Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  In fact… she had an idea. She should have had the same idea a long time ago, but it had never been the right time. But now… the time was right.

  This was her moment.

  “My husband has more pressing issues on his hands than us,” she assured Rose. “We shall be the very last of his worries, even if he is to see us.”

  Rose wasn’t convinced but she didn’t argue. “Aye, my lady.”

  Grace turned back for the manse. “Start moving the women to the stables.”

  Rose was confused. “Where do you go, my lady?”

  “Do as I say. I shall join you when I can.”

  Rose watched the woman continue towards the darkened manse but she didn’t spare more thought to the reason behind it. She had several women depending on her, including an injured one, and she needed to move them to safety.

  Quietly, and with stealth, the women began to move out.

  *

  Whack!

  Garret didn’t give Rickard time to set up a strong defensive position before he was charging his brother, sailing that heavy broadsword over his head with both hands and coming down on Rickard’s shield like a battering ram.

  Rickard’s teeth knocked together at the force of the blow. He found himself in the very bad position of being under his brother intense pressure as Garret came down on him. In that instant, he saw what made his brother so deadly. He was fast and he was strong, and Rickard’s thoughts of surviving the day had just magnified tenfold. With Garret pummeling him, he wasn’t entirely sure that was possible.

  In fact, it only grew worse. Garret had said he was going to disable his brother and it was clear he had set out to do just that. Rickard was trying desperately to get out from underneath him but Garret wouldn’t let him; he hammered at his shield, keeping him down, while slipping a booted foot behind him and tripping him up. Rickard sprawled on the ground, rolling out of the way just as Garret brought down the hilt of his sword in the spot where his head had been.

  Rickard was struggling not to panic. It had been a very long time since he’d been in a battle. In fact, it had been several years and, because of that, he honestly didn’t train like he should to remain at the ready. He spent most of his days supervising men, not practicing with them, and he could see what a problem that was going to be. Garret practiced constantly and it showed. Already, Rickard was winded and trying desperately to stay away from his brother.

  The battle went on but, unfortunately, it was more of Garret chasing Rickard around. The army from Westminster and the Colchester army had blended together somehow, creating a vast circle around the two knights who were battling it out in the center of the bailey. It was evident early on that Garret was the superior warrior even though Rickard was putting in a valiant effort. When Garret finally knocked the sword out of Rickard’s hand, followed by his brother’s shield, he dropped both his shield and his weapon and charged Rickard with his hands. Now, it was a fistfight, and the punches began to fly.

  Over on the outskirts of the battle, Gart, Rhys, Knox, Gavin, and Zayin stood with Walter and Hugh de Winter, all of them watching the fight very closely. No one wanted to say what they were thinking – that it was only a matter of time before Garret defeated his brother and moved on Colchester – but it was evident that was where the situation was leading. They were going to watch Garret disable his brother and then be witness to a murder. An outright murder, even if well-deserved, would still reflect badly on Garret no matter what the circumstance. As the group watched Garret knock his brother down and pounce on him, Walter turned to Hugh de Winter.

  “He will go after Colchester now,” he muttered.

  Hugh nodded faintly. “Aye, he will.”

  “It will be murder. You know this.”

  “I do.”

  “Murder of a man of royal blood by a mere knight.”

  Hugh sighed, a faint and regretful gesture. “What do you suggest?”

  “That we do not give him the opportunity.”

  Hugh looked at him, his aged eyes crinkling as his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we should protect Garret. Take out his target before he can.”

  Hugh was intrigued. “How?”

  Walter turned to Zayin, who was standing next to him, watching the fight with a good deal of apprehension.

  “Zayin,” Walter whispered, bringing the man into their private circle. “You have said that you owe Garret a debt because he saved your life. You said this was the reason you accompanied him from The Levant. Is there truth in this?”

  Zayin nodded, instantly attuned to the reason for the question. He sensed there was something of a plan afoot simply by the look in their eyes. “What will you have me do, rabi?” he asked. “Do you wish for me to help him?”

