Zayin dipped his head. “It would be an honor to speak with her, my lord.”
Rickard rather liked the polite man who had followed his brother home from Richard’s crusade. At first, he had been suspicious of the man, as most of Garret’s friends and family had been, but after hearing Zayin’s story – how he owed Garret his life in debt – and in seeing that the man was truly a loyal companion to Garret, who had mostly been a lonely man until Zayin came into his life, Rickard had come to accept him. He really didn’t know Zayin well, but if Garret trusted the man, then Rickard did as well. He motioned the men to follow him.
“Then leave your horses here to be tended,” he said. “My wife should just be finishing her meal with the duchess. There is a small room in the manse exclusively for my use, so we will go there and drink wine and become drunk before the nooning meal.”
Garret groaned. “Not me,” he said. “Can we not simply speak without losing our senses?”
“Since when did you become so dull?”
“Since you became a fool.”
Rickard laughed. “Not so foolish that you still do not admire everything about me,” he said arrogantly. “Admit it. You want to be just like me.”
Garret simply shook his head. “Christ,” he hissed. “Is your pride so overblown? Can we not simply retreat to your private room and behave like men? In your case, I know that will be a stretch, but try, Rickard. We have little time and much to speak of.”
Rickard grinned at his serious younger brother. “As you wish,” he said, sensing that Garret didn’t seem as congenial today as he did last night. He wondered why. As Garret turned his horse over to a groom for safe keeping, Rickard changed the subject by pointing at the horse he’d been standing over. “This is my new Belgian charger. The horse’s hooves have been terribly groomed and my smithy is trying to right the hooves so the horse will have a normal gait. He moves stiffly.”
Garret eyed the horse, taking a few steps towards the beast and crouching down to look at the hooves. He pointed. “The heel of the hoof is too short,” he said. “No wonder he has an odd gait.”
“Painful, too, I would imagine.”
Garret stood up, slapping the rear of the horse affectionately. “He looks like a fine animal,” he said. “Where did you get him?”
Rickard scratched his head sheepishly. “I got him from Colchester,” he said, moving away from the horse so the smithy wouldn’t hear. He lowered his voice. “The man spent a fortune on the animal and then listened to some idiot tell him that the horse would have a better gait if the hooves were cut short. It did not work, of course, and he was simply going to cast the horse aside when I offered him money for the beast. Can you imagine? Casting aside a horse like that?”
Garret listened without much reaction, although he was thinking a great deal. In fact, he saw no better time than the present to ask the question he’d been dying to ask since he’d found out his brother was serving Colchester.
“Nay, I cannot imagine,” he said. “Is that normal for him to behave so frivolously?”
Rickard gave him a long look before shaking his head. “I cannot tell you the things I have seen from the man since I have come into his service, so it is better if I do not,” he muttered. “You would not believe it.”
This was exactly the subject Garret wanted to be on. “I think I would.”
Rickard looked at him strangely. “Why do you say that?” he asked. Then, he quickly answered his own question. “I suppose you have heard rumors of the man just like everyone else has. I would not say this to anyone else, Garret, but I can confirm that whatever you have heard of him is more than likely true.”
Garret was very interested. “I have heard a few things,” he admitted. “But I have also seen a few things.”
Rickard curiosity grew. “What have you seen?”
Garret sighed, a reluctant gesture. Now that he had an open door to express exactly what he wished to speak of, it was difficult to know just where to start. “I have hardly seen you since my return from The Levant,” he said. “There is so much to tell you but there has not been the opportunity. You were serving father when I returned. Do you recall?”
“I do. You returned home for a very short amount of time before you were called back to London.”
“And you went to serve Lincoln.”
“I was with Lincoln for quite some time until I recently came to serve Colchester.”
Garret’s gaze moved to Zayin, who was bending over the smithy as the man worked on Rickard’s horse. “Did I tell you how Zayin and I became friends?”
