Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
Summer cocked an eyebrow at her
father as Genisa visibly shrank; given her sister-in-law's conversation with
Stephan earlier, Edward's disapproval would not be well met. "He is a
kind, chivalrous man and I am greatly honored b-by his attentions," Summer
said evenly. "B-Before you approve or disapprove, speak with the man
yourself and draw your own conclusions. That is, if you can m-manage the
effort."
Edward's brow rose dramatically.
"What's this? Insolence from the daughter I have protected throughout her
life from the cruelties of a vicious world?" feeling the fine alcohol
coursing through his veins, his outrage gained speed. "Be glad I did not
leave you to the elements on the day of your birth for causing your mother's
death. You would do well to bank your defective tongue, wench, and be grateful
for my mercy."
Genisa closed her eyes as if to
ward of the harshness of Edward's words; wine always affected his tongue,
turning the normally even-tempered man into a vicious brute. Considering how
rare his contact with his children, it was unfortunate that whatever encounters
occurred when he was drunk were cruel and mean-spirited. Edward emerged from
his private little world so infrequently that it was truly tragic for the rare
occurrences to be marred by hateful words.
Summer, however, was unaffected
by his statement. She was more interested in the chief herald preparing to
signal the third pass and she found her attention focused on the gaily-colored
lists. She refused to allow her father to distract her from the situation at
hand.
The herald dropped his flag and
in that instant, her heart leapt into her throat as Bose and Breck commenced
their run, charging toward one another with blinding speed. Closer and closer,
thundering knights drew near and Summer was riveted to the massive warrior
jousting without a helm, his face half-hidden behind the Gorgon shield.
In an act of self-defense as well
as an act of retaliation, Bose made sure his lance remained level and straight
as if he were unaware of Breck's discreet high-aim. Then, as the horses
thundered within contact proximity of one another, Bose abruptly lowered his
lance, aiming to the right of Breck's body and parallel with the green and
yellow lance still pointed at his head. Thrusting the tip forward, he braced it
against the armor protecting Breck's upper arm and, using their forward
momentum to his advantage, shoved his weight into the butt of his lance enough
to dislodge Breck's aim. Using his might, he continued to propel the lance
forward, even as the two destriers shimmied and reeled from the recoil of
contact.
With Bose's strength and weight
behind his thrusting lance, Breck's arm was dislodged from its socket before he
realized what had happened. Dazed and in a good deal of pain with a useless
limb, Breck hit the soft dirt of the lists as the crowd in the lodges went mad
with approval.
Even on the outskirts of the
joust field, opposing knights praised the tactics of de Moray as the man turned
at the end of the joust barrier, reining his charger in the opposite direction
for an uncharacteristic pass before the delirious throng of admirers. Tate and
Farl whooped like a pair of wild men, shouting accolades of Bose's skill as
their powerful liege thundered a wide sweeping arc in the direction of the
lodges. As Adgar and Artur congratulated each other with less boisterous means,
Morgan simply stood by the wooden barrier surrounding the field and smiled.
He knew why the man had emerged
victorious, the matter of honor and knightly skill a secondary motivation as
much as he would profess to pretend otherwise. For the comfort and assurance of
a certain young lady, Bose had been willing to chance a great deal on his skill
and talents.
A lady he was currently riding to
greet. Summer was on her feet once more, her hands clasped against her breast
and a miraculous smile on her lips. The multitude of guests and allies screamed
and cheered, favors and tokens of esteem raining to the trampled joust field as
several squires and servants rushed about to collect the silken veils and
copper pences.
Bose, however, ignored the tokens
of esteem as he came to a halt before the beaming young woman. Far removed from
the panicked young lass he had left just moments before, his lopsided smile
made a weak return as he dipped his head gallantly at the lady's feet.
"As I vowed, my lady,"
his deep voice was a hoarse rumble. "I have unseated my opponent. Now, I
will hold you to your promise; my head is sorely in need of your nurturing
aid."
