“I dunna ken,” he said honestly. “The damage is bad. If it is too bad, she willna heal. If it is not, then mayhap she has a chance. She is young and she is strong, and that will work in her favor.”
Garret felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. His gaze moved to the bed where Lyssa lay, sleeping from whatever potion Alpin had given her. He could hardly bring himself to ask the next question.
“Are you telling me that she may… die?”
Alpin could hear the turmoil in the man’s voice. He’d known Garret de Moray for several years and had never seen the man anything other than completely calm and in control. A wise, skilled knight with a stellar reputation. Kronos, they called him. The Father of the Gods. This was the level of respect the man had earned. But a perfect reputation and all the wisdom in the world couldn’t heal the woman he was going to marry. Alpin began to feel a good deal of pity for him.
“I canna say,” he finally said. “Time will tell, m’lord. But I will do all I can.”
There was nothing more to say. As Alpin opened the chamber door and went out into the reception room to give Garret some privacy, his final words still seemed to hang in the air.
I will do all I can.
Those weren’t words of hope. They were words of consolation as far as Garret was concerned. Stiffly, he made his way over to the bed and fell to his knees beside it. Taking Lyssa’s limp hand, he brought it to his lips. That was when the tears started to come.
“I will not accept this,” he whispered into her hand. “I will not let you go, not when I just found you. You will live and we will have twelve sons, just as we have discussed. The end will not come now, do you hear? It will not come because I refuse to accept it. You will get well, Lyssa. You will heal and we shall be married. I cannot believe God has led me to you only to have you so swiftly taken away.”
Her hand was wet and it took him a moment to realize it was because of the tears streaming down his face. Reverently, he kissed her palm, tasting his tears. And before he realized it, the soft sobs began to come. Laying his head on her breast, he wept quietly.
“I swear to you that Colchester will pay,” he said, his lips against her bruised skin. “He will not live to see the sunrise. If you can hear me, Lyssa… know that I will love you and only you until I take my last breath.”
Lyssa didn’t stir; she remained still, breathing heavily from the potion Alpin had given her. Garret lifted his head, looking at her pale face as he wiped the tears from his face, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His gaze lingered on her, drinking in his fill, because he wasn’t entirely sure this wouldn’t be the last time he ever saw her. Perhaps she would pass away while he was off dealing justice to Colchester, or perhaps he wouldn’t survive his bout with Colchester. Either way, the chance of him never seeing her alive again were good.
But it didn’t change his mind.
He knew what he had to do.
Regaining his composure, he stood up, leaning over the bed to kiss her gently on the lips. It was a sweet, warm kiss, the kiss of a man in love, and tears stung again but he fought them. He had to think of his rage now, his hatred of Colchester, and that was enough to steel his composure. With a final look at Lyssa’s sleeping face, he made his way to the door and quit the chamber.
When he emerged into the reception room, he was faced with not only Zayin, but the rest of his senior knights. Knox had found Gavin, Gart, and Rhys, and they were all standing there expectantly as Alpin slipped back into the bedchamber beyond to tend his patient. Garret didn’t even notice that the soldiers who had been there were now gone, having vacated the chamber.
Gavin was the first one to speak.
“Alpin told us of the lady’s condition,” he said, looking pale and tight-lipped. “I am going to The Wix, Garret, and….”
Garret cut him off. “I am going to The Wix,” he said calmly. “I will be seeking justice for Lady Lyssa’s injuries.”
Gart and Rhys were the most shocked of the group; they’d just spent the past several minutes calming Gavin down, now to be faced with Garret’s declaration against a man whom they all knew to be untouchable.
But that was the problem – Colchester knew he was untouchable.
At least, until now.
“You intend to challenge Colchester?” Gart asked, astonished. Then, his features relaxed into an expression of distinct approval. “It is about time someone challenged that bastard. I am with you, Garret. Tell me what you need from me and I shall do it.”
Garret looked at him, pointedly. “I am going alone,” he said, pushing through the knights as he headed to the door that would lead out of the building. “This is my fight. None of you will be involved. In fact, you will all disavow any knowledge of my intentions. For your own sake, it is necessary.”
The group of men followed him out of the door. “You will not go alone,” Zayin said firmly. “We have discussed this, Salibi. We have decided to go with you.”
Out into the dark, moist night, Garret was focusing on what he needed to do now that the path had been set. But his knights were following him like a pack of eager puppies and it was a distraction.
“This is not your battle,” he said, coming to a halt and turning to the group. “I appreciate your loyalty, but you know as well as I do that if you support me in this endeavor, it will bring the royal wrath upon you. Please do not give me any more to worry about than I already have. I cannot stomach such good and fine men becoming upswept in my quest for justice. This is something I must do.”
He was trying to be kind about it, but no one was buying it. Gart shook his head. “If you go, I go,” he said. “Garret, if the situation was reversed and one of us had such an endeavor ahead of us, you would not let us go alone, either. You would support us until the end. We have been through too much together, all of us, to let you face this alone. Besides… if we all band together, there is strength in numbers. Mayhap Richard will understand that this is something that should have been done long ago with Colchester. The man is vile and evil, and until now, it has been overlooked. Let us stand with you as the man meets the justice he so deserves.”
