helm, setting it down next to the door. “Then you harbor no feelings for the man?” he asked. “Our marriage did not interrupt a budding love with ap Gwynwynwyn?”

She looked at him, disgusted. “Never!” she hissed. “Colvyn is not someone I could have feelings for, not in the least.”