Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
Stephan put up a hand, silencing
his father's prattle. "I know," he said quickly, quietly. "But I
must confess that I was wrong. Please allow Summer to tend the knight and I
shall explain the entire situation after my bout."
Edward's face was calm once
again, looking somewhat dazed as he diverted his focus from his son's earnest
face to his daughter's eager expression. Confused and drunk, he was in no
position to repudiate his son. If Stephan said he was wrong, then Edward would
certainly not dispute him. With a faint nod of his head, he reclaimed his chair
without another word.
Summer let out a faint sigh of
relief, looking thankfully to her eldest brother. He smiled weakly.
"Get him off the field,
Summer," he said quietly. "My bout is next and I'll surely run the
both of you down."
The bottom of her persimmon
colored gown stained from the damp, dark dirt of the arena, Summer moved toward
her brother. "Please, Stephan," she said softly, reaching out to
touch his armor with her soft hand. "Does this mean you have changed your
mind? Is it acceptable for Sir B-Bose to carry my favor?"
Stephan gazed at his sister,
finding he was no longer able to keep his attention from Bose. Piercing black
eyes glimmered with warmth and appreciation and at the moment, Stephan knew
there was no need for further words on the subject; Bose understood the depths
of a man's honor and duty when it came to his family and he realized Stephan
had acted in the only manner possible given the circumstances.
"Tend his head,
sweetheart," he said, touching her honey-gold hair briefly before lowering
his visor. "Send for Genisa if you require assistance."
With that, he was gone,
thundering to the opposite side of the field where the heralds and squires were
awaiting his presence. Summer watched him cross the field, deeply thankful at his
apparent change of heart. More than any other requirement, Stephan's approval
was a necessity to her future happiness. And that fact that he had come to
approve of Bose meant more than she could express.
Tearing her attention away from
her brother, she caught a glimpse of Genisa's triumphant smile from her seating
in the lodges. Edward, drunk and eagerly awaiting his son's bout, had quickly
forgotten about his daughter's situation and Summer turned away from the scene,
her golden gaze coming to rest on the injured, exhausted knight.
"I have needle and thread in
my tent, my lady," Bose said softly, extending his elbow. When Summer
latched to him firmly, his smile broadened and they proceeded toward the edge
of the field. "I will be the envy of every man here with your fine
stitches embedded in my scalp."
"I promise to make them very
small," she said as they approached the edge of the field. Immediately,
she noticed several knights appraising her openly, the very same knights she
had viewed the day before in Bose's camp. "However, I will confess that I
have never s-sewn a man's head before."
He smiled, experiencing a surge
of pride as the men about the field witnessed the Gorgon with a beautiful woman
on his arm. "A simple task, truly. You need only remember to take care and
not pierce my brain."
She turned to him, scowling
gently. "If I pierce your b-brain, mayhap it will allow a measure of
foolish knightly pride to escape. Never again will I see you riding helmless in
a joust."
He laughed loudly, startling Tate
and causing his other men to look at him with wide eyes. Never in their lives
had they known Bose to laugh aloud like a carefree child. In fact, he felt very
much like a carefree youth; powerful enough to challenge the angels, fortunate
enough to defy God himself.
"I promise, my lady,"
he snickered softly as they cleared the lists. "Never again."
CHAPTER
NINE
Her name was Margot.
That was all Summer knew of the
elderly woman who had gazed at her with such venom that Summer was certain the
lady was hexing her with a curse. Even as she knelt over Bose, sewing the
substantial gash bisecting his scalp, she could feel the heated stare of the
old woman and her equally vicious lady-in-waiting.
Bose had tried to convince the
finely-dressed woman to leave the tent while Summer stitched his head, but the
lady had been openly defiant, soliciting an uncomfortable argument as Summer
stood by, respectful and silent and uncertain.
When it appeared obvious that the
old woman had no intention of vacating the tent, Bose had left Summer in the
company of an older knight, a distinguished looking man who had introduced
himself as Sir Morgan Skye. Disappearing into the privacy of the black and
white tent with the older female, Summer could hear their angry dialogue from
her position outside the shelter. The fact that the woman's lady continued
to gaze at Summer as if she carried the plague did nothing to alleviate her
discomfort.
The elderly woman's haughty
servant aside, Summer grew increasingly embarrassed as she listened to a good
deal of hissing from the old woman, intermingled with Bose's deep, rumbling
replies. She could not make out any definitive words nor did she understand the
gist of their disagreement, but several moments later Bose re-emerged from the
tent appearing somewhat paler and drawn of expression.
Ordering his knight away, he
gently pulled Summer into the tent with hardly a word spoken. Indicating the
supplies lain out on the floor by his pallet of furs, he pulled off his mail
hood and lay down in preparation for her healing hands.
That had been an hour ago. As the
elderly lady sat against the wall in grim silence with her arrogant woman
hovering by her side, Summer had sewn tiny stitches into Bose's scalp, not
daring to speak a word as she worked. Bose lay completely still, his eyes
closed, and Summer seriously wondered if he had fallen asleep, as if a constant
prick to his head was nothing to be concerned over.
But his patience and tolerance
had eased Summer's discomfort and allowed her to complete the job in rapid
time. An hour later, Bose had a beautiful row of silk sutures planted on his
head and Summer paused after securing the last stitch, gazing down at his
pallid, still face. Smiling faintly at her perfect patient, she found herself staring
at the sharp angles of his face, the square plane of his jaw. The three scars
that ran along his cheekbone were longer than she had originally observed,
going well beyond the hairline and into his scalp.
"Are you finished?" the
bird-like woman from the corner croaked, startling Summer from her train of
thought. Turning to the woman, she was hardly able to open her mouth before
Bose was sitting up, his black eyes blazing.
