Authors: Netherworld
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was very late when Gart cleared the hall, making sure all of his men had found a place to sleep somewhere inside where it was warm. Rhys had volunteered to take the night watch, mounting the battlements with their spectacular views of the storm-whipped countryside, and William went with him. The Ashby-Kidd twins headed off to sleep off too much ale, leaving Gart the task of buttoning up the hall and keep for the night.
Keller had retired with his wife earlier in the evening and Gart knew he wouldn’t be seeing the man until morning. Not that he blamed him. Men with new wives often disappeared from time to time to seek out privacy with their ladies. As Gart strolled across the bailey, rain dripping off his lashes from the storm that was still pounding, he found his gaze wandering off towards the kitchen.
The cook had been killed earlier that day, accidently falling down a flight of stairs that were carved into the bedrock and led to a secret entrance into the castle from the gorge surrounding it. The old woman had been found at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck, but Gart was fairly convinced that the woman’s neck had been broken before she fell because he was certain he saw finger marks on her flesh.
By the time Keller, Rhys, and the other knights had returned, the finger marks were less visible and Rhys wasn’t sure he saw what Gart did. Keller had already retired by that time and hadn’t been aware of the woman’s death as far as Gart knew, unless Keller’s wife told him, but such things weren’t exactly pillow talk for newlyweds. Therefore, it was left to Gart to be suspicious of the circumstances. Something just didn’t sit right with him about it and that, in turn, made him suspicious of Nether in general. Something evil was afoot. He wasn’t sure what it was yet, but he could feel it.
Pushing thoughts of the dead cook out of his mind, he took the steps to the keep entry two at a time, eager to get out of the rain. Once inside the keep, it was dark and cold and silent for the most part, the only sound being the rain outside the door. As he headed for the stairs that would take him to the top floor where a warm bed await him, he heard sniffles coming from the small hall directly in front of him.
Curious, Gart followed the sounds. The smaller hall was dark, with a cold and useless hearth. In the darkness he could hear more sniffling and he stepped into the room, eventually spying Izlyn sitting at the end of the small feasting table. She had her arms all wrapped up around her small body, shivering as she sniffled. Curious, and somewhat concerned, Gart moved in her direction.
“My lady?” he asked softly. “Is something amiss?”
Izlyn jumped at the sound of his voice, her dark eyes wide with fright. Gart put up his hands to ease her, seeing that he had succeeded in frightening her.
“I am sorry to startle you,” he said quietly. “Why are you weeping? Why aren’t you in bed?”
Izlyn looked at him, her lip moving into a pout. She looked both unhappy and angry at the same time. Gart knew from Keller that the girl was mute, so he wasn’t sure how to communicate with her any more than what he was already doing. It became a staring game until he finally held a hand out to her.
“May I escort you to your chamber, my lady?” he asked politely. “It is growing late and you should be asleep.”
Izlyn hesitantly unwound her arms from around her body and she looked rather uncertain about his question. Finally, she shook her head.
“Why not?” Gart asked. “Aren’t you weary?”
Izlyn nodded. Then, she slipped off the bench she had been sitting on and made her way to the darkened hearth. Gart stood a few feet away, watching her as she pulled a piece of kindling out of the woodbox. Taking the stick, she began to scratch around in the soot that was gathered in front of the hearth. Gart thought she might be drawing pictures, which seemed rather odd, but she suddenly stopped scratching and beckoned him closer. Gart took a few steps towards the hearth, looking to the soot because she was pointing insistently at it.
There was writing in the ashes. Bending over, he peered closer to the letters. He was frankly surprised that she could write. Being a woman, and being mute, the odds that she could communicate in any fashion were against her, but evidently she was educated. He squinted at the writing and realized it was in a language he could not read, more than likely Welsh.
“I am sorry,” he said, looking at her. “I cannot read this.”
Izlyn fell to her knees beside the soot and wiped it smooth. Then, she took a piece of kindling again and scratched out another message. This time, Gart could read it.
The door is locked.