Summer smiled. "I would be
pleased to t-tend you, my lord," she replied softly. Near the center of
the colorful joust barrier, Breck was being helped to his feet by several green
and yellow clad servants as a cluster of grooms attempted to capture his
spirited charger. Summer tore her gaze away from Bose's weary orbs long enough
to cock an arrogant eyebrow in Breck's direction. "As you declared, you
were quite efficient in unseating him. Did you, in fact, b-break his arm
intentionally?"
Bose tried to shake his head in a
negative gesture, but his ears were ringing and any movement of his head simply
amplified the bells. "His shoulder is merely dislodged from the socket.
Had I wanted to break his arm, I most certainly could have. He is lucky that I did
not take his damn head off for the fear he has caused you this day."
Summer's cheeks flushed a pretty
pink, her heart swelling with admiration and appreciation for the bloodied,
exhausted knight. It was amazing how a few brief moments and a quick pass along
the colorful joust barrier had served to ease her anxieties. She opened her
mouth to continue the conversation when she sensed a warm, lingering body
behind her, not surprised when she caught sight of Genisa's lovely blue gown.
"A brave course, my
lord," Genisa said sincerely. "Much like the course in Chichester
last January when you boldly unseated Sir Alwain Parham. Although others said
the swift parry with your lance was considered an unfair maneuver, Stephan
fully supported your actions. He said that if you had not brought your lance up
when you did and clipped Sir Alwain's shoulder, the man would have taken your
head off."
Summer managed to spare her
sister-in-law a genuine look of surprise; for a woman who could hardly remember
the most important of details from one moment to the next, she was certainly knowledgeable
when it came to a joust that happened five months ago. However, considering the
tournament circuit was her husband's vocation, it wasn't particularly
surprising that Genisa endeavored to know something of his chosen profession.
In faith, it was nearly all she knew and she took great pride in her knowledge.
"I thank you for your kind
recollection and support, my lady," Bose replied, listening to the cheers
of the crowd die down as the heralds prepared for the next bout. As his surge
of reprisal and determination wore thin, however, his gripping fatigue began to
take firmer hold and he realized he would not be able to remain astride his
charger much longer; the sooner he lay down and allow his wound to be tended,
the better he would feel. Moving from Genisa's pretty face to Summer's
beautiful expression, he found the thought of her soft hands grazing his flesh
to be most inviting. "If you do not mind, my lady, I shall send one of my
men to escort you to my tent. I do believe, at this moment, that it would be
wise of me to seek my pallet immediately before I embarrass myself and topple
from my horse."
Summer's gentle smile faded.
"Are you f-feeling worse, my lord?"
He drew in a deep breath,
gathering his reins. "Nay, my lady, not worse, but it would be inaccurate
for me to say that the mere thought of lying flat on my back for the rest of
the day was an unpleasant prospect."
He appeared drawn and ashen and
Summer was once again greatly concerned for his injury. She gathered her skirts
and leapt to the trampled field below.
"I shall escort you, my
lord," she said firmly, looking up to him astride the tall, tall warhorse.
"Mayhap you should walk. 'Twould be b-better than falling off your horse
and completely humiliating yourself in f-front of your devotees."
Bose smiled weakly, already
moving to dismount even though riding to the tent would be quicker and far less
strenuous. But he could hardly allow the lady to walk alone and found himself
moving wearily to complete her bidding. The moment he hit the ground, however,
a weak male voice from the lodges abruptly made itself known.
"Summer," Edward was on
his feet, swaying dangerously from the effects of too much alcohol. "I
will not allow you to accompany this... this knight back to his tent,
unescorted. I believe Stephan has warned you against him."
Summer paused, her gaze lingering
on Bose a moment before turning her attention to her unsteady father.
"Stephan is wrong about him, Father. Moreover, as Sir Bose's f-favored
lady, ‘tis my duty to tend his wound."