"I told you that you could
remain in my tent only if you were perfectly quiet," he very nearly
snarled. Turning from the old woman's challenging features, he called to the
nearest servant hovering outside of the tent. When the man appeared, he waved
him in. "The Lady Margot has a desire to seek fresh air. Escort her
outside and demand my squire to take her and her woman to the vendor
area."
"I have no desire to venture
to the vendor's shelters," Margot growled, looking between Bose and the
lady. "Surely you do not expect me to leave the lady alone and
unescorted."
Bose cocked an eyebrow. "You
have remained as proper escort throughout the time she has tended my wound, as
you so graciously pointed out to be your proper duty," rising to his
knees, he sighed heavily as the world rocked a bit and his aching head
throbbed. "But the time is past and my wound is properly sewn. Your
presence is no longer required and I would see you removed."
Shocked at the tone in his voice,
Summer was disturbed by the air of hostility between him and the older woman.
Obviously, there was a good deal of animosity and Summer abruptly rose, setting
the needle and other items to a small maplewood table.
"T-Truly, my lord, her
removal is unnecessary," she said, hoping to ease a strain she did not
understand. "Your wound is tended and there is no longer any reason for me
to stay."
Margot, verging on a wicked rage,
was caught off-guard by the stammer."You stammer," she said bluntly,
focused directly on Summer as if Bose was non-existent. "A terrible
defect. I am surprised your family allows you to mingle with normal people,
sputtering and gasping as you do."
Summer's cheeks flamed a bright
red and she lowered her gaze, a terrible embarrassment filling her. Knowing
that her shame only served to accentuate her flaw, she struggled to calm
herself as she formed a carefully worded reply. Before she could bring the
necessary words forth, however, Bose was leaping madly to her defense.
"Damn you, Margot," he
hissed. "We all have flaws, although some are more pronounced than others.
The fact that you are a bitter, nasty shrew happens to be your particular
defect and if I had any wisdom at all, I would not allow you to associate with
normal people, either."
Margot looked to her son-in-law,
unaffected by his mounting rage. Her eyes took on an unnatural gleam. "I
understand a great deal now; you have simply taken to the lady out of pity. You
were always exceptionally soft-hearted, Bose. Especially to those beings who
are weaker and far more impaired than the general populace."
Summer felt as if she had been
slapped; her chest ached with humiliation. Her first instinct was to run from
the tent and sob until she could sob no more, but that would not solve the
dilemma. Obviously, the old woman was attempting to belittle her, to unbalance
her in front of a man she apparently held little affection for. Bearing that in
mind, she struggled not to succumb to her usual reaction of tears.
"I am sorry you f-feel that
way, my lady," she whispered, feeling Bose's hand as he attempted to grasp
her. "If you will excuse me, I will take my leave."
Bose's warm grip had her firmly
by the arm as she endeavored to leave the tent, holding her still. Even if his
hand was reassuring and strong, his gaze upon the frail old woman was anything
but pleasant.
"Get out," he rumbled,
his baritone voice quaking the very ground beneath their feet. "Get out
before I do something you'll regret."
Margot continued to maintain her
even expression, though there was something in Bose's tone she had never heard
before. Defiant as always, however, she refused to be intimidated. Especially
when she was rapidly coming to realize that the stammering lady meant more to
Bose than mere female attendance.
"Lora would not allow you to
speak with me that way," she snapped. "How dare you threaten
me!"
Still maintaining his grip on
Summer, his onyx orbs flashed. "'Tis no threat, I assure you. Get out and
stay out of my sight if you value your life."
Margot’s thin eyebrows rose in
outrage; she refused to allow the man to gain the upper hand. "Do you
think to replace my daughter, Bose?" she demanded. "Do you think to
replace my daughter with another woman you can just as easily kill with your
massive seed?"
Bose was losing his composure, so
easily provoked by Margot's guilt-strewn ramblings. He released Summer, unaware
that he was frightening her tremendously. He simply wanted the old woman out of
his sight and he did not care who he terrified in the process. The moment he
moved for the vicious elder lady, however, Summer found her feet and bolted
from the tent before he could stop her. His fury diverted by the lady's flight,
he attempted to move after her when Margot was suddenly clinging to his arm,
her sharp claws batting at his face.
"You bastard!" she
cried, drawing blood on his chin. "How dare you flaunt your whore in front
of me. How dare you think so little of Lora's memory that you would sate your
lust with another woman!"
His emotions soaring, Bose
grasped the elder woman by the arms and thrust her away from him. Margot
stumbled back, yelping with surprise that Bose had actually prevented her from
demonstrating her rage; usually, he simply stood by while she beat and
scratched him until the seizure passed. But not today; today, he had actually
stopped her, and she found that prospect terrifying.
Even as she struggled to sit from
her crumpled position, Bose was quitting the tent. Margot sat up, screaming her
curses upon his deaf ears as went in search of her daughter's replacement. Even
if he hadn't indicated as much, already, she knew. She knew the end of her
tyranny was near. She was losing him.
***
For all of the grunting occurring
within the green and yellow tent, one would have believed childbirth to be
imminent. To Breck, of course, the pain was similar as the physic popped his
shoulder back into the socket and bound the arm. And with every grunt of
anguish, the hatred toward de Moray deepened.
"Christ!" he hissed as
the physician completed the last of the bindings. "Do you see what the man
has done to me, Duncan?"
By the edge of the shelter,
Duncan gazed at his brother with a mixture of uncertainty and support.
"You nearly took off his head, Breck. Surely you expected the man to seek
vengeance."
Breck curled his lip at his
brother, his forehead beaded with sweat as he struggled to find a comfortable
position on his pallet. "A completely unfair maneuver," he grumbled.
"Did you see how he literally shoved me from my charger? I had no chance
to recover."