There was some contention here; everyone could feel it. Prince John’s men were different from the king’s soldiers – the man had his own army, men paid for their loyalty to him, and it made for tense times in England these days. Like two dominant cocks, Richard’s royal guard and John’s mercenary force coexisted out of necessity but it didn’t take much for a skirmish to erupt. Usually, John’s men stayed away from the royal properties but, tonight, they were front and center because of the event at Westminster. Now, the two groups, both the royal guard and the prince’s guard, were in close quarters and Lyssa had heard the duchess mention that it would make for an interesting, if not deadly, night.
“My lady!” the carriage driver had lifted up the small window at the top of the cab that allowed him to communicate with the passengers. “Get out of the carriage and make your way inside. With all of the people crowding at the entrance, it will take us hours to move forward.”
Lyssa nodded, gathering the precious slippers and opening the rear door of the cab. There was a ducal soldier there, one of four who had accompanied her with the carriage, and he helped her out onto the street. Fortunately, the hard-packed earth road was dry enough, as there hadn’t been any rain for about a week, so there was no mud to slog through. In her borrowed silk gown of brilliant blue, cut so that the sleeves draped like angel’s wings and the neckline was rather low and daring, Lyssa held the slippers tightly as she scurried away from the cab and lost herself in the crowd trying to get in through the gates of Westminster.
There were horses and knights and soldiers everywhere as she wound her way through the crowd, inviting a few rather interested glances as she went. With hazel eyes that appeared bronze in certain light and reddish-brown hair that was nearly the same color as her eyes, Lyssa du Bose was an exquisitely beautiful woman. She wasn’t a tall woman and not particularly slender, giving her a delicious figure that many a man had taken a second look at. For that reason alone, the duchess kept Lyssa somewhat concealed in her entourage of women so that she wouldn’t take the attention away from the duchess herself.
It had been that way since Lyssa had first come to serve the Duchess of Colchester as a lady-in-waiting and, therefore, Lyssa had become used to being hidden back behind other women and dressed in drab or ill-fitting clothing. The dress she had on now was loaned to her by another of the duchess’ ladies who thought it was time for Lyssa’s beauty to come forth.
And come forth, it did, like the sun beaming out from behind a storm – men were nearly falling over themselves trying to catch a glimpse of the bronze-haired goddess, but Lyssa didn’t notice. Such attention was never meant for her. She couldn’t have possibly known that being sent back to retrieve the forgotten gift had been the duchess’ ploy to remove her so that the duchess could shine when making her entrance to the great hall of Winchester.
But she should have guessed.
Still, she was focused on her task, making her way through the gangs of men and animals as she approached the hall of Westminster Palace. Gazing up at the structure, Lyssa imagined that this must have been what heaven looked like, for the windows of the hall were emitting bright streams of light out as if reaching golden fingers straight up to the sky. Voices, music, and laughter wafted upon the humid air and filled her heart with excitement. Surely there was nothing more beautiful than Westminster on this night and she was delighted to be here. She even hoped that she might dance, as she and the other ladies had been practicing their dances in the weeks leading up to the festivities. She was rather good at dancing, she thought. But fleeting dreams of dancing and frivolity were struck from her mind when a big body suddenly intercepted her path.
“My sweet and beautiful lady,” the man said. “Where are you rushing to? Might I be of assistance?”
The mere tone of his voice made Lyssa’s blood run cold with fear. Stumbling back away from him, she tried to catch her balance but she didn’t speak; she simply wanted to get away from him. As she tried to dart around him, he boldly grabbed her arm.
“I am sorry if I frightened you, my lady,” he said, his tone not sounding so lascivious this time. He sounded soft and pleading. “Forgive me. I only meant to help.”
Lyssa shook her head quickly and tried to pull her arm away, but he wouldn’t let go. He was a big man, dressed in mail weaponry, and she could smell the body odor from him. It turned her stomach.
