CHAPTER FOUR
The Wix
The Next Day
His head was killing him.
That wasn’t unusual, for he liked his wine and often drank himself into a stupor. But last evening at the grand party given by Prince John in honor of his wife’s birthday, there had been several different kinds of liquor and he’d delighted in trying all of them. Wine from Spain, Italy, and even Constantinople had different flavors and textures, and he’d drank so much that he didn’t remember much of the previous evening. He remembered arriving at Westminster, and speaking with some of the prince’s men, and finally the prince himself, but after that… nothing.
Jago de Nantes, Duke of Colchester, had awoken in his bed this morning with a splitting headache. His wife wasn’t in bed next to him but a serving wench was, the pale and skinny girl that helped out in the kitchens. She was a mute and she had a tight little body, something he found immensely pleasing. She was a woman he took to his bed more often than his wife because she had no interest in the amount of sex he wanted. She really had no interest in sex, period, and she truthfully didn’t care if her husband took a servant to his bed. As long as she didn’t have to perform her wifely duties, she would leave her husband to his servant wenches and not raise a fuss. Her mother had done the same thing, so it was the silent suffering of her female line to endure the appetites of their husbands.
The daughter of Odo FitzHerbert, descendant of Eudo FitzHerbert, the first Lord High Steward of Colchester Castle, Grace FitzHerbert de Nantes had been part of an arranged marriage as befitting the cousin of the king. But the woman was frigid, and ugly, and hated the fact that she’d been forced to marry at all. Therefore, Jago wasn’t surprised when he woke up to the mute serving wench curled up next to him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d awoken to Grace in his bed.
In spite of his aching head, he thought he might have his way with the serving wench again, in fact, but his brain was pounding so terribly that he kicked her out of bed and demanded she bring him cold compresses. That had been an hour ago and only now was he starting to feel marginally better.
But his head still felt like it was about to explode.
High in his bower on the top floor of The Wix, a four-storied behemoth of a townhome that had been given to him by his cousin, King Richard, he could hear the sounds from the bailey below but also the sounds of the city from beyond the walls of the complex. The townhome sat next to the river, so the humidity was sticky and everything felt moist and clammy, and a major avenue ran out front, the road that led from Westminster into London. There always seemed to be a dull rumble of activity coming from the road because it was so heavily traveled and because of that, a fine coating of dust covered everything. Mixed with the moisture from the river, it made for warped wood and a constant musty smell. Jago hated it, but The Wix was an imposing home and his arrogance demanded such a thing, whether or not he was pleased with it.
It was also a prime location close to Westminster, and that was important to him as well. He wanted to be in the middle of things. As Jago lay there, listening to the sounds of the city, his thoughts returned to the night before in a desperate attempt to remember it. His arrival had been announced and he’d entered the great hall like a conquering king. He still remembered the looks of admiration from those in attendance. And he surely carried the most impressive entourage of anyone there; he had several powerful knights, a wife who was of high social standing and, perhaps, the finest group of ladies accompanying her. Lady Rose de Barenton was well known and respected in social circles, and the other ladies carried names like de Nerra, de Moray, and de Leybourne. They were all from the finest families in England and if they weren’t, then they had beauty to make up for the lack of a fine family.
Specifically, he was thinking of one lady in particular.
Lyssa du Bose. Jago had never seen a finer beauty. With hair and eyes the color of bronze, she was a stunning example of womanhood. Oh, he knew his wife had kept her clothed in shapeless clothing so the girl would not attract his eye and he also knew that his wife kept the girl from his sight. Grace had no problem with her husband taking servants to his bed, but her ladies were another matter. It wasn’t that she felt protective over them. It was more that she felt threatened by them. Servants were no competition, but a noblewoman capturing her husband’s attention was a threat to her pride. Therefore, Grace kept Lady Lyssa away from her husband as much as she could.
It had worked for the most part. He’d only seen enough of the girl to titillate his interest. But last night, Jago had finally seen the full blooming beauty of Lyssa du Bose. In a dress borrowed from one of the other women, she had been positively stunning, so much so that Hawisa, the prince’s wife, had noticed. She had asked to meet the girl. But Lyssa had suddenly taken ill, according to Lady Rose, and that was the last any of them saw of her. A pity, too. Jago had hoped to at least talk to her. To get to know her.
To have her be the one he woke up to this morning.
With thoughts of Lyssa du Bose on his mind, he smiled to himself as he lay in bed with a cold rag upon his head. Perhaps he was tired of trifling with mute servant girls. Perhaps it was time to finally have a mistress as befitting his station, the most beautiful woman in all of London, if not all of England. He already had the ugliest wife, high-born though she may be, so to have a beautiful mistress… he was worthy of such a thing.
Perhaps it was time.
But further thoughts of Lady Lyssa were cleaved when the door to his chamber opened and his wife appeared. Small, dark, and pale, Grace was dressed in black broadcloth, with her hair pulled back into a tight braid on the back of her head. It made her ears stick out and Jago cast her a glance before turning his attention to the open window and the sounds beyond. He was angry that she had interrupted his thoughts of Lady Lyssa.