After reading it, he looked at her. “What door?”
Izlyn smoothed out the ashes again and scratched another message as Gart stood over her shoulder and watched.
My chamber.
“Your chamber is locked?” he asked. “Who would lock it? Come with me and I will open the door. I shall kick it down if I have to.”
Izlyn shook her head frantically, reaching up to tug on the knee of his breeches before he could get away. Gart paused, watching, as she scratched out another message.
My sister and Sir Keller are inside.
Gart understood quite a bit at that moment. “I see,” he said. No, it wouldn’t do to break down the door at all. He might get flogged if he did. Gart cleared his throat softly. “Is there another place you can sleep? Surely there is another bed for you.”
Izlyn was uncertain. Gart crouched down beside her to be more at her level, feeling rather sorry for the young girl whose entire world was in upheaval. Her father dead, sister married, and she was quite alone. As he gazed at her, he also remembered what Keller had said about the girl and her brother, and how the brother had abused the entire family. Gart couldn’t imagine anyone abusing this slight, delicate creature. Even to think about it enraged him.
“I understand that your chamber is with your sister,” he said patiently. “However, there are other rooms in this keep. In fact, I have been given a bed on the top floor that I will gladly give to you. Do you want me to take you there?”
Izlyn shook her head, smoothing out the ashes and writing again.
You sleep there.
Gart read it, shaking his head. “I will not sleep there if it means you do not have a bed,” he said. “Is there anywhere else you can sleep? Otherwise, you must sleep in my bed. I will insist.”
Izlyn started to shake her head but thought better of it. Her expression suggested she had an idea. After a moment, she set the stick aside and stood up. Gart stood up next to her. She gazed up at him with her big brown eyes and this time, he wasn’t annoyed by it. She was a sweet little thing. When she held out her hand to him, he took it, swallowing it up in a fist the size of her head. As she walked, he followed along beside her.
Izlyn led Gart up the stairs to the first level. There were two chambers on this level and she went to the door on the right. Lifting the latch, she pushed open the door to reveal a large, roomy chamber with an enormous bed in the middle of it, pushed close to the hearth. The room had been swept clean and three big trunks were neatly lined up along the wall near the door. Izlyn pointed to the big bed.
“You can sleep there?” Gart clarified, looking at the bed, the room in general. “It looks nice and comfortable. This is a very big chamber. Who does it belong to?”
He asked the question, forgetting she couldn’t speak to him. But Izlyn scampered over to the hearth, which had been mostly swept out, and found a scrap piece of wood in the woodbox. There were enough ashes that she could make a slate, and she knelt down and began to write.
Papa.
Gart peered over her shoulder to see what she had written. When he saw what she had scribed, he looked around the chamber again. It belonged to the dead father they were burying on the morrow, the one killed by his own son. He wondered if Izlyn knew who had killed her father, more burdens for a young woman whose short life had been full of them. He really did feel a good deal of sympathy for her. More than that, he was coming to feel guilty for hiding from her. Perhaps she had just wanted a friend and he had been cruel about it. He put a big hand fondly on her blond head.
“I will send a servant to prepare the room and build a fire,” he said. “I shall return.”
As he went for the door, he heard swift pitter-pats of little feet as Izlyn caught up to him and slipped her hand in his. When he looked down to see what the trouble was, she simply smiled up at him. Gart didn’t have the heart to force her to remain. She was undoubtedly feeling lost and lonely, as evidenced by the weeping when he’d first come across her, so he permitted her to accompany him as he went in search of a servant, making sure Trevyn’s bed was prepared for Izlyn and ensuring there was a fire in the hearth. All this he did for her as she clung to his hand, scurrying after him as he went about his task.
When the room was finally warm and comfortable, he stood by the door with an old female servant, one he had roused from the hall to assist him, and watched Izlyn as she climbed up onto the big bed. When the old woman turned to leave, Gart stopped her.
“You will remain here with her,” he said. “If she has any needs, she must have someone to tend them.”