“Will you speak to me, my lady?” he begged. “One word and I shall let you go. All I ask is for one word from your precious lips.”
Verging on frightened tears, Lyssa shook her head again and, once more, tried to pull her arm free, but he held tight. In her panic, she pulled too hard and the slippers in her grasp fell to the dirt. Gasping with horror, she tried to pick them up but the man would not release her. In fact, he yanked her in his direction.
“Just a word, pigeon,” he purred. “All I want is a word and I shall release you.”
Terrified, Lyssa began banging at his hand, his wrist, trying to force him to release her. Around them, his friends were laughing boorishly and Lyssa was very close to becoming hysterical. In a fit of terror, she bent over and bit his hand, forcing him to release her. As she stumbled back, he growled.
“You should not have done that,” he said. Now, he sounded deadly. “That will cost you.”
Lyssa knew he was going to grab her again and, perhaps, even take her away where she couldn’t scream for help. She fell to her knees to grab the golden slippers, trying to dart away from the man in the same movement but, in that instant, something surprising happened.
A knight in shining armor had come to save her.
*
“Christ, what a night.” A knight in well-worn armor and bearing the royal crimson tunic of Richard of England sighed. “I feel as if there will be a battle at any moment.”
Standing at the entrance to Westminster’s hall as herds of finely-dressed nobles rushed the doors in their haste to enter the festivities, the Royal Household Knights of Richard I of England surveyed the scene before them.
The knight who had spoken was referring to Prince John’s contingent of soldiers and mercenaries, men who had no business being on the grounds of Westminster but, because of John’s royal status and because this night was in honor of his wife, the prince’s men had been permitted to assist and coordinate the guests.
That decision had come down from Hubert Walter, Justiciar of England, and because he was in charge of the royal guard, including the elite knights, all of those sworn to the king had been compelled to obey. Walter was a man of great power, loyal to Richard until the death, and the knights sworn to Richard followed his command without question. But permitting John’s brute squad into Westminster against the royal guard was like putting dead and dry kindling next to an open flame; at any minute, something quite deadly could erupt.
“Take heart, Gavin.” Garret, in full regalia as Captain of the Royal Guard, fought off a grin at the ridiculousness of the situation they were facing. “It is only for the night. We shall remain vigilant over John’s group of mercenaries and when the festivities start in earnest, we shall peruse the grounds and the hall to ensure those vermin behave themselves.”
A broad-shouldered knight standing next to Garret looked at him. “Do you truly believe that they will?” he asked. “This is a group of thieves and cutthroats. We will be fortunate if they do not rob half of the nobles in attendance tonight.”
Garret cocked a dark eyebrow. “Which is why we shall peruse the grounds to ensure they do not find victims for their thievery,” he said. “In fact, I shall do that now. Gavin, you and Forbes remain at the door. I want you to look over everyone who enters. Anyone with a weapon will be forced to leave it with you, and I do mean everyone. Too many knights with too many weapons in an event such as this is a recipe for disaster.”
Sir Gavin de Nerra and Sir Gart Forbes nodded sharply. Gavin was the son of Sir Valor de Nerra, a man who had been quite close to Richard’s father, Henry, and the entire famil
y of knights served the crown. Next to him was Sir Gart Forbes, a hulking knight with a shaved head who had served Richard in The Levant as part of the de Lohr contingent. Gart was a man of few words, preferring, instead, to let his sword do the talking. Garret liked that particular trait in the strong young knight.
As Gavin and Gart headed over to man the main entry into the hall, Garret turned to the remaining two knights he had with him.
“Rhys, Knox,” he said to the pair. “I want you checking the posts. We have men stationed on the north and south sides of the hall; make sure they have support if needed. Check the posts regularly but return to the main entry to assist Gart and Gavin.”
Sir Rhys du Bois, an enormous warrior with brilliant blue eyes, spoke in a deep and measured voice. “I took the liberty of moving soldiers to the entry to the cloister,” he told Garret. “Simply to prevent John’s men from wandering where they should not be.”
