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 that 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.
“Did you intend to use that at some point?” He gestured to the crossbow.
Zayin chuckled. “I was commanded to use it but I did not have the opportunity. Lady Colchester had the privilege before I did.”
Garret had a feeling it was a command from Walter or de Winter, but he didn’t ask. He was grateful. “Privilege,” he muttered. “A necessity, you mean. I suppose if it was anyone’s right, it was hers. She was married to the devil.”
Zayin’s humor faded as he looked down at Colchester. “He looks much smaller and weaker than I remembered him as he was upon the sands of my country.”
Garret looked at him. “I am sorry I did not kill him on that night,” he said. “I should have. It would have saved all of this anguish.”
But Zayin shook his head. “Nay, Salibi, it would not have,” he said.
“Everything happened as it should. I came to England because of you. I came because I felt I owed you my life, and I still feel that way. My time to return the favor will come, but now was not the time. As for Alfaar… had you killed him on that night, you would never have met Lady Lyssa. He is the reason you were brought together. Mayhap… mayhap that is why you let him live those years ago. God would not let you kill that which you needed.”