  Walter was very cool, very casual. “Aye, but you cannot let him know,” he muttered. “Take du Bois with you and take your crossbows. Find the highest point on these walls and take aim at Colchester. Do not miss.”

  Zayin was vastly pleased with the command. “Destroy the reason for the battle?”

  Walter shook his head. “Destroy the man who will destroy Garret,” he said. “Either way, Garret will lose – his reputation or his life – and a man like Colchester is not worth Garret’s sacrifice, not in any circumstance. And that is what this comes down to.”

  It was the truth. Either way, Garret was ruined – if he killed Colchester or if Colchester killed him. Zayin looked at Walter, knowing that the man’s sole purpose was to protect Richard’s kingdom from men like Colchester. Perhaps that was the way he looked at this; he was simply protecting Richard in the same stroke as protecting Garret. In any case, it was time to end it and Zayin was prepared.

  This was the moment he’d been waiting for – to save Garret’s life as Garret had once saved his.

  “Aye, rabi,” he said softly. “It shall be done.”

  “Quickly, now.”

  Zayin dashed off, grabbing Rhys by the arm and pulling the man with him. When Gart tried to follow, Walter waved him off. Frustrated, Gart remained, wondering where Rhys and Zayin were going and wanting to be part of it, but he stilled himself and watched the systematic defeat of one brother by another, for it was truly something to behold.

  He wondered if Rickard and Garret’s relationship would ever recover from it.

  That was doubtful because in the dirt of the bailey, Rickard was taking a beating, both physically and emotionally. He was being humiliated on a wide scale. Part of Garret’s strategy had been to keep him on the ground, and it had worked very well. He’d been on the ground a good deal of the time, trying to get up as Garret beat on him. Once or twice, he caught a glimpse of Colchester standing near the manse entry, watching the fight and knowing the man was ashamed of his captain. Only a weakling would remain on the ground for so long, so Rickard had a fair idea that Colchester was disappointed in him for his performance. Truth was, he was disappointed in himself, too. But rather than accept defeat, the de Moray determination stirred in his blood. He wasn’t willing to let his brother humiliate him any longer.

  Grabbing a handful of dust on the ground, he tossed it up into Garret’s eyes when the man came down low for a punch. With dirt in his eyes, Garret stumbled back and it gave Rickard the moment he needed to get on his feet. Garret was blind, essentially, and Rickard used it to his advantage, pouncing on Garret from behind and grabbing him around the neck. He then threw his brother to the ground, still keeping his arms around the man’s neck in a stranglehold.

  “Kill him!” Colchester screamed from his position. “Kill him, de Moray!”

  Rickard had Garret in a bad position; he knew if he squeezed hard enough, he could render him unconscious and even snap his neck, but he didn’t want to do that. Not even because he’d just spent the past several minutes being beaten and humiliated. He simply wanted his brother to stop and go back to Westminster where he belonged. But Garret was struggling and Rickard wrapped his legs around the man, holding on as tightly as
he could while Garret tried to break free. He wasn’t going to let him go because he knew if he did, Garret would show him no mercy.

  “I said kill him!” Colchester had come away from the entry, moving towards the grappling knights. “What are you waiting for, Rickard? I command you to kill him!”

  Rickard heard the command but he ignored it. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, kill his own brother.

  “Stop fighting, Garret,” he hissed in his brother’s ear. “Stop fighting!”

  But Garret wasn’t listening. He threw a fist back into Rickard’s nose, bringing instant blood as Rickard’s hold was broken. As Rickard fell back, Garret wrested himself free and turned on the man, attacking him yet again. In truth, he only wanted Rickard to stop fighting back and he knew if he pummeled him enough, he might just do that. A dazed man cannot struggle and that was Garret’s goal because when he was sure Rickard was done fighting, he would go after Colchester.

  It was time to end this.