Rickard wasn’t sure what that had to do with their conversation, but he nodded. “You did. You said you saved his life but little more than that. Why?”
Garret’s attention lingered on Zayin for a moment longer before returning to his brother. “Because I did not tell you the circumstances in which I saved his life,” he said quietly. “When I was in The Levant under Richard’s service, your liege was there as well. In fact, Colchester had managed to earn himself quite a reputation. Did you know that?”
Rickard nodded. “I have heard.”
Garret continued. “The men called him Alfaar, which means ‘The Rat’ in the language native to The Levant. Colchester was known for his underhanded and immoral dealings. He would burn a village and kill women and children and call it his glory, but as the cousin of the king, he was immune to the punishment any other man would have been given. He was a vile excuse for a knight, Rickard. Appalling.”
Rickard wasn’t particularly surprised to hear this information. “I knew he had been to The Levant but I did not realize you knew him,” he said. “But what about Zayin? What does this have to do with him?”
Garret answered. “Colchester rarely followed orders,” he said. “He always seemed to have his own agenda, as if he were in The Levant on his own personal crusade. One night, he had left camp and Richard sent me and David de Lohr out to find him. David and I split up, hunting for him as we were, but I was the one to find him. When I came across him, he had Zayin on his knees and was preparing to execute the man. There is more to the story, but suffice it to say I prevented him from killing Zayin with a well-aimed arrow that took out his sword hand. Like a coward, Colchester ran off before he ever saw my face so he had no idea that it was I who launched that arrow at him. The only people who know what I did are Zayin, David, and Richard. When I heard you were serving the man, I wondered if you knew just what kind of man you had devoted your loyalties to.”
Rickard was looking at his brother with a mixture of surprise and disgust. “And you are sure it was Colchester who tried to kill Zayin?”
“There is no mistake, I assure you. I saw him with my own eyes.”
Rather disappointed, Rickard raked his fingers through his dark hair in a somewhat pensive gesture. “I believe you,” he said after a moment. “If I had not seen him do questionable things in the short time I have been serving him, I may have had doubt. But I do not. And you would not lie to me.”
Garret had to go in for the kill. He had no idea if he’d ever have another chance like this again, just the two of them in conversation with no one else around, so he had to take the opportunity. Considering what Walter had spoken of only that morning, it was imperative that Garret say everything he needed to.
“Tell me something, Rickard,” he muttered. “Where do Colchester’s loyalties lie? Certainly, he was in The Levant with Richard, but has that changed?”
Rickard looked at him, a hint of wariness in his expression. “Why do you ask?”
“Because he attended John’s party last night. Only the prince’s loyalists were there. Does that mean his loyalty is now with John?”
Rickard didn’t answer right away. In fact, he never had a chance because the postern gate the separated the walled flower garden from the stable yard suddenly swung open and two young women were hurrying through it. There was some weeping going on, which caught their attention, and Garret and Rickard turned to see
one young woman, seemingly torn and bloodied, being helped along by another young woman. It took Garret a moment to realize that Lyssa was the damaged lady. She appeared bloodied and battered. After that, his feet seemed to have a mind of their own.
He wasn’t sure how he got to Lyssa’s side, only that he had. He’d moved faster than he’d ever moved in his life. He came up behind her and spoke her name softly just as he reached out to grasp her arm. Gently, he thought. But she screamed as if he’d stabbed her and hysterically ripped herself from his grasp, tripping over Juliana’s feet in her haste and crashing into the wall of the garden which, at this point, also happened to be the wall on the east side of the stable yard. As she hit the wall, she collapsed, cowering, her hands up in front of her as if to prevent an attack.
Garret was astonished.
“Lady Lyssa,” he said steadily, hoping she would recognize him. “It is me, Garret. Look at me. You know me, love. Look at me.”
With the bonnet still askew on her head, Lyssa did. She looked at Garret but it seemed to take her a moment to identify him. When she did, she slapped a hand over her mouth to keep the sobs from bursting forth. Still, tears poured from her eyes and she was unable to speak.
