CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Wix
Rickard had never seen such chaos.
As he’d gone to take Lyssa to Westminster, which was a few minutes’ ride from The Wix, much had happened in the short time he’d been gone. At least, that was what he was told by a shaken soldier when he returned. Even as Rickard stood in the bailey talking to the man, he could hear the shouting and the screaming from the manse.
Colchester was on a rampage. He was stomping through the house, shouting, throwing things, and generally condemning everyone who lived and served there. He told them he was going to burn the house down over their heads for the disrespect they’d shown him, and the servants and the duchess’ women were weeping in fear. That was when Rickard decided to go into the manse to find Colchester and try to prevent him from doing something stupid.
That was also when he decided that Colchester was touched by madness.
Of course, he’d always suspected it but tonight he’d found confirmation. Confirmation that the man he served wasn’t simply cruel or spoiled; he was sadistic and detached from the reality that surrounded him.
Before going to seek his liege, however, he checked on his wife first and found Tristiana weeping in their room in the barracks just where he had left her. She, too, had heard the shouting but she’d remained to her chamber because Rickard had told her to stay there when the trouble first started. She hadn’t moved and she was safe. Armed with that knowledge Rickard was able to do what needed to be done.
He had to track down a madman.
Entering the manse had been a surreal experience. It smelled of smoke and it was dark for the most part. Servants were hiding and Rickard found it strange that he didn’t hear Grace’s voice mingling with Jago’s shouting. He made his way up the servant’s staircase, following the sounds of the shouting. On the second floor, he found some huddled servants, whom he promptly chased from the manse. If Jago was really intent on burning the place down, then Rickard would make sure there weren’t any willing victims.
Finally, Rickard found Jago on the second floor of the manse were his sleeping chamber was, trying to ignite a big tapestry that hung in a large central hall. But the moisture in the air had been absorbed by the tapestry and it wouldn’t light, throwing Jago into even more of a fit. He stood in the shadows and watched Jago tear at the tapestry before finally ripping it, and then smashing at the furniture in the chamber. He was making a great deal of noise and that would be to Rickard’s advantage. He could keep track of the man. But something was drawing him to the floor above, where the ladies slept, including Lady Lyssa. He couldn’t turn away from that upstairs floor, not when there was the potential of great catastrophe up there. Keeping an ear on Jago, he rushed up the stairs to the next level.
There was weeping up here. He could hear it. It was soft, but unmistakable. There were three chambers on this side of the manse, all of them facing the river, and the doors to all three were open. There seemed to be the most activity in the first chamber so he stuck his head in only to be confronted by all of the duchess’ ladies crammed into the chamber as well as the duchess herself. In fact, Grace caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, turning to look at him in a move that startled the women. Fearful that the duke had returned, most of them gasped in fear but Rickard held his hands up to assure them he meant them no harm.
“It is me,” he said. “You need not fear.”
Rose, who had her back turned to him, lurched to her feet unsteadily. “Where is Lyssa?” she begged her pale face streaked with tears and dirt. “Is she at Westminster?”
Rickard looked at the woman. The last time he’d seen her had been in the scramble to remove Lyssa from Colchester’s reach. Therefore, he nodded comfortingly.
“She is,” he assured her. “Do not worry over her. But you must tell me what has happened; what happened to Lady Lyssa? Why is Colchester trying to burn the manse down?”
Rose’s lower lip trembled and she shook her head, clearly very emotional about the entire event. She pointed to the bed and it was then that Rickard realized there was someone upon it. Juliana lay there, a big compress on her head while the ladies huddled around her. Rickard couldn’t tell if the woman was conscious or not.
“The duke came to this chamber while my niece was out and laid a trap,” she said simply. “Lady Juliana was the other victim of this trap; he beat her and tied her up, throwing her into the wardrobe. It was by a sheer miracle that she didn’t suffocate before we could find her. While Lady Juliana was conveniently out of the way, the duke climbed into this bed and waited for Lyssa to return. Juliana is too injured to tell me more so I can only surmise that he attacked Lyssa when she returned and when she fought him, he nearly killed her. Is… is she dead, Sir Rickard?”
Rickard was feeling absolute revulsion at what he was being told, but he managed to answer her question. “Nay,” he replied huskily. “She is not dead, but she is badly injured. I turned her over to Garret and his physic. She will receive the best of care.”
Rose nodded stoically. Then, she burst into tears and turned away, covering her mouth with her kerchief. As Rose struggled to compose herself, Grace approached him.
“Where is my husband?” she asked quietly.