  But he never got the chance. As Garret beat down his brother, Grace suddenly emerged from the entry. Jago never saw her; nor did Garret or Rickard, or really any of the men watching the fight. They were so focused on the knights that no one noticed one small woman in a black dress, blending in to the dark night, coming from the manse and moving towards Jago.

  In fact, Jago never saw it coming. One moment he was standing there and in the next, someone tapped in him on the shoulder. When he turned around, there was a large dagger thrust into gut. With arteries in his belly severed, he hardly had time to turn to take another breath. The last thing Jago de Nantes, Duke of Colchester, ever saw was his wife’s face as she watched him die.

  A hint of a smile on her lips told him that she was glad of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Death came swiftly.

  As Jago fell to the dirt, bleeding out in rivers of deep red blood, Grace called to the knights several feet away, battling each other until the bitter end.

  “Cease,” she said loudly. “Both of you – cease this instant!”

  Hearing the woman’s voice, Garret and Rickard looked up to see Jago bleeding out all over the dirt and the Duchess of Colchester standing over him. Shocked, their struggles slowed to a halt. Then, they simply stared for a moment as if unsure of what they were seeing until Garret finally let go of Rickard. As he struggled to stand up, Rickard rolled onto his knees, his eyes wide with astonishment.

  “My lady?” Rickard finally said, wiping at his bloodied mouth. “What… has happened?”

  Grace looked down at the body at her feet. “What should have happened a long time ago,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm. Then, she looked up at Garret, who was just rising to his feet. “You are Sir Garret, are you not?”

  Garret nodded, although there was great confusion in his expression. “I am, my lady.”

  “I am told that you are fond of Lady Lyssa.”

  Garret took a deep breath, trying to steady himself in the face of the madness around him. “I am,” he said, nodding. “I… I love her, my lady. We were to be married this morning.”

  Grace understood a great deal in that quietly-uttered response. “But my husband ruined your wedding plans,” she said. Then she glanced at Jago again, nothing but contempt in her eyes. “I was told what he did to her. I knew he had his eye on her and I tried to discourage him, but he would not listen. Yet Lyssa was not the first woman he did unspeakable things to. There have been others but I have overlooked it. Everyone overlooked it because no one is allowed to punish the Duke of Colchester. Everything Jago did was… overlooked.”

  Garret wasn’t sure what to say; clearly, the woman had just murdered her husband and didn’t seem at all distressed about it, so he was genuinely at a loss. He looked at his brother, who seemed equally at a loss. Grace must have sensed it because she tore her gaze away from Jago to focus on the knights.

  “You decided to stand for what is right and good, Sir Garret,” she said. “You, out of every man in England, took a stand against the beast I married and I admire you for it. He injured your lady and you sought to avenge her. It is an honorable and noble thing, but you must understand that even though your actions are true, the man you came to punish is not worthy of them. He is a low-born bastard of a servant woman who claimed her son was from Geoffrey of Nantes’ loins. Jago wielded his royal bloodlines like a weapon, his intentions always selfish. He never wielded his bloodlines with honor. Look at what he’s done; not only has he injured or killed or cheated countless people, but now he has forced brothers to fight one another. It is a despicable thing but, unfortunately, I was complicit to it all. That is my curse, you see; knowing I did not do enough to stop him. But no more. I could take no more.”

  Rickard wiped at the blood on his face, smearing it on his cheek as he began to realize what she was saying. I could take it no more. The quiet, long-suffering duchess had reached her limit with surprising results.

  He never thought he’d live to see the day.

  “But… my lady,” he said with uncertainty. “You killed him?”

  Grace returned her attention to the body once more. “Who says I did?” she asked casually. “Mayhap he had a dagger in his hand and simply fell on it. I would wager to say that men would agree that is what happened. He will not be missed. For the wrongs he has committed, against Lady Lyssa and so many others… justice has been served. Men have been saved. And if I am ever asked if Garret de Moray came to fight a duke, I will tell the truth – he came to fight for his love. There is no great reason in the entire world than to fight for love.”