It was not only a logical argument, it was a truthful one. If they only knew the depths of what they were saying, it would make it all the more poignant. Neither Garret nor Zayin had ever told them about how they’d met, how Garret had saved Zayin from Colchester’s sword. It was something Garret never saw fit to tell them because he didn’t want it to seem as if he felt the need to be a hero in their eyes. But what he was just coming to realize was that they already saw him as a hero.
And heroes did what was right and just, always.
Garret sighed heavily as he looked to the faces around him; Gart, the man who struck fear into the hearts of all men, and Rhys with his fearsome double-swords. There was Knox, who was hell on the field of battle, and Zayin, whose loyalty was beyond measure. Finally, there was Gavin, who had a stake in this almost as much as Garret did. The man’s sister was potentially caught up in this madness and Garret couldn’t, in good conscience, deny him his quest to make sure his sister was safe. All of them, such fine knights, men that Garret considered himself extremely fortunate to serve with. But men who were going to risk everything just because of him.
“Is there nothing I can say to discourage you?” he finally asked.
Five heads shook. Resigned, and without the time to argue the point, Garret simply turned away, heading for the stables.
“Then be waiting for me at the gatehouse, for I intend to leave immediately,” he said. “I will wait for no man.”
His words were final. At least they were not words of denial, and the knights were grateful. But he was eager to get to The Wix, as were they all, so they quickly went on their way, preparing for what would come this night. But as they moved, it was Zayin who had the foresight to send for Hubert Walter. If Colchester was going to be challenged this evening, then Zayin knew that Walter would want to know. Garret de Moray was about to punish a duke for
what the man had done to his intended and there wasn’t a damned thing anyone could do to stop him.
Tonight would see either great triumph or great tragedy.
Zayin prayed it was not the latter.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Wix
Rickard had never seen such chaos.
As he’d gone to take Lyssa to Westminster, which was a few minutes’ ride from The Wix, much had happened in the short time he’d been gone. At least, that was what he was told by a shaken soldier when he returned. Even as Rickard stood in the bailey talking to the man, he could hear the shouting and the screaming from the manse.
Colchester was on a rampage. He was stomping through the house, shouting, throwing things, and generally condemning everyone who lived and served there. He told them he was going to burn the house down over their heads for the disrespect they’d shown him, and the servants and the duchess’ women were weeping in fear. That was when Rickard decided to go into the manse to find Colchester and try to prevent him from doing something stupid.
That was also when he decided that Colchester was touched by madness.
Of course, he’d always suspected it but tonight he’d found confirmation. Confirmation that the man he served wasn’t simply cruel or spoiled; he was sadistic and detached from the reality that surrounded him.
Before going to seek his liege, however, he checked on his wife first and found Tristiana weeping in their room in the barracks just where he had left her. She, too, had heard the shouting but she’d remained to her chamber because Rickard had told her to stay there when the trouble first started. She hadn’t moved and she was safe. Armed with that knowledge Rickard was able to do what needed to be done.
He had to track down a madman.
Entering the manse had been a surreal experience. It smelled of smoke and it was dark for the most part. Servants were hiding and Rickard found it strange that he didn’t hear Grace’s voice mingling with Jago’s shouting. He made his way up the servant’s staircase, following the sounds of the shouting. On the second floor, he found some huddled servants, whom he promptly chased from the manse. If Jago was really intent on burning the place down, then Rickard would make sure there weren’t any willing victims.
Finally, Rickard found Jago on the second floor of the manse were his sleeping chamber was, trying to ignite a big tapestry that hung in a large central hall. But the moisture in the air had been absorbed by the tapestry and it wouldn’t light, throwing Jago into even more of a fit. He stood in the shadows and watched Jago tear at the tapestry before finally ripping it, and then smashing at the furniture in the chamber. He was making a great deal of noise and that would be to Rickard’s advantage. He could keep track of the man. But something was drawing him to the floor above, where the ladies slept, including Lady Lyssa. He couldn’t turn away from that upstairs floor, not when there was the potential of great catastrophe up there. Keeping an ear on Jago, he rushed up the stairs to the next level.
There was weeping up here. He could hear it. It was soft, but unmistakable. There were three chambers on this side of the manse, all of them facing the river, and the doors to all three were open. There seemed to be the most activity in the first chamber so he stuck his head in only to be confronted by all of the duchess’ ladies crammed into the chamber as well as the duchess herself. In fact, Grace caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, turning to look at him in a move that startled the women. Fearful that the duke had returned, most of them gasped in fear but Rickard held his hands up to assure them he meant them no harm.
“It is me,” he said. “You need not fear.”
Rose, who had her back turned to him, lurched to her feet unsteadily. “Where is Lyssa?” she begged her pale face streaked with tears and dirt. “Is she at Westminster?”
Rickard looked at the woman. The last time he’d seen her had been in the scramble to remove Lyssa from Colchester’s reach. Therefore, he nodded comfortingly.