Rickard looked at the long-suffering wife of a lunatic. “On the floor below,” he said. “I must go and make sure he does not do anything more foolish and destructive than he already has.”
Grace simply nodded, her big brown eyes seemingly riveted to Rickard. “Rose told me about her niece,” she said quietly. “She also told me about your brother.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Is your brother in love with her?”
“I cannot say, my lady, but he is very fond of her.”
Grace fell silent a moment, glancing over her shoulder as the women tended Juliana. “I do not know what to say about all of this,” she admitted. “I have told my husband to stay away from my women, but he cannot seem to help himself. I am sorry that he hurt Lady Lyssa before we were able to remove her from The Wix.”
“As I am, my lady,” Rickard said. He paused a moment before continuing. “But I would like to suggest… my lady, is there anywhere you can go? Leave The Wix, I mean. I am not certain of the duke’s mental state and it would probably be better if you were to take your women and leave.”
Grace looked so very pale and forlorn. “My mother’s family has a house to the east of the Tower,” she said. “Clegg Court is not very big, but it is secure. I… I have thought of going there many times before, in fact.”
The stoic duchess was breaking down somewhat. Grace usually stayed so removed from everything, so it was unusual to see her speak any more than just a few words at a time.
“Then you should go,” he encouraged quietly. “I will have the carriage brought around and I will send men to help you remove Lady Juliana. I will send the physic with you as well.”
Grace looked at him, almost sharply, before shaking her head. “Jago’s physic?” she asked. “Nay, thank you. Let that old drunkard remain here with my husband. I shall send for another physic once we arrive at Clegg.”
Rickard thought it was an excellent plan of action. “Then have your women pack what is necessary,” he said. “Go down to the bailey immediately. There is no time to waste.”
He turned away from Grace but she grasped his arm. “What will you do, Rickard?” she asked. “Whatever you do… Jago will not be pleased if you try to control him. You know this. It would be best to let his fit run its course. Mayhap… mayhap you should bring him drink. With enough drink, he will sleep. He might even forget.”
Rickard could hear the sorrow in her voice. She had no control over her husband just as Rickard had none.
“I will do what I can,” he muttered. “I will keep him occupied while you remove your ladies.”
“It would not be a pity if he fell out a window in his drunken state.”
Surprised, Rickard looked at the woman at her overt suggestion but she simply averted her gaze and turned back to the bed. He had to admit it wasn’t a bad suggestion at that.
It would certainly solve a lot of problems.
Quitting the chamber, he was immediately refocused on Jago’s position in the house. When he reached the second floor, he no longer heard the angry ravings but now he was hearing soft shrieks, perhaps even shrieks of pain. Following the sounds, he came upon Jago assaulting a servant woman in a darkened chamber. She was shoved up against the wall as Jago tried to kiss her and God only knew what else. Appalled, Rickard thumped his fingers on the door loudly.
“My lord,” he said.
Startled from his attack, Jago looked up from the weeping woman to see Rickard standing there. Then, his mood changed drastically.
“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I sent for you and no one could find you!”
Rickard stepped in, catching the attention of the weeping woman and motioning her out the door. She slipped out, gladly, as Rickard took the full focus of Jago’s anger.
“I am here now, my lord,” he said steadily. “What has happened tonight?”
He didn’t mention the wounded women, at least not yet. But Jago rushed at him. “Do you know what your brother did?” he snarled, completely ignoring the question. “He took that which belongs to me.”
“What belongs to you, my lord?”
Jago was so angry that he was spraying spit from his lips. “I feed her and I clothe her,” he said. “She belongs to me and your brother has no right to touch her. He touched her! I saw him!”
Rickard knew what he meant but he wasn’t going to give in and pretend he understood. Somehow, someway, Colchester knew about his brother and Lyssa, but Rickard wasn’t going to ask how he knew. He continued to play ignorant.
“My lord, we are not speaking of my brother,” he said. “What happened tonight that I have seen injured women?”
Jago eyed him, hatefully. “You have no right to ask me anything,” he finally said. “It is not your business, any of it. Go back to your wife and leave me alone.”
That was the answer Rickard had expected, truthfully. He didn’t want to leave Colchester alone for fear of what the man would do when left to his own devices. Therefore, he sought to occupy his time and attention, at least until the duchess could get her women out of the manse. But all the while, he was suppressing the inherent desire to wrap his hands around the man’s neck on behalf of his brother and the lovely woman that had been beaten senseless on this night. Rickard wasn’t so devoted to the duke that he didn’t feel that urge, and any devotion he did feel was based on duty and nothing more.
Duty towards the man he’d been gifted to in payment of a debt.
