Free Kathryn Le Veque by Netherworld Page B

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.”
    Keller had Chrystobel by the arm as he began to follow Aimery across the ward in the direction of the great shadowed Tower Twilight. It made for a massive silhouette against the star-strewn sky.
    “What happened?” he demanded.
    Aimery was visibly upset but trying not to show it. “We were patrolling the grounds as you had ordered,” he said, turning to look at Keller even as he led the way. “It was a crossbow. The arrow caught my brother in the arm.”
    Keller should have been pleased to hear that the damage wasn’t worse, but all he could manage to feel was rage at a coward who would hide in the shadows and shoot arrows at the English knights.
    “Is he badly injured?” he asked.
    “Nay, my lord.”
    “Where did the projectile come from?”
    “The wall, my lord.”
    Keller glanced up at the parapets where men with torches patrolled the night. “Where is William?”
    “He is with my brother now.”
    Keller didn’t ask any more questions. And so it comes , he thought to himself. The Welsh welcomes are beginning . As they neared the entry, which was also part of the great curtain wall, he could see Wellesbourne and George standing at the darkened opening. A great smell of dampness filled the air, as if someone had opened a tomb. As Keller approached, he realized that the smell was coming from the tower itself. It smelled like death. He fixed on George.
    “Why are you standing here?” he nearly barked. “I thought you were injured?”
    George was holding his left arm, bent, against his chest. He looked rather pale, even in the shadows. “I am well enough, my lord,” he assured Keller. “It is just a flesh wound.”
    Keller stared at the young knight a moment before turning to William. As soon as he looked at the man, the knight held up the offending arrow in his right hand.
    “He is correctly, mostly,” he said. “It buried itself, but not deeply enough to damage anything. I was able to easily remove it.”
    Keller took the arrow from William and examined the tip. He held it up somewhat so it could catch what little light there was. After a moment, he glanced at William.
    “Bodkin tipped,” he muttered, referring to the broad triangle shape. “Only a man of wealth would have launched this. Men of lesser means would have simply used a sharpened stick without the metal tip.”
    William nodded, his eyes perusing the complex. “Agreed,” he said. His gaze finally came to rest on Chrystobel, standing next to Keller. She was looking rather shocked by the event and William focused intently on her. “What would you know of archers and errant arrows, my lady? How many archers does your father employ at night?”
    Chrystobel was instantly on the defensive. “My father does not have archers upon the wall at night.”
    “Yet someone shot this arrow into young George’s arm,” William said steadily. “That arrow is from a fine and expensive quiver, as evidenced by the metal tip and the goose feather fletchings. A man of some wealth owned this arrow.”
    By this time, Chrystobel was gazing at the man as if he were, indeed, the enemy. He was interrogating her as if she was certainly his enemy and her resentment grew.
    “I do not know anything about arrows or fletchings,” she said. “My father has twenty archers and all of them are fairly well armed but they do not stand watch at