Garret was gravely concerned.
“What happened?” he asked Juliana. He didn’t even bother asking Lyssa because it was clear that she was hysterical. “Why is she like this?”
Juliana had never been this close to the great Garret de Moray before. He was such a big man, imposing, and his eyes were really black, just as everyone said they were. His eyes were unnerving, in truth. Behind him, she saw Rickard, who was also looking at the women with great concern and she greatly feared her answer. She didn’t want to tell them the truth but she wasn’t sure how to avoid it.
“I am taking her inside,” she said. “She will be well but I must take her inside.”
She was trying to pull Lyssa to her feet but Garret stopped her. He put a hand on her arm big enough to cover more than half of it.
“Stop,” he commanded quietly. “What happened to her? Tell me now.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an order. Juliana’s eyes filled with frightened tears. “I… I do not think I should tell you.”
“Tell him,” Rickard said firmly, quietly. “Juliana, what has happened?”
Juliana blinked back tears. “She… she was attacked.”
Garret’s heart sank, although he suspected something like that must have happened by the look of her. “She is torn up,” he muttered, rage building inside of him. “What bastard did this? Tell me now so that I may punish him.”
Juliana shook her head. “You cannot punish him, my lord.”
“That is ridiculous. Of course I can. Who did this to her?”
Juliana looked between Garret and Rickard, wiping a tear that strayed down her cheek. She knew she had no choice but to tell them the truth because she was certain they would not let her pass until she did. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Rickard.
“The duke,” she whispered. “He found her in the garden and… and attacked her. I must get her into the manse and hide her.”
Garret felt as if he’d been struck. His breath caught in his throat and he stared at Lyssa, momentarily shocked at the answer. But the shock quickly dissolved and the rage he’d been feeling returned, stronger and more horrible than any rage he’d ever experienced in his life. Already, it was tearing him up inside like a great clawing beast.
“Colchester,” he growled. “My Sweet God….”
He couldn’t even finish, mostly because in the midst of his anger, he realized that his brother served the man. Rickard had no recourse at all in this matter and neither did anyone else. Colchester, as he had always been, was untouchable. Juliana had been right; they could not punish him.
That was the bitterest thing of all.
But it was more than that. As Garret watched Lyssa cower against the wall, a red welt on her lovely face and her clothing torn and bloodied, he came to understand that the interest he’d been feeling for her went beyond simple attraction. He’d spent one evening with her and it had been unlike any evening he’d ever spent with anyone. She had been lovely, humorous, bright, and fun. He loved her rather innocent and excited attitude towards things he found mundane or even dull. Seeing the world through her eyes last evening had been something he’d never experienced before. Aye, he wanted to call on her. He wanted to be something to her as she was coming to be to him.
And now this….
The woman was serving in a house with a lord who was immoral and depraved. Garret had known that from the outset, but to see Lyssa abused by the very man that she served… God, he didn’t know how he was going to keep his head in all of this. He didn’t know if he could. He wanted to rip Colchester apart by the arms and rejoice in his pain. But he couldn’t; he knew he couldn’t do a damned thing.
Without another word, he bent over and scooped Lyssa up into his arms.
“Go,” he told Juliana quickly. “I will follow you. Hurry, now.”
Wide-eyed, Juliana did as she was told and Garret rushed after her, holding Lyssa tightly against him. Rickard was beside them, all three of them rushing along the wall and into the yard of the manse.
Juliana led them into servant’s entrance on the side of the house and up two flights of mural stairs until they reached the top of the structure. Up here, it was hot already from the temperature of the day, smelling like dust and that damp, moldy-water smell. They were in the servant’s quarters, a maze of confusing rooms that Garret followed Juliana through. She moved swiftly, leading them through connecting rooms, into a corridor, and then into a corner room that had a smaller tower room attached to it.
