The Gorgon (48 page)

No one was more riveted to the
activity than Bose. His black eyes were sharp, his expression steady, when
suddenly his features appeared to slacken. Blinking with disbelief, he released
his wife and took a step in the direction of his focus as if hardly believing
what he was seeing.

"God's Beard... Olav? Olav
Swenholm?" he could not stop himself from pointing to the cluster of
vaguely familiar knights populating the wide entry hall. "Morgan, do you
see him? Isn't that Olav?"

Morgan looked equally stunned,
but his shock did not prevent a shadow of a smile from creasing his lips,
growing bolder by the moment.

"Aye, I see him, and several
others I recognize," turning to Bose, he suddenly erupted with triumphant
laughter. "I believe our prayers have been answered, Bose, and none too
soon. Duncan has returned and he's brought the entire company of Household
guards with him. God's Blood, man, you are saved!"

Saved wasn't the term Bose had in
mind to describe the younger Kerry brother's timely, if not astonishingly
accurate, appearance. Miracle would have better served the situation. The man
sent to seek royal aid had apparently arrived.

And the armies of Heaven were with
him.

CHAPTER
TWENTY 

From despair one moment to joy
the next, the entire group of de Moray and du Bonne knights were awash with
smiles of relief as several knights clad in the crimson and gold of the royal
house poured into the grand hall. The noise of their armor pierced the air as
the presence of powerful men filled the musty room.

"Are those truly Henry's
men?" Summer was still clinging to her husband's massive arm, her eyes
wide with amazement.

Bose made eye-contact with Olav
and, once again, a rare smile crossed his face. "Indeed they are, my
love," he gripped her hand tightly as the room filled with warriors in
gleaming protection and well-clad royal men-at-arms.

Olav passed before Lord Bruce
with nary a glance to the astonished magistrate; the knight's attention was
focused on his former captain. Immediately, he extended a gauntleted hand in
greeting.

"My lord de Moray," he
said with true warmth. "We came as soon as we were able. A crazy priest,
claiming relation to you, came spouting tales of your criminal activities and
we thought it wise to heed his wild stories.  Was he wrong?"

Bose maintained his smile,
returning the man's affable greeting. As the gist of Olav's declaration sank
deep, he slowly shook his head.

"Dag," he muttered as
if the revelation did not overly astound him. "So my cousin rode to
London, did he? I wondered why he did not see my wife and me off from
Salisbury."

"Most likely because he was
determined to save your life," Olav was grinning. "He spent two days
in London pleading your case to Henry before our king grew weary of the man's
ramblings and agreed to intervene if only to shut him up. We could not convince
Dag to come to Dorset, though. His priestly duties forced him to return to
Salisbury, but he demanded we inform him of the outcome of your trial. In fact,
I would assume that is the situation at hand?"

Bose nodded. "You've arrived
just in time. Another hour and you might have found me in pieces."

"You came," Summer
could not keep the awe from her voice as she spoke to the knight she had not
yet been introduced to. "You truly came!"

Olav directed his smile to her,
bowing in a graceful gesture. "For Sir Bose, there is nothing we would not
do," he continued to scrutinize her closely, politely. "The Lady de
Moray, I am to assume?"

"Astute as always, my
friend," Bose muttered drolly, clutching Summer's hand tightly. "The
very reason I am facing the Block."

Olav cocked an eyebrow, his eyes
lingering on Summer in an appraising manner a moment longer. "Well worth
the gamble, my lord," behind the lady, familiar faces caught his attention
and he found himself gazing into the pleasant expressions of men he had known
very well, long ago. His eyes glittered with warmth. "God's Blood, is that
motley crew still hanging about? Morgan, I thought you would be dead by
now."

Morgan grinned. "I shall
live to dance on your grave, Olav."

Olav snorted, preparing to insult
his former squire, Tate, when more commotion at the entrance to the hall
captured his attention. Small and wiry amongst the large armored knights
surrounding him, Henry III entered the room in his usual aloof manner, ignoring
the vassals and servants who immediately dropped to their knees before him in
startled reverence.

Bose's eyes glittered as he
studied the man intently. "God's Beard," he breathed, his surprise
evident. "He came."

Olav watched the king emerge into
the smoky chamber. "You were his favorite knight, Bose. Do you truly
believe he would stay away during this time of crisis?"

Bose shook his head feebly,
unsure how to answer, when Olav gestured the man forward. "Come
along," he said quietly. "Our king has ridden all the way from London
and is anxious to see you."

Bose did not release Summer as he
followed the knight who held his former position. Pulled toward the small man
lingering in the center of the room, Summer could scarcely believe her eyes;
not only had Duncan returned, but he had returned with the king himself and she
fought to control her shock as Bose guided her close to the king.

A king who was focused on Bose as
if witnessing the return of an old, dear friend. His young face creased with a
genuine smile as the massive knight and his lady fair bowed respectfully before
him.

"Stand and face me,
Bose," he said benevolently, his eyes reacquainting himself with the man
who had once been his friend and household captain. "I see that we have
arrived just in time to prevent your untimely demise."

"Indeed, Your Grace,"
Bose's baritone voice was warm. "I did not expect to be fortunate enough
to warrant your appearance."

A reddish-blond eyebrow rose.
"And why not? You seem to have involved yourself in a serious situation
and I am apparently the only person capable of saving you," tearing his
gaze away from Bose, he focused on the red-cheeked lady by his side. "Your
wife, I presume?"

Bose nodded, presenting Summer to
the king. "The Lady Summer du Bonne de Moray, Your Grace."

Summer bowed again, her knees
shaking so terribly that she was afraid she would collapse. But she managed to
right herself somewhat steadily, keeping her eyes properly lowered in the
presence of young Henry.

