Chapter Ten #2
Jago nodded. “He has,” he said. “But only by doing his duty. He has given me lands and titles, as befitting my royal bloodlines, but that does not make him a good king. It only makes him a generous one. Do you love England, Rickard?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Then would you not like to see someone who loves England as you do upon the throne?”
Now, it was coming. Rickard could see the tides of politics turning right before his very eyes. Rather than answer the question, he put forth one of his own. “What are you saying, my lord?”
Jago’s dark eyes glittered at him in the dim light. “I am saying that I need your help. We will help put a man who loves England upon the throne and you will be an important part of it.”
Rickard didn’t have a ready answer for him.
As he sat there and struggled for something to say, something that didn’t sound like he was resisting Colchester’s intentions, there was a knock on the solar door.
Rickard immediately rose to answer it, relieved by the interruption, hoping it was enough of an interruption that he would be able to flee and not continue this conversation.
He’d barely reached the door when it was opened from the other side.
Lady de Nantes was standing on the archway, her pale face drawn and unhappy-looking. Rickard was grateful for the woman’s appearance.
“Good eve, my lady,” he said.
Grace was looking at Jago but her words were meant for Rickard. “Leave us.”
Rickard was very happy to. He didn’t even wait to ask Jago’s permission; something in Grace’s expression suggested he leave whether or not he had permission to do so. Shutting the door quietly behind him, he fled the manse as Grace turned her full attention to her husband.
“I have a need to speak with you, my husband,” she said calmly. “I sent your manservant hours ago to give you the message. Did he not find you?”
Jago wouldn’t look at her. “I have not permitted anyone into this chamber save Rickard.”
“Then you will have to tolerate me as well. What I must speak with you about cannot wait.”
Jago rolled his eyes and sat forward in his chair, grabbing for the wine pitcher again. “God, what now,” he muttered.
It wasn’t even a question. But Grace had an answer nonetheless. “Since you clearly have no patience, I shall come directly to the point,” she said. “I was told what you did to Lady Lyssa today. I told you to stay away from her, Jago. I expected you to obey my wishes.”
Jago was so drunk that he didn’t have a forceful argument for her like he usually did. He simply turned away from her, ignoring her, hoping she would just go away. But Grace had no intention of leaving; she came up behind him.
“I will again tell you that my ladies are my responsibility,” she said quietly but firmly. “Shall I write to my father and tell him that you are superseding my authority? Shall I inform the Archbishop of Westminster? They can and they will punish you for your transgression against my authority.”
Jago growled at her. “Get out,” he snarled. “I do not want you here, you shrewish bitch.”
Grace took the insult as she usually did; without outwardly reacting. Inwardly, she cringed. “Have I made myself clear?”
Jago grabbed the cup by his hand and threw it in her direction. It missed her by a wide margin, but the message was obvious.
“I told you to get out,” he bellowed. “You cannot give me commands, woman. You are nothing. ’Tis I who give the commands!”
Grace didn’t back away from the thrown cup but she did maintain her vigilance in case he decided to throw something else.
“My husband, I do not dispute your command in almost all things,” she said steadily.
“But when it comes to my ladies, you have no command over them. They are not a harem for you to choose from and I forbid you to touch one of them, ever again. If you do, I shall take them and return to my father’s house and I shall take my money with me.
I will tell everyone the reasons for my departure, so if you do not wish a scandal, then stay away from my women. I will not tell you again.”
Jago stared at her as if could hardly believe what he’d just heard. Then, his eyes narrowed. “Do you think to threaten me, you ugly cow?”
Grace’s patient expression was turning to one of contempt. “It is not a threat, but a statement of fact,” she said. “When you sleep off the wine you have imbibed, you will understand more clearly what I have told you. And you will behave accordingly.”
He sat forward in his chair, nearly falling off of it because he was so drunk.
“Understand?” he repeated, outraged. “Understand? Now, I will tell you something – you have no idea who you are speaking to. Understand that I am a more important man than your father or the entire foolish FitzHerbert clan. You can tell your father anything you please but it will not matter, for I have the prince as my ally now. He has granted me lands in Leister and I will become more powerful than anything you can comprehend, so if I were you, wife, I would show more respect. If you anger me enough, there are a thousand accidents that can befall you and I can marry a woman who is not so ugly or so disagreeable. Do you understand?”
Truth be told, Grace believed him. He may not be brave enough to strike her, but he wouldn’t be beyond paying someone to kill her if he was enraged enough and then deny all culpability.
He would deny any responsibility until the end.
Therefore, she didn’t press her point because she knew she had pressed it too far already.
Now he was threatening her life and she knew when to withdraw.
She understood the rules of engagement with him all too well.
But talk of an alliance with Prince John was something new. She had seen her husband sit with the prince at the dais the previous evening, in serious conversation with the man. Now she was discovering what had been discussed between her ambitious husband and an equally ambitious prince.
To hear him speak of a new alliance wasn’t a surprise, but it was something that changed the dynamics of her entire marital arrangement.
Odo FitzHerbert, the last High Steward of Rochester, was an ally of King Richard and that had been one of the big selling points of the marriage of his daughter to Jago de Nantes.
If Jago was switching allegiances, then her father would want to know.
Without another word, Grace quit the chamber, heading to her chamber to lock herself in for the night.
When Jago was in a mood like this, there was no telling what he would do, to her or to anyone else.
To be safe, she sent word to her ladies as well, and especially to Lyssa, to lock their bedchamber doors for the night.
Tonight, Jago would be on the prowl if he didn’t pass out from drink.
It was just a feeling she had.