“She is,” he assured her. “Do not worry over her. But you must tell me what has happened; what happened to Lady Lyssa? Why is Colchester trying to burn the manse down?”
Rose’s lower lip trembled and she shook her head, clearly very emotional about the entire event. She pointed to the bed and it was then that Rickard realized there was someone upon it. Juliana lay there, a big compress on her head while the ladies huddled around her. Rickard couldn’t tell if the woman was conscious or not.
“The duke came to this chamber while my niece was out and laid a trap,” she said simply. “Lady Juliana was the other victim of this trap; he beat her and tied her up, throwing her into the wardrobe. It was by a sheer miracle that she didn’t suffocate before we could find her. While Lady Juliana was conveniently out of the way, the duke climbed into this bed and waited for Lyssa to return. Juliana is too injured to tell me more so I can only surmise that he attacked Lyssa when she returned and when she fought him, he nearly killed her. Is… is she dead, Sir Rickard?”
Rickard was feeling absolute revulsion at what he was being told, but he managed to answer her question. “Nay,” he replied huskily. “She is not dead, but she is badly injured. I turned her over to Garret and his physic. She will receive the best of care.”
Rose nodded stoically. Then, she burst into tears and turned away, covering her mouth with her kerchief. As Rose struggled to compose herself, Grace approached him.
“Where is my husband?” she asked quietly.
Rickard looked at the long-suffering wife of a lunatic. “On the floor below,” he said. “I must go and make sure he does not do anything more foolish and destructive than he already has.”
Grace simply nodded, her big brown eyes seemingly riveted to Rickard. “Rose told me about her niece,” she said quietly. “She also told me about your brother.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Is your brother in love with her?”
“I cannot say, my lady, but he is very fond of her.”
Grace fell silent a moment, glancing over her shoulder as the women tended Juliana. “I do not know what to say about all of this,” she admitted. “I have told my husband to stay away from my women, but he cannot seem to help himself. I am sorry that he hurt Lady Lyssa before we were able to remove her from The Wix.”
“As I am, my lady,” Rickard said. He paused a moment before continuing. “But I would like to suggest… my lady, is there anywhere you can go? Leave The Wix, I mean. I am not certain of the duke’s mental state and it would probably be better if you were to take your women and leave.”
Grace looked so very pale and forlorn. “My mother’s family has a house to the east of the Tower,” she said. “Clegg Court is not very big, but it is secure. I… I have thought of going there many times before, in fact.”
The stoic duchess was breaking down somewhat. Grace usually stayed so removed from everything, so it was unusual to see her speak any more than just a few words at a time.
“Then you should go,” he encouraged quietly. “I will have the carriage brought around and I will send men to help you remove Lady Juliana. I will send the physic with you as well.”
Grace looked at him, almost sharply, before shaking her head. “Jago’s physic?” she asked. “Nay, thank you. Let that old drunkard remain here with my husband. I shall send for another physic once we arrive at Clegg.”
Rickard thought it was an excellent plan of action. “Then have your women pack what is necessary,” he said. “Go down to the bailey immediately. There is no time to waste.”
He turned away from Grace but she grasped his arm. “What will you do, Rickard?” she asked. “Whatever you do… Jago will not be pleased if you try to control him. You know this. It would be best to let his fit run its course. Mayhap… mayhap you should bring him drink. With enough drink, he will sleep. He might even forget.”
Rickard could hear the sorrow in her voice. She had no control over her husband just as Rickard had none.
“I will do what I can,” he muttered. �
�I will keep him occupied while you remove your ladies.”
“It would not be a pity if he fell out a window in his drunken state.”
Surprised, Rickard looked at the woman at her overt suggestion but she simply averted her gaze and turned back to the bed. He had to admit it wasn’t a bad suggestion at that.
It would certainly solve a lot of problems.
Quitting the chamber, he was immediately refocused on Jago’s position in the house. When he reached the second floor, he no longer heard the angry ravings but now he was hearing soft shrieks, perhaps even shrieks of pain. Following the sounds, he came upon Jago assaulting a servant woman in a darkened chamber. She was shoved up against the wall as Jago tried to kiss her and God only knew what else. Appalled, Rickard thumped his fingers on the door loudly.
“My lord,” he said.
Startled from his attack, Jago looked up from the weeping woman to see Rickard standing there. Then, his mood changed drastically.
“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I sent for you and no one could find you!”
Rickard stepped in, catching the attention of the weeping woman and motioning her out the door. She slipped out, gladly, as Rickard took the full focus of Jago’s anger.
“I am here now, my lord,” he said steadily. “What has happened tonight?”
He didn’t mention the wounded women, at least not yet. But Jago rushed at him. “Do you know what your brother did?” he snarled, completely ignoring the question. “He took that which belongs to me.”
“What belongs to you, my lord?”
Jago was so angry that he was spraying spit from his lips. “I feed her and I clothe her,” he said. “She belongs to me and your brother has no right to touch her. He touched her! I saw him!”
Rickard knew what he meant but he wasn’t going to give in and pretend he understood. Somehow, someway, Colchester knew about his brother and Lyssa, but Rickard wasn’t going to ask how he knew. He continued to play ignorant.
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