Garret nodded. “That was wise,” he said. “I have them posted near the cathedral and, although the chances of John’s men wandering into the cloister are limited, it could still happen. Make sure you check those posts as well.”
Rhys nodded smartly, heading off with tall, muscular Sir Knox Penden at his side. Penden was from the great Stewards of Rochester, an easy-going man but a fierce fighter. Garret watched them go, pondering the placement of his men this night and hoping it would be enough to stave off any potential wanderings by the prince’s men. John would protest, of course, but Garret wouldn’t have to deal with him. That would be Hubert Walter, and John had a particular aversion to the man. Anyone so loyal to his brother had John’s ire.
Turning away from his men, Garret began to head out to the great crowd of people who were gradually trickling in through the main entrance to Westminster. At any given time, Garret had fifty high-caliber knights at his disposal but he kept de Nerra, Forbes, du Bois, and Penden close to him. Those men were his generals, efficient and powerful knights who carried out his orders and made sure the household guard functioned smoothly. All Garret had to do was utter a command or lift a finger, and the four of them were off to do his bidding. They were young men, and hungry, eager to serve and eager to make a name for themselves.
As Garret headed to the main gate, he glanced up to the sky, noting that the sun was almost completely set now. There were servants and royal soldiers running across the grounds of Westminster, going about their business, while a steady stream of visitors filed in at the gate. And what a parade of visitors; Garret passed men in silks and finery and women in garments and jewels so heavy that they could barely walk. Elaborate costumes seemed to be the theme on this night because it wasn’t often that a royal celebration was held and everyone wanted to look their best.
As he walked, he caught a heavy whiff of perfume, which also seemed to be the theme on this night. The last time he smelled perfume this heavy, he’d been in a Turkish brothel. God, it reeked to high heaven and he resisted the urge to sneeze as he made his way past the incoming guests, ignoring the eager looks from some of the women.
The looks he didn’t ignore were the looks from John’s men stationed at the gate. They all knew who Garret de Moray was, as Captain of the Royal Guard, and he was a difficult man to miss. He stood at least a head taller than even the tallest man, with shoulders that were so broad he had to turn sideways to enter certain doors.
And those eyes… like the blackest of nights. Soulless eyes, David de Lohr had once called them. They certainly weren’t soulless because Garret had a soul. He also had a heart and a mind and, in fact, he was relatively happy these days. He had a royal appointment he took pride in and he wielded a great deal of power at court. Even Hubert Walter sought counsel from him. He’d made sure to write to his father and tell him how great he was these days. He hoped his father had told his older brother, who fancied himself a powerful knight as well as he served in the Duke of Colchester’s household in a very recent appointment. But Sir Rickard de Moray was not as powerful as his younger brother was these days.
There was something smug in that knowledge to the younger brother.
In fact, Garret knew his brother would be around here at some point but he hadn’t seen him yet. He knew the duke was in residence at his London townhome, a vast property known as The Wix. It had been named for the original owner, a Saxon prince with the name of Darwixsham, but somehow over the years it had simply become “The Wix”. It wasn’t far from Westminster, perhaps not even a mile, and the duke had been there almost a month. Garret had seen his brother twice since then, but only briefly, and, in truth, he adored his older brother. Rickard was loud, hilarious, and strong. But Garret was louder and funnier and stronger. At least, in his mind he was. There had always been a good-natured competition between them, something that became more pronounced the older they became.
Therefore, he was keeping his eye out for the Colchester standards when he reached the gate. But there was also something more about finding Colchester than simply seeing his brother; as Garret had known since his days in The Levant that Jago de Nantes had been given the title of Duke of Colchester, which meant Rickard was serving Alfaar.
Being that Rickard was an upstanding and moral knight, Garret had no idea if his brother was happy in his new appointment. He hadn’t seen his brother enough since he’d taken his new post to tell him what he knew of the man’s new liege, so Garret was hoping that tonight he’d have the opportunity to speak with his brother at length. If Rickard wasn’t happy serving a rat, then perhaps Garret could convince him to come to the royal guard.