  With that, she turned away and headed back into the manse, leaving an entire bailey full of people looking at each other in varied degrees of shock. But none more so than Garret and Rickard; they stood there, overwhelmed by the swift ending they had just witnessed and laboring to absorb it. The horrors, the evil, were gone. Finally gone. Men suddenly began to crowd around them and Garret found himself looking at Walter and Hugh de Winter. Their expressions were full of concern.

  “Garret?” Walter asked anxiously. “Are you well? I will summon my physic to the….”

  Garret cut him off. “I am fine,” he said, looking at the man and seeing the apprehension on his face. “Truly… I am fine, Hubert. You needn’t worry about me.”

  Walter put a hand on Garret’s shoulder, a mute gesture of support and gratitude. “I will not worry, not any longer,” he said, his gaze finding Colchester. “And we needn’t worry about him any longer, either. He cannot harm anyone, ever again. And his alliance with John is no more.”

  There was some relief in that thought. One less thing to worry about. Garret started to reply but he caught sight of his brother and immediately went to the man, throwing his arms around him.

  “Rickard, I am sorry,” he breathed. “God forgive me for what I did to you.”

  Rickard was battered and bruised, wincing when Garret hugged him. “It was good practice,” he teased, grinning with his swollen lips as Garret looked entirely miserable. “We used to do that when we were children, but it seems you have learned to fight much better since then.”

  Garret couldn’t help but smile at the attempted humor. “I was only trying to make it so that you could not fight back,” he said by way of explanation. “I was not trying to permanently injure you. I hope you understand why, Rickard. You are my brother and I love you, but I had to….”

  He trailed off, unable to continue, and Rickard patted him on the side of the head. “You do not have to explain this to me,” he said. “I know why you did it. And it was my job to prevent you from doing it. I would say that we are even.”

  Garret smiled weakly as Rickard kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bloody mark. “What are you going to tell Tristiana when she sees how badly beaten you are?” Garret asked. “Will you tell her who did it?”

  Rickard shook his head. “Of course not,” he said, “unless you want her coming after you with a dagger. In fact, I believe I shall go and see my wife right now. I find t
hat I am anxious to.”

  As he turned away, he caught sight of Colchester lying in a pool of his own blood. The expression on his face made everyone turn and look, too. It was such a powerful moment to them all; a man who had been a danger to everything he touched had now passed into the annals of history and his ending, so swift and so shocking, was as welcome as it was ironic at the hand of a woman who had suffered through his abuse long enough. Perhaps her reasons were self-serving, but it didn’t matter.

  The Duke of Colchester was dead.

  As Rickard lingered on the remains of his liege, Garret took it a step further. He went to stand over Colchester, gazing down at the man, reconciling himself to the fact that the man was dead. He would never again have to worry about Colchester molesting or harming Lyssa, for in the justice that Lady Colchester sought for herself, she made sure that anyone else who might come to harm from the man was relieved of his burden, as well.

  And Garret… aye, he’d challenged a duke, but it hadn’t ruined him. In fact, it empowered him. He’d never fought a more noble battle and he felt stronger than he ever had, ready and willing to return to Westminster and throw every ounce of his strength and willpower into helping Lyssa survive. Much as his brother had wanted to see his wife, Garret felt the overwhelming urge to return to Westminster to see Lyssa.

  He’d done what he’d set out to do.

  A glimmer of light caught his eye and he looked up, seeing that a new day was about to dawn over England. The sunrise was hinting at the horizon in the east, promising a bright new future to come. As he stood there and looked at the sunrise, Zayin came up beside him.

  “It is a new day, Salibi,” he said, smiling when Garret looked at him. “The good have been victorious over the evil.”

  Garret nodded, noting the crossbow in Zayin’s hand. Zayin never carried the weapon around casually and a thought occurred to him.