“What do you want?” he asked, sounding displeased.
Grace had more cold compresses in a bowl in her hands. “I have brought you more cool cloths for your aching head, my husband,” she said. “How do you feel?”
He eyed her as she took the compress from his head. “Terrible,” he said sarcastically. “Worse now that you are here. Set those compresses down and be gone with you.”
Grace put the bowl with the compresses on the table next to the bed but she ignored his command to leave. She began wringing them out in the cool water. Her husband was in a foul mood, which wasn’t unusual with him. He was normally in a foul mood where she was concerned. She had spent their entire marriage dealing with his moods because she had no other choice; they were married and there was no way out for either of them. He’d married her for prestige and she’d married him because she’d been forced to.
The hope for civility between them had died a long time ago.
“I have been asked to thank you by those who attended the party last night,” she said politely, handing him a cold compress. “Everyone had a wonderful time and they are very grateful for your generosity.”
Jago slapped the compress onto his forehead. “They ate and drank enough,” he said, disgusted. “I hope they do not think that I am going to feed them like that nightly.”
“They do not.”
“And the de Nerra girl drank more wine than I did.”
“She does not feel very well this morning, I assure you.”
“And the new girl – du Bose – is she really sick? Hawisa asked for her, you know. I had to make excuses about her being ill. It was most embarrassing.”
Grace sat primly on the chair next to the bed, looking as if she were hesitant to speak. “She seems to be rather weak this morning,” she said. “But… but there is some gossip floating about this morning. One of the servants told me that she only returned to The Wix shortly before the rest of us returned from Westminster last night.”
Jago peered at her with some confusion. “But she left early in the evening.”
“I know, my husband.”
He yanked the compress off of his head. “If she left early, where did she go if not straight back to The Wix?”
Grace shook her head. “I do not know, my husband. But the servants said that she was ill when she returned last night and went straight to bed.”
Jago was confused as well as outraged. He propped himself up on his elbows. “If you do not know where she was, then ask her, you stupid cow. Ask her where she went after she left Westminster!”
Unwilling to be shouted at or insulted any more than necessary, Grace stood up immediately and headed for the door. “I will ask her, my husband.”’
Jago wouldn’t let her go so easily. “Wait!” he boomed. “Send her to me. I will ask her. I will not have that girl embarrassing me in front of the prince and his wife. If she left last night because she was ill, then she had better truly be ill!”
Grace paused with her hand on the door latch. She didn’t want to bring Lyssa du Bose to her husband, not when she’d been trying so hard to keep the girl from him. This wasn’t at all the direction she wanted the conversation to take and she knew, simply by looking at her husband, that his interested in Lady Lyssa was more than simply a quest for knowledge. She’d seen the way he’d look at Lyssa last night in her beautiful blue gown; nay, there was more to it than that. She was, if nothing else, astute, and her instincts told her not to obey his command. Though it was rare for her to take a stand against him, in this case, she summoned the courage.
“You do not need to trouble yourself in your condition,” she said. “I will ask the girl if the rumors are true and I will inform you of her answer.”
Jago didn’t like the fact that he was evidently being refused access to Lyssa. He hadn’t been able to speak to her last night but, now, he would not be denied. She’d been on his mind this morning and he saw this as a perfect opportunity to finally make contact with her.
But Grace was one step ahead of him.
“I told you to bring her to me,” he growled. “You will do as I say.”
Grace heard the threatening tone in his voice. Although Jago had never struck her, he had been known to throw things. He’d even grabbed her on occasion and left bruises on her arms. But he’d stopped short of actually striking her because he knew the king, not to mention her family, would be greatly displeased. Therefore, she wasn’t particularly fearful of him, but she did want to leave his presence. Badly. Still, in this matter she had to take a stand. She could not, would not, let her ladies fall fodder to her husband’s appetites.
One lady in particular.
“My ladies are my responsibility, my husband,” she said. “I am sure my father and the king would agree with me so, in this case, I will deal with Lady Lyssa. It is my right. I do not interfere in your business and you will not interfere in mine. I will, however, tell you what she says. Now, you will excuse me.”
Grace darted from the chamber before he could make any further demands. Jago couldn’t help but notice she mentioned her father and the king in the same sentence, as men who would support her rights to attend to her women as she saw fit. Jago knew it was the truth and he was frustrated that an opportunity to speak with the lovely Lady Lyssa had slipped through his fingers thanks to his wife.
Damnation. Now his head was throbbing even more than it had been and, annoyed and in pain, he fell back down to the bed and slapped the cold compress over his eyes. Even if he had been denied the opportunity to speak with Lady Lyssa, his time would come. The Wix was a vast place but it wasn’t so vast that, at some point, he wouldn’t come into contact with her. When he did, he planned to come to know what he could of the woman before ordering her into his bed. It didn’t matter to him that she was virgin; she wouldn’t be the first virgin he deflowered. But even thinking about that luscious body in his arms cause his manhood to grow hard, an organ with a mind of its own, seeking out the next moist heat to plunge itself in to.
Jago had an idea as to who his manhood’s next victim would be.