The old woman only understood marginal English. She pointed to Izlyn as Gart gestured for her to remain in the room, and the old woman understood after that. As the old woman went to settle in, Gart turned to leave but he was thwarted by a big thump on the floor that sounded as if it was near the bed. By the time he turned around, Izlyn was picking herself off the floor and running towards him. Gart was startled when she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, fearfully. Gart held his arms aloft, unsure what to do, as Izlyn squeezed his waist. He found himself looking at the old servant woman, at a loss how to respond. The old woman shuffled back over to the door where the two of them were standing. She struggled with her English.
“Afraid,” she said, wringing her hands anxiously as she looked to Izlyn. “
Afraid
.”
Gart looked down at the girl clinging to his waist and all he could feel was sorrow and disgust. Disgust for the life she had led and for the terror she surely must have suffered, and sorrow for the fact that she must have surely been fearful of every aspect of life. There were many atrocities in the world and Gart had seen his share, and when he was able to assist, he had. This was an atrocity that he’d not witnessed and only heard of, but still, the effects were obvious. Izlyn didn’t even know him, but somehow, she sensed that he would never do her harm, which was the truth. He wouldn’t. But he would surely kill anyone who made a move against her ever again. The atrocities, for Izlyn, were over. For as long as Gart was able to, he would make sure of it, and he knew Keller would make sure of it, too.
Unwinding Izlyn’s arms from around his waist, he led her over to the big bed and lifted her up, putting her on the mattress. Pulling the coverlet up, he tucked her in as she had never been tucked in by any male member of her family. Gart, a stranger, and a man with little capacity for compassion or mercy, was certainly showing an abundance of it to a lonely, frightened girl. When Izlyn finally fell into an exhausted sleep, it was clutching Gart’s big hand. She’d never felt so safe in her life.
The old serving woman spent the night sleeping on the floor next to Izlyn, keeping the young girl company as she slept while her knight in shining armor slept a floor above her, hoping that, one day, he might have a daughter just like sweet little Izlyn.
Keller awoke well before dawn the next day, startling himself awake because he had been sleeping so deeply that, for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. He awoke with Chrystobel in his arms, his face buried in the back of her head, and in his disorientation it took him several long moments to not only place the room but the woman in his arms. It was his wife, and he was sleeping in the bed she shared with her sister.
Lifting his head carefully, he looked around the chamber. It was dark, with the fire reduced to glowing embers, and it was still very dark outside and very quiet, so he assumed it was well before the soldiers roused for the morning shift. His gaze moved to Chrystobel, sleeping so peacefully against him, and he smiled faintly as he thought back to their love making. It had been so sweet and delicious, and as he lingered on it, he realized that the event had taken him to an entirely new level of emotion. He had been fond of Chrystobel before, but now... there was something more to it. Kissing her exposed shoulder very, very carefully, he cautiously disengaged himself from her and silently went in search of his clothing.
He found his breeches, boots, and padded tunic, quietly pulling them on as he moved for the chamber door. Next to the door, in a pile, he could see his mail and armor along with his broadsword in its scabbard. When he picked up the hauberk, he noticed that it had rusted somewhat because he hadn’t had it cleaned immediately. Collecting everything into his big arms, he unbolted the door with great stealth and slipped from the chamber.
As he stood on the landing outside of Chrystobel’s door, he was curious where Izlyn slept since the girl was so attached to her sister. Undoubtedly she returned last night to sleep in her chamber and, finding it bolted, sought out another safe haven to sleep in. He should have been more concerned about the girl and felt badly that he hadn’t considered her once he finally had his new wife all to himself. On a hunch, he quietly opened the door across the hall, the master’s chamber that Chrystobel had cleaned out for their use, and poked his head in. It was dark in the room but he could clearly see a small figure on the bed. Taking a few steps into the chamber, he recognized Izlyn all wrapped up in a heavy coverlet with an old servant sleeping on the floor at her feet. Smiling faintly at the girl, and glad she was sleeping somewhere safe, he slipped from the room and down to the first floor below.