Lyssa was turning red in the face, embarrassed, but also greatly disappointed. How could she tell him that she knew she would never have a husband? There was no man in England or France who would tolerate an imperfect wife, a woman with a stammer that only grew worse when she was upset or nervous. He would think she was a fool and she so very much wanted to impress the man.
More and more, she was attracted to him but she knew that it would never come to anything. A man as powerful as Garret de Moray could command the finest bride in all of England, not a little nobody like herself. In fact, he was only being kind to her out of duty, taking pity upon a stammering woman. She knew that. Forcing a smile, she simply shook her head.
But it was breaking her heart.
“Y-You have not caused me any distress, truly,” she lied. “I-I… I-I suppose the excitement of the evening simply has me overwrought. I-I did not sleep at all last night from sheer excitement of the event tonight and now I must leave, so it is nothing you have said. I-I apologize if you thought otherwise, my lord.”
Garret listened to her smooth reply. It wasn’t the truth and he knew it, but he didn’t press her. The time would come again when he would ask her for her honesty because he didn’t intend this should be the last time he ever saw her. In fact, he had no intention of returning her to The Wix. She was disappointed at missing the party, something that all young women looked forward to. Now, through no fault of her own, she was being taken away and hidden purely for her own safety. But it didn’t have to be that way.
On impulse, Garret had something else in mind.
“Your evening need not end,” he said. “I have something quite bold to suggest if you would be open to it.”
Lyssa was both intrigued and a little apprehensive. “I-I am listening.”
His black eyes glimmered at her. “Will you trust me?”
It was a question with only two answers. Either she did or she didn’t. Based on what she’d been told of the man this evening, he was so trustworthy that even the king placed him in very high esteem. According to Juliana, there was no man more respected in the knightly ranks of England. Did she trust him? Truly, there was only one answer she could give.
“A-Aye,” she said. “I-I will.”
The smile that spread across his face was something Lyssa would remember for the rest of her life.
“Good.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Come, Jago, sit.” A man in fine robes with shaggy dark hair and one droopy eye indicated the seat next to him at the dais. “I have not seen you since last week. Come and greet my lady wife.”
John Lackland, or John of England, was gracious towards his bastard cousin. But he had every reason to be gracious considering this was his party and his feast. A man of excess, of stubborn ideals, and of an inherent hatred for his family unless they could be of benefit to him, John pretended to be pleased to see his cousin.
In truth, he wanted something.
Jago, however, was too caught up in the pride of being seen with the prince to realize that he was being preyed upon. The only spot of concern for him was the fact that he’d not brought the young woman with him that had been specifically requested by Hawisa, the prince’s wife. He was a little nervous about it, in truth, so he preemptively broached the subject as he took his seat.
“My lady,” he said, greeting the woman who sat on the prince’s left hand. She was small, pale, with red hair pulled back into an elaborately bejeweled net. It was the most beautiful thing on an otherwise plain woman. “I do apologize that I am alone. I was told you requested to meet a young woman who serves my wife but I have been informed that she has taken ill and has returned to The Wix. I would be very happy to introduce you to her when she is feeling better.”
Hawisa of Gloucester barely acknowledged Jago. In fact, it was rumored that the woman didn’t even know how to smile except when she was watching her guards bed virgins that Hawisa herself brought to them. That was one of the rumors, anyway, in a climate that was full of them. As deviant as her husband was, gossip said that Hawisa was worse. She was also something of a recluse, which made a celebration like this very odd, for she wasn’t known to be extravagant or social. Just the opposite, in fact; she’d been known to be very odd with unusual appetites.
It was that woman who was now focused on her husband’s cousin. Emotionless dark eyes glittered.
“The woman in the scarlet silks?” she asked.
Jago nodded. “Aye, my lady.”
Hawisa didn’t even respond for the most part. She simply looked back to the room, her eagle-eyed gaze combing the crowd for perhaps another victim. “A pity.”
Jago could sense either her disappointment or her disinterest; he couldn’t be sure. “I am very sorry she has taken ill,” he said, still eager to please. “Will any of my wife’s other women do?”
Hawisa turned her dark-eyed gaze to the feasting table directly across from the dais. It only took her a moment to shake her head.
“Nay.”
That seemed to be the end of the conversation and Jago was feeling embarrassed that the one woman Hawisa wanted to meet had left the party with a claim of illness. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint the woman who would be the next queen of England. At least, that was his suspicion.
Jago wasn’t a fool; he could see which way the winds of politics were blowing these days. Richard was back in France, trying to reconquer parts of Normandy, and John was in England amassing an army to take back the throne. This wasn’t unusual as far as John was concerned, but things would soon be happening. Another brother-against-brother war was on the horizon, another struggle in a long line of them.
When that happened, Jago wanted to be on the right side.
“As she said, a pity,” John said, cutting into Jago’s thoughts. “Who is the girl?”
Jago could see that they weren’t ready to bury that subject. “She is a lady-in-waiting for my wife,” he said. “The last name is du Bose, although I cannot recall what her given name is. She only came to us last month when her mother died.”
