Chapter Eighteen #2
Garret didn’t like being at odds with his brother but, given the situation, he had little choice.
“Lyssa may be dying,” he said, his throat tightening with emotion even as he said it.
“The physic said she is badly broken up. She may be bleeding in her gut. And that bastard you serve did it, Rickard. I cannot let this go unanswered.”
Rickard moved to take a tough stance. “It must go unanswered,” he said. “I am sorry for Lyssa, Garret. You know I am, but Colchester is untouchable.”
“Not any longer.”
Rickard didn’t reply right away. He was trying to determine just how serious his brother was; was this simply some show of force to frighten Colchester? Or did Garret really mean to kill him? He was coming to wonder if he could turn the man back at all.
Something told him they were beyond that point.
“Go back to Westminster, Garret,” he finally said. “Go back before Colchester comes out here and realizes you mean to do him harm. Do you know what happens then? Do you?”
Garret lifted a dark eyebrow. “I did not come to argue with you, Rickard. Bring Colchester out to me now or I will go in after him.”
“If you do, I will have to stop you.”
“You are unarmed.”
“Would you strike me down to get to him, then?” Rickard was growing angry.
“What is this about, Garret? What is this really about? A woman you are infatuated with? Are you so infatuated that you would kill your own brother and ruin your career simply to avenge her? I have never taken you for a fool but, at this moment, you are behaving foolishly. Do you not understand that?”
Garret remained calm. “And do you understand that I love her?”
Rickard’s anger came to a rapid halt. “You love her?”
“I do.”
Rickard seemed to pale. “I knew you were fond of her,” he said. “But love? After so short a time, are you certain?”
“I can only tell you what I feel, Rickard. And it is my feelings for her that dictate my actions.”
Rickard was at a loss for words. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. “I will not dispute you if you say you love her,” he said. “But to act on your feelings is not a wise thing to do. You have always been much more….”
“You!”
The shout came from the manse entry, interrupting Rickard’s reply, and everyone turned to see Colchester standing beneath the great Norman arch of the entry.
He was pointing at Garret as he bellowed.
Then, when he saw that he had Garret’s attention, he stumbled out of the entry and began to make his way towards him.
“It is you!” Jago shouted again. “I saw you take her! You stole her from me and I shall not stand for it!”
As Rickard closed his eyes to the horror of the moment and the fact that Colchester had decided to emerge from the manse, Garret focused on the man who was, literally, half his size. His eyes narrowed.
“I am here to punish you for what you did to Lyssa du Bose,” he said, completely overlooking any term of respect to Colchester’s station.
To him, he was the enemy and did not warrant any respect.
“You beat the woman because she resisted your advances and for your actions, you will pay the price. Get your sword, Colchester. Prepare to defend yourself.”
Jago was mildly tipsy from all of the wine he’d been drinking, so Garret’s words didn’t register right away. He had a look of confusion about him. But when that confusion faded, his eyes widened dramatically.
“Defend myself?” he repeated. Then, he actually laughed. It was a sharp, nasty sound that filled the night air. “I will not lift a finger against you, de Moray. Clearly, you have lost your mind to come here and say such things to me. But I have much to say to you. Lady Lyssa belongs to me.”
Garret’s jaw ticked. “She belongs to me.”
Jago scowled. “You fool,” he hissed. “Do you truly think you can compete with me? I can give her everything in the world she desires – wealth, station, prestige. But you – a mere knight – what do you intend to give her? Poverty and a lifetime of cheap food and inadequate comfort? I know your type – honorable, but stupid. You cannot give her what I can!”
Garret took a step towards Jago but Rickard put up his hands, shoving his brother back. The message was clear; back away. Angered, Garret balled a fist and slugged his brother in the jaw, sending the man reeling, as he marched up on Jago and grabbed the man around the neck.
“All I have to do is squeeze,” he growled as Jago yelped.
“But before I do, I want you to know why I have come. The first time I saw you try to murder someone, I should have killed you but I did not. Do you remember long ago in The Levant when you tried to kill a Muslim prisoner? Think hard, Colchester. Someone sailed an arrow into your hand on that night so you clearly should recall it.”
Jago was turning shades of red, evident even beneath the dark sky, as Garret held him by the neck.
