Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
Duncan sighed faintly; the
maneuver would have been considered legitimate had Breck himself executed it.
Although he was supportive of his brother as a faithful sibling should be, there
were times when his older brother was wrong and selfish. But if Duncan wanted
to continue living under the protection and wealth of the House of Kerry, he
would keep his opinions to himself.
"It was because of her, you
realize that," Breck's voice was considerably calmer as the poppy elixir
provided by the physic began to take effect. "I have never seen de Moray
even speak to a woman much less accept her favor. She must be terribly
important to him."
Outside of the humid tent, Duncan
could hear the heralds calling an end to the third bout. He was next, competing
against Sir Adgar Ross, one of de Moray's men. Shifting on his muscular legs,
he was far more eager to attend his round than listen to his brother's prattle.
"She is a lovely
woman," Duncan said evenly.
"She stutters," Breck
said, his own speech slurred as he turned to look at his brother.
"S-S-Stutters. Other than to deflower her, I suspect de Moray has no other
interest. Even when he beds the wench, he shall have to put his hand over her
mouth in order to fool himself into believing he's indulging in a woman of
perfection."
Duncan cocked an eyebrow in mild
surprise. "No wonder we've never seen her attend the tournaments,
supporting her brothers' cause. They have been keeping her hidden so no one
will know of her imperfection."
"Exactly. A tragedy, really.
She is quite beautiful. But as worthless as a two-headed goat to a marrying
man," suddenly, Breck's brow furrowed and his expression turned quite serious.
"Duncan... do you suppose de Moray intends to marry the woman?"
Duncan cast him an odd look.
"How would I know that?"
Breck matched his brother's
expression, exceeding it. "You discovered who she was, did you not?"
"It wasn't difficult. A
pense to a servant and they'll tell you anything you wish to know."
Breck eyed his brother a moment,
feeling the root of an idea take hold. A simple idea, truly, but one of the
most magnificent consequences; to defeat de Moray on the field was a near
impossibility. For four years Breck had tried, and for four years he had
failed. De Moray was immovable, powerful, and the wound to Breck's arm fully
proved the fact. There was no way to best the man in the tournament arena.
But as time and history had
proven, when men succumbed to the female sex, their weakness was revealed.
Since Breck could not seek revenge for losses dealt by Bose by exhibiting
superior strength or talent, logic seemed to indicate that a far more powerful
means would be to somehow seek vengeance upon the lady.
An idea he had nurtured once
before. But a concept that had gained a good deal of support and as he gazed to
his younger brother, the seed of evil thought took deeper root and began to
grow.
"Find out if de Moray has
pledged for her," he told Duncan. "See if you can determine what his
intentions are."
Duncan cocked an eyebrow.
"And what if he has?"
"If so, I shall have to
alter my plans somewhat. But if he hasn't...."
"If he hasn't pledged? Then
what?"
Breck's gaze lingered on his
brother a moment. "Then I will."
It was not the answer Duncan had
expected and his eyes widened dramatically. "What are you saying? That you
would marry de Moray's lady? God's Blood, Breck, you just finished telling me
that she is defective. What would you do...?"
Breck held up a sharp finger,
quieting his brother's babbling query. "De Moray does not believe her to
be defective. In fact, I would hazard to guess that he is extremely fond of
her," scratching his chin, he sighed heavily as his train of thought settled
deep. "I wonder if Lord du Bonne knows of Bose's reputation and how he is
said to have killed his wife.”
Duncan eyed his brother,
uncomfortable with the plan he was developing. "If he doesn't, I suspect
you will make him aware of the fact."
Breck drew in a long breath,
feeling his pain ease with the physic's potion. Sleep, however, was near the
surface and he struggled against it for the moment. "If I only had support
for my petition," he murmured. "His wife's mother is said to have
started the rumors of Bose's murderous instincts. I wonder if she would support
my drive to claim the du Bonne sister before Bose sinks his claws into
her."
The faint peal of a trumpet
pierced the air, calling Duncan to his bout. He should already be there,
mounted and weapons in hand and he silently cursed Breck for distracting him.
Hastily gathering his helm, he abruptly moved for the partially-open tent flap.
"I have no idea where his
mother-in-law is," he said, covering his bright red hair with the gleaming
helm. "She is probably in London, far away from the man once married to
her daughter. Moreover, I doubt very seriously she would rush to your aid in
order to support your twisted sense of revenge against de Moray. You'd do well
to forget this line of thinking, Breck. You are intending to tread on sacred
ground."
Breck turned to his younger
brother. "Sacred ground? How so?"
"By interfering between a
knight and his lady," Duncan was as close to scolding as he could come.
"You would only pledge for the woman to steal her away from de Moray. What
happened if your pleas were successful and forced to wed? Then what?"
Breck sighed, scratching at his
dirty scalp. "I'd have no real use for a flawed wife. The only reason I am
considering vying for her hand is to damage de Moray far more than any injury I
can inflict in melee or tournament," he sighed again, feeling the poppy
potion pull at him. "I suppose I'd push her down a flight of stairs and be
done with it. A double dose of revenge on de Moray; stealing his lady and
killing her once we were married."
Duncan stared at his brother a
moment, hoping it was the drugs speaking and not his true thoughts. Even for
Breck, the deranged ideals were extreme to say the least.
"Why must you do this?"
he demanded softly, baffled by the conversation.
In a drug induced haze, Breck's
sinister orbs glittered. "De Moray must be made to respect and fear me,
brother. He is the only knight on the circuit I cannot seem to conquer. The
only knight who can best me in melee or joust, victories that are meant to be mine.
If this is the only way to weaken the man, then so be it. Mayhap if I weaken
him enough, he shall simply fade away and once again I shall rein on the
circuit."