Only then did their flight seem to come to a halt when Juliana slammed the door behind them and bolted it. It seemed as if they had run forever. Garret didn’t even know where he was until he happened to catch a glimpse from one of the small windows in the chamber and could see the bailey below. They were looking out over the complex, facing west.
“Here,” Juliana said, indicating the small tower room adjoining the bigger chamber. There was a small bed there, a chair and table, and some clutter, as if items were stored there. “Put her here.”
Garret did. Carefully, he set Lyssa down on the chair. Tossing aside all proprieties, he put a hand under her chin and tilted her head up to get a better look at her welted cheek even as Juliana pulled the ruined bonnet off of her head. He could see a nearly-perfect hand print on her left cheek. He could have easily ranted at the sight but he knew that would only upset Lyssa and she was upset enough. Therefore, he forced himself to be calm about it.
“That will fade,” he said with surprising gentleness. “It will not leave a mark. Lady Juliana, bring me witch hazel, some clean rags, warmed water, and wine. Hurry, now.”
Juliana looked at him with some uncertainty. “You do not have to tend her, my lord,” she said. “I can do that.”
Garret didn’t look at her; he was still looking at the red mark on Lyssa’s face. “I will do it,” he said steadily. “Go and do as I say. And tell no one where Lady Lyssa is. Do you understand?”
Juliana looked at Rickard, who was standing over his brother. The man nodded his head, once, and Juliana fled. Garret heard the door shut but he’d moved from Lyssa’s face to her bloodied clothing. He began to carefully inspect the areas on her arms that were bleeding through the torn fabric.
Once Garret began to survey the damage, Lyssa turned her gaze to him. In truth, she’d been trying to regain her wits. She’d behaved like a terrified fool in front of him and there was some embarrassment there. But more than the embarrassment was the shock of what had happened with Colchester – the man had rubbed his leg against woman’s center. Worse still, he’d grabbed at her breast roughly. Falling into the roses had saved her; Lyssa knew that now. There was no telling what would have happened has she not fallen backwards and interrupted the duke’s lewd plan. Therefore, she didn’t lament the scratc
hes on her arms, back, and hands.
As far as Lyssa was concerned, they’d saved her.
“W-What are you doing here?” she asked Garret, her voice hoarse.
He looked up from the scratches on her arm, meeting her eye. “I have come to visit my brother,” he said. “Are you calm enough that you can speak with me?”
Lyssa nodded. In fact, she was so calm that she was starting to feel weak and lightheaded. “A-Aye,” she said. “I-I am sorry that I behaved so foolishly.”
He smiled, causing her heart to race. “It sounds as if you have had a terrible fright,” he said, calmly and steadily. “What happened?”
Lyssa realized she was trembling as she spoke. Something about his presence was so comforting that she resisted the urge to throw herself into his arms. She desperately needed to feel safe and secure at the moment.
“I-I am not entirely sure,” she said. “I-I was picking violets because that is what the duchess wished. T-The duke was suddenly standing next to me and he demanded that I break my fast with him.”
She was starting to tear up again and struggling not to. Garret could see how frightened she was and he took her hand, tenderly, and held it. “What did you say to him?”
Garret’s hold on her fingers fortified Lyssa tremendously. That very simple gesture, the warmth and strength of his touch, gave her courage. She’d never known such a touch, not in her entire life. She’d spent her life with her mother and female servants, with perhaps an occasional male servant around the house, but she’d certainly never grown up around men or had known a loving father’s touch. Her father had made it clear many years ago that he had no use for a girl-child. Therefore, the power of Garret’s touch made her feel she wasn’t so alone in the world.
There was someone who cared.
“I-I told him that I could not,” she said, wiping quickly at her tears with her free hand. “H-He told me that I was disobeying him and that if he wanted me to come to him, then I would. T-Then… t-then….”
The stammer grew worse as she tried to speak on the vulgar actions of the duke that followed. Garret squeezed her hand softly.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 40