Edward eyed her angrily, an
expression that drew a good deal of surprise from Bose; certainly, a father
should not gaze to his daughter as if she were his mortal enemy. Much to Bose's
dismay, that seemed to be the precise gist of the baron's expression and he
felt a tremendous surge of protectiveness toward the beautiful young woman.
Edward, however, was too far gone
with his wine to notice Bose's dark expression as he focused on his defiant
daughter. "Stephan has deemed this man unsuitable, Summer. You will listen
to your brother and return to the lodges immediately to view the remainder of
today's bouts."
"I will not," Summer
said firmly. "I am Sir Bose's f-favored lady and it is my duty to tend his
wound."
With that, she turned her back on
her drunken sire and began to move away from the lodges. Furious that his
youngest child would disobey him, Edward slammed his chalice to the table
beside him, missing the table completely. The gold-encrusted goblet spilled to
the wooden floor of the lodges, bleeding red alcohol across the slats as the
drunkard baron wobbled to the edge of the platform.
"Summer du Bonne!" he
shouted. "You will return this instant or I shall have my soldiers throw
you in the vault for your insolence! Do you comprehend me?"
Summer kept walking. Bose,
unmoving where she had left him standing before the lodges, watched her walk
away with a straight, confident back. He wondered just how far she was going to
push her father and indeed contemplating the potentiality of her own sire
seeking to punish her for her defiance by locking her in the dungeon.
Should the possibility occur, he
realized that he would not allow the execution of such an action and the
situation would rapidly deteriorate. Therefore, with the desire to avoid an
ugly situation, he endeavored to take the initiative.
"Summer," he called
softly, pleased when she came to an immediate halt. But the expression on her
face was not the soft, sensual expression he had come to appreciate. It was
hard and stubborn. Oddly enough, he liked it a great deal; the woman possessed
a measureable amount of courage and he found himself smiling at her plucky
display. "Come back, my lady, and obey your father. My men are fully
capable of tending my wound, even though I shan't enjoy their attentions nearly
as much as yours."
She frowned, retracing her steps
with a good deal of reluctance. Just as she moved into Bose's proximity,
thundering hooves from the opposite side of the field rumbled toward her and
she turned in time to note Stephan's colorful arrival. Shield slung over his
left arm, his visor was raised as he focused curiously on his sister.
"What are you doing in the
lists, Summer?" he demanded, looking to Bose and cocking an eyebrow.
"And why are you still here? Your bout is over, de Moray. Get out of here
and allow my sister to suture your hard head."
The corner of Bose's lips
twitched at the attempted humor, his jaw ticking with the stress of the
situation nonetheless. "We seem to have a problem, Stephan. Your
father…."
"He demands that I not tend
Sir B-Bose's wound," Summer interrupted Bose's tactful reply. "H-He
says he shall throw me in the vault if I do."
"That's not what I
said!" Edward shouted from the platform, oblivious to the audience they
were coming to attract. "I will throw you in the vault for your stubborn
defiance, not for the fact that you wish to tend Sir Bose's head. 'Tis your
disobedience I would punish!"
Stephan growled low in his
throat, a gesture of disbelief and intolerance. Casting his sister a long, if
not somewhat supportive glance, he reined his charger around Bose and toward
his weaving, sweating sire.
"Father, I believe it would
be acceptable for Summer to tend Sir Bose," he said quietly yet
forcefully, the tone he always used when dealing with his weak-willed father.
"As for her insolence, you must understand she has experienced quite a bit
of upheaval since yesterday. I believe we discussed this very same subject this
morn and you agreed with me completely."
Edward's angry expression faded
as he listened to his son's statement. Stephan always managed to calm him,
convince him all was right within the world. "And... and I did, of course.
But the fact that she demands to be a part of world that will not have her does
not excuse her foul manners," wiping at his dripping brow, he began to
appear somewhat uncertain. "And Sir Bose... Stephan, did you not tell me
that the man is a known murderer? I do not understand your change of heart.
This morn you were completely unwilling to…."