Serving his younger brother.
The thought made Garret grin to himself. Nothing would damage Rickard’s pride more than having to capitulate to his younger brother.
Wandering away from the main gate and passing a glare or two at John’s seedy men around the entry, he continued on along the crowds of people who were waiting to enter. There were soldiers everywhere and knights. In fact, off to his right, he could see a knight being rather rough with a lovely young woman, who seemed quite terrified. As Garret watched, the man yanked on the girl and she dropped whatever she was carrying. The men standing around weren’t trying to help the girl in the least. In fact, they were laughing at her fear. Being that Garret took his oath to protect the weak seriously, he headed in that direction, reaching the pair just as the woman bit the man on the hand. Seeing that the situation was about to deteriorate, Garret put himself between the terrified young woman and the knight.
“Find someone else to annoy,” he rumbled, his deep voice bubbling up from the very ground upon which he stood.
The knight with the teeth marks in his fingers glared at Garret. “This is none of your affair,” he said. “You have no right to interfere.”
Garret’s gaze moved to the other men standing around, men now posturing that their friend’s fun had been cut short. Hand on the hilt of his broadsword, he took a step back and turned slightly so he was looking at the young woman. Clutching golden slippers to her chest, she had her head down.
“What is this man to you, my lady?” he asked her. “Is he your husband?”
The woman shook her head, almost violently, but she didn’t answer.
“Father?” Garret asked.
Again, she shook her head but no answer. Wondering why she wasn’t speaking, he tried one last time.
“Brother?” he asked. “Cousin? Is this man anything to you, my lady?”
She shook her head again, wiping quickly at the tears in her eyes, and Garret found his gaze moving over the woman. Dressed in a blue silk that clung to her figure, she was quite stunning. The swell of her pale breast rose above the neckline of the garment she wore, up and down, as she breathed quickly. He could also see that she was trembling and he took pity on her. Reaching out, he grasped her gently by the arm.
“Then I shall escort you into the hall personally,” he told her. “I promise that no one will molest you, my lady.”
The knight who had been bitten was outraged. “Y
ou will not take her,” he boomed. “Who do you think you –?”
He was cut off by a massive fist flying into his face, sending him hurling to the ground. Garret had lashed out even as he escorted the terrified woman to the gate, not missing a step as he went. It was all quite casual to him and quite easy. As the lady’s assailant hit the dirt and the man’s colleagues gathered around him, infuriated but no so infuriated that they would challenge the massive knight with the wicked punch, Garret continued along his way, a firm grip on the lady’s elbow, as if nothing in the world was amiss.
But the woman was looking over her shoulder, flabbergasted at the sight of her accoster sprawled on the road. Her knight in shining armor had not only protected her, he’d punished the man who had tried to molest her. Shocked at the vision of her assailant wallowing on the ground, she turned her astonished gaze to the enormous knight at her side.
“Y-you struck him!” she gasped.
Garret didn’t look at her. They were approaching the gate and he had more important things on his mind as he saw John’s men standing there, shooting daggers from their eyes at him.
“So you can speak?” he said calmly. “Since you would not answer me, I was not for certain that you knew how.”
The woman was torn between his chivalrous deed and what seemed to border on an insult. “O-Of course I can speak,” she said. “W-Why did you hit him?”
“Would you prefer that I left you there to be mauled by him? I can just as easily take you back.”
The mere thought sent terror racing through her. “N-Nay,” she said nervously. “I-I do not know who he was. He simply grabbed me and would not let me go.”
They were passing through the gate at that point and Garret took her through, ignoring the nasty stares in his direction from John’s men. Although he pretended to be focused on their destination, he was, in truth, thinking on the lady and the catch in her speech. It would explain why she had been afraid to speak at first. Only when he was out of their earshot did he reply.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 31