John held up his bejeweled chalice for a servant to fill with more rich, red wine. “Is she young?”
“Young enough, I suppose.” Jago wanted off the subject of the vanishing woman. “You have many fine houses here tonight, my lord. Quite an impressive display. I can only imagine that Richard’s chancellor is having fits with all of your supporters gathering at Westminster.”
He said it as if he were in support of harassing Richard’s chancellor. John lifted a dark eyebrow. “Hubert Walter is a man with a big task on his hands whilst my brother fights his wars elsewhere,” he muttered, looking out over the room and remembering the knight he’d seen at Colchester’s table, a man he’d not expected to see at tonight’s event. He’d watched the knight for a few minutes, chatting with Colchester men, but now he didn’t see him any longer. “But not all men in attendance tonight are my supporters. I saw one such man at your table.”
Jago looked at him curiously. “Who, my lord?”
John was casual; he needed to be casual until he could figure out how to approach the subject of Jago’s loyalties. “Garret de Moray,” he said. “He is the Captain of the Royal Guard here at Westminster. Did you know that?”
Jago knew the names and stations of most noblemen on sight but he wasn’t very good with the rank and file. “De Moray, you say?” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Rickard de Moray is my captain. Garret de Moray… now I recall. He went on crusade with Richard.”
John sipped his tart, red wine. “A staunch Richard supporter, and he is allied with de Lohr and de Wolfe. Your captain must be his brother.”
De Lohr and de Wolfe were two houses who were stalwartly linked to Richard; Jago knew that well. He’d had some interaction with Christopher de Lohr in The Levant and, truth be told, he envied the man his relationship with Richard. The king and de Lohr were close, and it was something Jago had been jealous of. Defender of the Realm, they called the
man. There was much regarding de Lohr to be jealous over.
But de Moray… he knew the name even if he really didn’t know the man. Richard had a host of powerful knights at his disposal in The Levant and de Moray was simply one of them. Oddly enough, Jago hadn’t made the connection between Rickard and Garret before now.
It was an interesting bit of information.
“De Moray is not a common name,” he finally said. “I am ashamed to admit that it had not occurred to me before now that my captain had a brother fighting for Richard in The Levant. ’Tis a small world, I must say.”
John wagged a finger at him, a gesture that could have been construed as a warning. “I have never met Garret de Moray but I understand he is not a man to be trifled with,” he said. “I wonder if his brother is a great supporter of Richard also.”
Jago was embarrassed that he didn’t know the answer to that question. “As my captain, my loyalties are his loyalties,” he said. “Besides, Richard is in France these days. I have heard that his supporters have heeded his call to arms, so they are flooding across the sea to answer the royal command as we speak.”
John sighed heavily. “Richard is always in France,” he said. “I was in France, too, for the past several months. I have helped my brother there, you know.”
“I have heard, my lord,” Jago said. “Even so, that is not some place I shall be going.”
“Why not?”
Jago looked at him. “Because I would only be fighting for Richard’s vanity,” he said. “Forgive me for speaking plainly, my lord, because I know you have helped him in his quest to regain his Normandy properties but, as far as I am concerned, vanity is the only reason Richard is in Normandy. He views England as one of his properties, much as he does Normandy and the Aquitaine. To him, they are properties to be conquered and kept, and I shall not be part of the quest to feed his pride.”
John cocked his head. “Odd that you should mention a quest,” he said. “You will not answer my brother’s call to France, yet you answered the call to the Holy Land.”
Jago sipped at his wine. “It was only for my own glory, I assure you.”
“Did you find it there?”
“I found enough,” he said. “But let us be frank; I have wealth and I have men. Now that I have what I want, I do not intend to use either to further the king’s cause in France, at least not unless he adequately compensates me.”
John’s dark eyes were glittering. This was exactly what he wanted to hear because anything Richard could do, he could do better. Compensation? John was more than willing if it meant having Colchester’s support.
“Tell me more, Jago,” he said. “I had no idea you were so ambitious.”
Jago gave him a half-grin. “Of course I am,” he said. “I have Plantagenet blood in me, do I not? Whatever fed our fathers feeds me also. And I know it feeds you as well.”
John set his cup down, a pensive look on his face as he did so. He didn’t want to seem too eager, although the conversation was going exactly as he’d hoped. “I invited you here tonight because you are part of my family. I did not do it to discuss politics.”
“Then I shall not. Forgive me.”
John held up a hand. “That is not what I meant,” he said. “I always thought my brother had your loyalty.”
Jago shrugged, a dismissive gesture. “I do not make a habit of supporting fools and, at the moment, your brother is a fool. France is a lost cause. He should be home in England, managing his kingdom. You are here, John. Mayhap, it should be you managing England and not Richard, since he deems it necessary to never set foot on English soil yet drains our coffers for his wars just the same.”
John was sitting back in his chair, listening to his cousin speak. The man was a bit tipsy, but it didn’t seem to be the wine talking. Jago was at that point where his tongue was loosened but not so much that only idiocy was coming forth. Now, truth was coming forth and John couldn’t have been more pleased.