The poppy concoction had nothing
to do with this madness; Duncan knew that. The muddle spouting from Breck's
lips was his own. It was frightening, considering he possessed the intelligence
to carry out his threat.
"De Moray was father's
friend, once," he reminded him quietly. "Father thought a good deal
of him."
"And father is dead,"
Breck's voice was faint. After a moment, he sighed. "Tend your bout,
little brother. Beat Ross in the joust or do not return to my tent; I would see
his blood on your lance."
Duncan saw blood, all right. But
it wasn't on his lance. It was on de Moray's sword.
***
Once Summer was free of the tent,
she took off running. Blinded by tears, she rounded the corner of the tent and
plowed straight into a warm, armored body.
Morgan was shocked. "Good
God," he gasped when her soft body rammed into him. Then he saw her face
and the tears in her eyes. "What's the matter, my lady? What's
happened?"
Summer tried to speak. She tried
to pull away, too, but he was unwilling to release her. Instead, he shifted his
grip and put his arm about her shoulders in a protective, comforting gesture.
"Where's Bose?" he
asked gently, his naturally calm manner comforting. "Did you quarrel with
him?"
She shook her head, sobbing. With
a sigh, Morgan glanced in the direction of the tent and, seeing that Bose was
not directly on the lady's heel, suspected that something was indeed wrong
between them. Getting a good grip on the lady, he led her away from the tent
and toward the gnarled old oak in the distance, a favorite landmark for
residents and visitors alike.
Summer allowed him to lead her
away, too disturbed to summon the effort for protest. Moreover, the older
knight's embrace provided a certain measure of reassurance and comfort and, for
the moment, she was willing to submit.
"Now, now, it cannot be all
bad," Morgan's voice was soothing as they approached the old oak.
"Can you tell me what happened? Or must I find Bose and disable him
without knowing the reasons behind my chivalrous vengeance?"
His humor brought a slight amount
of relief to her tears, almost a giggle to her lips. As they reached the long
branches of the sprawling tree, she struggled to reclaim the power of her
speech.
"I-I-It's not him," she
managed to sputter. "T-T-The lady was very c-cruel."
Morgan stared at her, noting the
stammer but attributing it to her weeping. Grimly, he nodded, coming to
somewhat understand why Bose had not followed the lady as she ran from the
tent. He found himself wondering if he should return to the shelter to pick up
the pieces Bose was undoubtedly creating from a frail old woman. It was a
punishment dealt that should have come about long ago.
"So you have met Margot,” he
said softly. “What did she say that has you so terribly upset?"
Summer looked to him, then, and
her severe weeping made a return. She tried to answer him but, unable to do so,
simply shook her head and turned away. His gaze lingered on her curvaceous
back, noting the sweet curve of her torso far more than he should have.
"S-S-She c-called me
i-i-imp...."
"Impaired," Bose's
voice came from behind them. Morgan turned as his liege wandered up, his face
ashen and his black hair stiff with perspiration and blood. "Morgan, would
you kindly leave us?"
Hesitantly, Morgan nodded,
casting Bose a lingering glance. "I do not understand, Bose. Why would
she...?"
"B-Because I stammer,"
Summer suddenly turned away from the tree trunk, her face flushed with anger as
well as humiliation. "She said I was impaired and said that Sir B-Bose was
only interested in me out of p-pity."
It had taken a good deal of
effort to spit out that lengthy sentence and Morgan grew weary simply listening
to her. But he also experienced a measure of shock with the revelation of her
affliction; Bose had made no mention of the fact and, naturally, Morgan was
surprised.
"You know that's not
true," Bose said quietly. "I have absolutely no pity for you
whatsoever."
Her sobbing slowed as she
continued to wipe at her face with the back of her hand. After a moment, she
snorted ironically. "Nay, you surely do not. I have never met anyone who
p-p-possessed less compassion for my flaw."
Bose held up a correcting finger.
"Ah, I said I did not pity you. But most certainly I hold a good deal of
compassion. You speak of two separate emotions."
"They are the same."
"They are not by my
definition. Pity means charity, and in my opinion you are the last person in
the world to warrant charity. But compassion means tenderness and
understanding, two qualities which I would hope to possess. Especially where
they pertain to you."
Sobbing lessened, Summer stared
at him with emotion brimming in her golden eyes. Morgan, his gaze lingering on
the beautiful young woman, suddenly felt as if he were intruding on a tender
moment. As if abruptly remembering he had been asked to leave, he turned on his
heel when a soft voice halted him.
"Sir Morgan," Summer's
voice was soft, the extreme stuttering fading as she calmed. "Thank you
for your kind escort. I am sorry we've not had a chance to become b-better
acquainted."
Morgan turned to the lady,
casting Bose a long glance as he replied. "A feat that will be made
impossible by my liege's meddlesome presence, I imagine. But fear not, my lady;
I suspect we will have further opportunity in the future."
Bose actually managed a weak
grin. "Think not to steal her from me, you aging rogue. I shall fight you
to the death."
Morgan cocked an eyebrow, knowing
he was jesting but suspecting it was the truth all the same. "I
know," he said, turning away from the two of them. "I saw what you
did to Breck Kerry."
Bose snorted with weak humor,
returning his attention to Summer as his knight strolled away. His smile faded
as he gazed into her pale face, eyes red-rimmed and a catch in her breathing.
Moving closer, he nearly blotted out the sun as he hovered over her.
"I am terribly sorry about
Margot," he said softly, struggling for words. "She hates me so much
that, unfortunately, you have fallen within the scope of her venom. I can never
apologize enough for the insults she had dealt to you this night, but know that
just the same I will endeavor to try."
Summer shook her head, wiping the
last of her tears away. Leaning against the tree trunk, Bose's massive body was
disturbingly close as her heart began to race again with excitement. He had
that effect on her.