He studied her carefully for a
moment. "Very fine, Bose," turning away, he seemed distracted and
fatigued by the circumstance and was eager to move forward. "All
pleasantries aside, tell me who is presiding over your trial?"

Bose gestured toward Lord Bruce.
"The Marquis of Cerne, Your Grace, the Lord Bruce Eggardon. He had been
most impartial so far."

Henry moved purposefully to Lord
Bruce who, caught completely off-guard by the king's unexpected appearance,
folded himself in a proper bow. When the marquis met the king's intense gaze,
the older man's upper lip was slick with perspiration.

"Your Grace, we are...
honored by your presence," he stammered.

Henry regarded him silently, once
again turning to Bose. "And who is this man that would accuse you of
stealing his bride?"

Bose tilted his head in Breck's
direction. "That man. Sir Breck Kerry."

Summer had never seen anything
but arrogance and determination on Breck's ugly features. At this moment,
however, he looked terrified as the King of England brought him to focus. Pale
and agitated, he bowed swiftly for the monarch's benefit.

Henry's expression was hard on
the red-haired knight. "Approach me."

Like an obedient dog, Breck did
as he was told. Standing before the king, he could feel the angry stares of the
silent household knights surrounding them. He kept his gaze lowered as the king
spoke.

"You have brought charges
against the former captain of my household guard," Henry's voice was
controlled. "By what right do you make these slanderous claims?"

Breck swallowed, his usually
cocky demeanor vanished. "His wife is betrothed to me, Your Grace,"
he said hoarsely. "She was to be mine before…."

"She was pledged to Bose
before you convinced her father to break his word and betroth her to you,"
Henry motioned to a group of men standing off to his right. A few of the royal
advisors shifted, moved aside, to reveal a tall young man with golden red hair
within their midst.

Breck's eyes widened at the sight
of his brother. "Duncan!"

The youngest Kerry brother nodded
coolly. "I have told him everything, Breck,” he said quietly. “He knows of
your evil plans. He knows the only reason you solicited a betrothal for the
lady was to seek vengeance on Sir Bose, and he further knows that the only
reason you are going forward with this foolish trial is to see de Moray
completely destroyed."

Breck's jaw went slack with
astonishment, his composure completely destroyed with the realization of his
brother's apparent treachery. "You... you are my brother, for God's sake.
How could you turn against me like this?"

"Because you are wrong,”
Duncan said, no longer fearing his brother’s retribution. “The Kerry name used
to stand for strength and respect years ago, before you received your spurs and
began to destroy the family reputation. Father and grandfather spent their lives
establishing a powerful honor which you have endeavored to shatter. I am
ashamed of you and I'll not tolerate your corruption any longer. For the sake
of our heritage, I cannot."

Breck stared at him. "So you
would betray me simply because you do not agree with my ideals?"

"I do not agree with your
morals or your ideals,” Duncan was growing increasingly passionate. “I have
stood by as you've disabled honorable knights with your sly tournament tactics,
or spread rumors that have shattered the reputation or marriages of those we've
come to know through the circuit. But no longer; this will end now, brother. It
will end now before any further damage is done."

Breck could scarcely believe what
he was hearing; the concept of his brother's betrayal was nearly too much to
comprehend and as he opened his mouth to refute the treacherous man, the very
servant he had sent to claim the critical betrothal contract abruptly returned
to the hall. Holding the scroll high above his head, the green and yellow
garbed attendant made his way through the sea of knights and vassals in an
attempt to reach his liege.

"Here it is," Breck's
sharp mannerisms were bordering on madness as he seized the vellum from the
servant's clammy palm. "This will vindicate me and prove that my charges
are not false. Bose stole my bride and this piece of parchment shall prove
it!"

Henry reached out and snatched
the contract from the agitated knight, examining the rolled parchment
carefully.

"The betrothal contract
between my wife and Sir Breck," Bose explained quietly.

Henry nodded in understanding,
removing the bindings and unrolling the fine yellow hide. The room seemed to
quiet abruptly, Breck included, as Henry slowly read the contents of the
missive. As the tension mounted, the deafening silence was nearly overwhelming,
and Bose could feel Summer trembling within his grasp. His hold on her
tightened and he wait, with baited breath, for Henry to absorb the contents.

After a small eternity, Henry
finally raised his eyes, glancing to the serious expressions around him.

"Where is her father?"

Before Bose could reply, Edward
was on his feet with Margot directly behind him.

"I am the lady's father,
Your Grace," his voice sounded feeble.

Henry caught sight of the frail,
thin woman lingering behind the pallid-faced earl, recognizing her to be Bose's
former mother-in-law. He remembered the vicious, screeching woman who had
marred her daughter's funeral with her hysterics. Puzzled but not particularly
surprised to discover she was at Chaldon, aligned with the opposition against
her deceased daughter's husband, he simply shook his head. The situation
involving Bose's trial was growing in unexpected ways and he was frankly too
exhausted to pursue the woman's presence.

Shifting his focus to the baron,
he met the man's polite inquiry. "Am I to understand that this written
contract came after you broke your orated pledge of marriage with Sir
Bose?"

Edward visibly paled. "I...I
am told, Your Grace, that I verbally consented to a betrothal between my
daughter and Sir Bose. But I had imbibed a good deal of wine that night and it
is difficult for me to remember what, precisely, happened."

Henry gazed headily at the man,
obviously displeased. "Then you are denying any such promise?"

"I cannot deny or confirm
what I do not remember, Your Grace."

After a continued moment of
scrutiny, Henry once again looked to parchment in his hands. "But there
was a witness to this pledge. Your own son, I am told."