Jago de Nantes didn’t possess the best reputation. Underhanded and untrustworthy were things John knew of the man. But he was wealthy, thanks to Richard, and he did hold some power. John may have been siding with his brother as of late, behaving for the most part and lending Richard his allegiance, but it didn’t kill the determination in him. It didn’t kill the need to rule, to control, and he could only do it with the support of men like Jago.
This was the opportunity John had hoped for.
“Then I shall speak to the ambitious man in you,” he finally said. “My brother is not here, as you’ve said. He prefers France. Me, on the other hand – I love England. This is my home.”
Jago held up his cup to the man. “England loves you also, my lord.”
John smiled thinly. “And you?”
“Of course, I love you, too.”
This is the moment John had been waiting for. Leaning forward on the arm of his carved oaken chair, he looked Jago in the eye as he asked the fateful question.
“How much?”
*
The Laughing Gravy Tavern
On Duchy Road, London
Lyssa was halfway through a huge cup of ale that tasted like straw. Or perhaps it was the wheat of the ale she tasted; she couldn’t be sure. And there was grit in it, like bits of chaff, and when she swallowed it, the liquid burned down her throat.
Several gulps of the stuff had been enough to give her a serious buzzing in her head and made her laugh at nearly everything, including the fools who were performing on the floor of a tavern Garret had taken her to. The men were poking at each other, hitting each other with bladders blown up into balloons, and generally creating a ruckus that had the entire tavern roaring with laughter.
Garret sat on her right, into his second cup of the very strong ale, while another man sat on her left. It was the second man she wasn’t entirely certain of, someone that Garret had summoned from the barracks at Westminster and who had acted as a chaperone of sorts as Garret had taken Lyssa north towards The Wix but ended up entering the city and heading to the seedier riverfront side of London. These were the dirty roads and alleyways of the urchins of the city. But it was also the side of London that had taverns lining the streets and traveling theaters; literally, wagons that would stop and men would perform a play before moving on to the next stop.
It was the beating heart of London where the hedonists lived.
It was a bright, bold world to Lyssa, something that should have shocked her proper senses but something she found inherently fascinating. As she sipped her ale and giggled at the performers, she was also eyeing the man who was their chaperone. He was dressed in robes and his hair was uncut, a silken dark mass flowing past his shoulders.
He wasn’t English; that was certain. Everything about him was dark. Garret had introduced him as Zayin, a friend and colleague, but Lyssa had never seen such a man in her entire life. He seemed quiet and respectful, but when he spoke, it was with a heavy accent she didn’t recognize. Even as they sat at the table in the tavern, surrounded by drunkards and people having a wonderful time, Zayin simply sat and drank nothing more than boiled apple juice with bits of fruit in it. He didn’t even laugh when the fools hit each other with their bladder balloons or threw buckets of ash on each other.
His stoic manner would have made Lyssa uncomfortable but for the fact that the strong ale seemed to ease her concerns. In fact, she didn’t seem to care about much of anything with the drink running through her veins. Garret had asked her to trust him, and trust she had. She had to assume the man would not put her in harm’s way and this quiet, odd friend of his was nothing to fear. Therefore, she continued to drink. She ate heartily when Garret ordered a meal to replace the one she had been denied at Westminster. Lyssa delved in to the boiled beef and carrots, stuffing herself as a world of fun and entertainment went on around her.
She’d never experienced anything like it.
At one point, one of the fools began to run through the audience, bashing heads with his bladder balloon
. Lyssa was so enamored with the antics that she didn’t notice Garret as he cocked a disapproving eyebrow, ready to hold a hand up should the fool try to hit him or Lyssa. Fortunately, the man didn’t come close. Instead, he ran off into the crowd and Garret returned to his drink. But his attention was on Lyssa as she practically stood on her chair to watch the fools as they ran among the crowd.
“It seems to me as if you approve of the entertainment, my lady,” he said.
Lyssa grinned, realizing she was standing up and perhaps even making a spectacle of herself, so she sat down sheepishly. “I-I have never seen such a thing,” she said. “H-How do you know this place?”
“I have been here once or twice before.”
“T-Then you come here often?”
Before Garret could reply, Zayin answered. “My lady, he hardly leaves Westminster,” he said. “In fact, I cannot remember the last time we were away from the palace grounds, which is why I find it quite fascinating that we are away on this night of all nights.”
He meant with John’s grand soiree going on, but Lyssa didn’t quite catch his meaning. With the drink in her, Lyssa was less guarded around the strange man and more interested in who, and what, he was. She didn’t even notice Garret casting his friend a rather annoyed look at his comment. All she could see was a very different man in front of her, more different than anything she’d ever seen.
“A-Are you a knight, too?” she asked Zayin.
Zayin shrugged. “In a sense,” he replied. “I am a great warrior. I have lived and breathed war, much as Sir Garret has.”
“W-Where are you from?”