But the words registered; he had a scar on his hand and sometimes it hurt to move his fingers, always a reminder of that arrow on that night long ago.
He knew the incident but he was shocked to realize that de Moray knew of it, too.
“How…?” he gasped, trying to speak. “How would you know that?”
“Because I put that arrow there.”
Now, Jago began to fight him, struggling to breathe, anger and fear filling him. “You – you did that?” he breathed. “You… bastard! I should… kill you for it!”
Garret’s jaw ticked faintly, unmoved by the man’s struggle.
“Nay,” he muttered. “But I should have killed you on that night. It was a foolish whim of mercy I shall not have a second time. This time, I will kill you and I will smear your guts out all over the ground as a warning to any man who dares to cross me or someone I love. Do you understand me?”
Jago couldn’t reply because of the grip around his neck. He was starting to black out. But his torture was cut short when Garret was blindsided by Rickard, who rushed at him and tackled him, breaking his hold on Colchester and allowing the man to run back towards the manse.
It deteriorated from there. Gart and Rhys charged forward, with Gart breaking up the scuffle between Garret and his brother while Rhys, who was very fast for a big man, grabbed Jago before he could disappear into the manse.
When Rickard saw that Rhys had hold of Colchester, he broke away from his brother and charged Rhys, preparing to beat the man away.
“Let him go, du Bois!” he boomed. “Unhand the duke!”
Rhys didn’t respond to Rickard’s order; only a nod from Garret caused him to let go, and Rickard grabbed Colchester and pulled the man back towards the house and away from the menacing knights.
“Go back to Westminster, Garret,” Rickard commanded. “Get your men out of here. Go back now and we shall forget this ever happened.”
“Nay!” Jago screamed from behind him. As Rickard tried to manhandle the duke back into the manse, Jago would not be silenced. “I will not forget that you tried to kill me! Now, you shall feel my wrath, de Moray!”
That was what Garret had been waiting for. His challenge had been met. Unsheathing the broadsword at his side, he swung the blade in a very skilled, very controlled fashion.
“I am ready,” he said steadily. “Let us see if you can fight a man since the only enemy you seem to prefer is a woman.”
Jago was frightened and furious, a bad combination.
He eyed Garret and his knights, stepping back towards the manse with his hand around his neck as Rickard kept himself between his liege and his angry brother.
But in that fear and fury lingered a rational mind that understood the situation for what it was.
Cleary, he could not compete against de Moray. He knew that.
But he knew someone who could.
“I shall not fight you,” Jago said, a rather smug expression on his face now. “I do not need to. I have a champion that shall fight you quite adequately. And he shall win.”
He meant Rickard. Garret had been ready and willing to fight Jago until that very moment when he realized that Jago intended to pit brother against brother.
As Colchester’s champion, that was precisely Rickard’s role and as Garret stared at his brother, it truly hadn’t occurred to him that Jago wouldn’t fight him.
He thought the man would be stupid enough, and angry enough, to accept his challenge.
But Jago hadn’t risen to the bait.
Garret looked at his brother, trying very hard not to appear as stunned as he felt.
Instead, he turned his attention back to Jago, hoping he could lure the man out from behind Rickard’s paid sword.
He didn’t want to fight his brother; God help him, he didn’t.
But deep down, he supposed he knew that this had always been a possibility but he believed that Jago’s pride wouldn’t let another man fight his battle for him.
He’d been wrong.
“It is a coward who hides behind other men,” he said, hoping to insult the man enough to cause him to personally fight back.
“But, then again, you have always been a coward, Colchester. A vile, dirty coward. In The Levant, do you know what the men called you? Alfaar. It means The Rat. You were known as a rat to your men and you are still a rat, a dirty rodent with no redeeming qualities. I should have killed you when I sailed that arrow into your hand.”
Jago wasn’t used to being insulted like this and he wasn’t good at holding his temper.
“Any opportunity to kill me was imagined,” he snarled.
“You are a common knight among common men, and you are still common. You believe that you are some great warrior when the truth is that you have nothing. Your family is mediocre, your bloodlines bereft with poverty.”
“And least my mother wasn’t a French whore.”
That drew Jago out. “Filth!” he hissed. “How dare you speak to me that way!”