He was coming to curse the day when Lincoln decided to use him as a form of currency.
“My lord, I am sworn to you and I am here to assist you,” he said. “Mayhap, we should go to your solar and sit. Mayhap some wine would calm your nerves.”
Jago was pacing now, looking out of the window that overlooked the garden and the river beyond. The moon was sitting low in the sky at this point, a brilliant crescent whose reflection rippled out over the water. But it wasn’t the water that caught his attention; it was the garden below. Visions of what happened that morning came flitting back to him, visions of a woman who had slapped his hand away. Even thinking of it infuriated him.
“Do you know what I saw today?” he said to Rickard. “I saw your brother bed a woman that belongs to me. Lady Lyssa… she is my wife’s lady but all of the women belong to me. You know that. Every last one of them. I saw your brother at a tavern and he had Lady Lyssa with him. I watched him kiss her. I watched him take her to the sleeping rooms in the tavern. That is why I say I saw him bed her, for I know that is what he did. He touched something that belonged to me.”
Rickard was shocked to say the least. He’d known that Colchester had gone into town, whoring, and he also knew that his brother had taken Lyssa out of The Wix for the day, precisely to keep the woman from Colchester. To realize that Colchester was at the tavern where Garret evidently took the lady was shocking, indeed. Of all of the taverns in London, Garret had to pick that one. He was certain his brother hadn’t known because Garret surely would have said something, but now it made sense as to why Colchester was so enraged.
He’d seen them together.
But that rambling diatribe also underscored Colchester’s unsteady mind. It was in the way he spoke the words, as if he truly believed them, and Rickard was convinced that Colchester believed every bloody word. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to calm Colchester down when the man believed something had been stolen from him.
“Let us go into your solar and have wine, my lord,” Rickard said again. “Mayhap with some sleep, the situation will look different on the morrow.”
Jago looked at him. “And mayhap it will not,” he said, unhappy that his knight was trying to soothe him. “Where is Lady Lyssa? I would see her.”
Rickard knew he was going to have to take a stand. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “Let the woman heal. You dealt her a terrible beating this night.”
Jago frowned. “It was nothing less than she deserved,” he snapped, stomping in Rickard’s direction. “Where is she?”
“Ask your wife, my lord. I cannot give you any information.”
The mention of Grace stopped him and he backed off, perhaps rethinking his demands. After a moment, frustration took over and he barged out of the room, heading for the main stairwell.
“Wine,” he boomed. “Bring me wine!”
Rickard followed. There were still a few servants in the house, hovering fearfully, and Rickard caught the attention of one of them as he followed Jago down the stairs. As the servant went running for wine, Rickard followed Jago into his solar where the man threw himself onto a chair that nearly collapse with the force of his actions. When the chair wobbled, Jago got out of it and threw it into the fire.
As it began to catch fire, Rickard had to fish it out because it was sticking well out of the hearth and could possibly set the whole room ablaze. As he put out the chair, beating on it until it stopped flaming, a terrified servant arrived with wine and Jago began to drink from the pitcher. He didn’t even bother with a cup or the formalities of offering Rickard a cup. He simply took the whole thing for himself, which was typical.
But it was a good situation and Rickard wasn’t going to cause any stir. Jago was in his solar, with wine in hand, and he was quiet for the moment. The only problem was that the windows overlooked the bailey and the duchess would soon be taking her women from The Wix, and it wouldn’t do for Jago to see that.
But Rickard had an idea. Since Jago was having difficulty looking at him, Rickard positioned himself over by the window to ensure that Jago more than likely wouldn’t look at him and, therefore, wouldn’t see anything happening beyond the windows. He prayed that behavior wouldn’t change until the duchess left in her carriage, so he stood there by the window and waited.
And waited.
Time passed. Jago drank sloppily from the pitcher and Rickard simply watched. He kept thinking of the duchess’ comment – it would not be a pity if he fell out a window in his drunken state. They were on the ground floor, so falling from his solar window wouldn’t do any damage at all. But if Rickard could get him up to the top floor and give him a shove… aye, that would do some damage. He should have been ashamed in his thinking, but he found that he was not.
He wasn’t ashamed in the least.
But thoughts of pushing Colchester from a top floor window faded from his mind when he heard activity at the gatehouse. He didn’t turn around because he thought it might have been the duchess leaving with her women, but he didn’t hear the sound of a carriage. He only heard men moving around at the gate and the sounds of the great iron panels opening. Curiosity force him to look and when he did, his eyes widened in shock, for what he saw coming through the gate was something he hoped he’d never see.
His brother had arrived, fully armed, ready for battle.
Oh, God… no….