Chapter Two
The helm looked at Summer for a moment before focusing on her brothers. Then the broadsword came up, pointing in their direction.
“Remove the masks,” the massive knight ordered, his voice rumbling and deep. “I would know who I am about to punish.”
“I assure you that punishment is unnecessary,” Stephan’s voice penetrated Summer’s dazed mind. “At least, not at the moment. Trust that I will deal with my brothers at the appropriate time.”
The knight did not reply and the broadsword did not budge. Summer, her vision clearing as the pain in her head began to ease, craned her neck sharply to gain a better view of her savior. Through the helm and visor, she could not see his face and, not strangely, found herself curious about him.
There was a long pause as the knight pondered Stephan’s words. When he spoke again, his voice was considerably less hostile.
“Ian and Lance,” he said. “Forgive me. I should have recognized you in your natural state.”
The small, anxious crowd burst into timid laughter.
Even Summer managed a weak smile as the massive knight thrust the point of his broadsword forward, piercing the flesh of Lance’s mask.
With a swift up-parry, an extremely skilled move, the knight lifted the mask from Lance’s head to reveal the sheepish expression beneath.
“My lord de Moray,” he bowed slightly, slugging Ian when his brother failed to show the same respect. “We are honored by your presence.”
Behind the lowered visor, Summer heard the knight sigh. “I have heard women refer to the two of you as pigs,” he said, his bass-toned voice muffled behind the tempered steel. “I see that they were not wrong. And I am sure the hounded target currently under my protection is of the same opinion.”
Ian, suddenly finding his voice, ripped off the pig mask and moved quickly to his sister, tearing the woman free of de Moray’s grip.
“This is our sister, the Lady Summer du Bonne,” he said, feeling humiliated for the chaos he and his brother had caused. “And the other lady is Stephan’s wife, Lady Genisa.”
Bose de Moray hardly heard a word beyond the mention of Summer’s name; for the first time, he was able to catch a clear glimpse at the face of the woman he had saved and to say that the angels had granted her the essence of supreme beauty would have been a gross understatement.
In truth, he hadn’t seen her coming at first; he had been focused on other tasks and had not the time to allow something as common as a scream to attract his valuable attention.
But he regretted his decision not to pay attention.
Only when she slammed against his chest had he been aware of her presence and even then, he was only able to sense her panic and his warrior instincts kicked in.
The two pig-masked fiends had not been difficult to isolate and his sword was drawn even as he grasped the frenzied woman to steady her.
Only now, as the situation became clear, was he able to comprehend her unearthly beauty.
For a moment, he was actually speechless.
Her glorious radiance had managed to rob him of his tongue and he swallowed, attempting to regain the power of speech.
Gazing upon the woman of porcelain cheeks and unusual golden eyes, he swore the longer he stared at her, the more his language skills threatened to dissolve completely.
“My lady,” he sounded remarkably composed. “’Tis indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I had no idea my foolish comrades even had a sister.”
Her flawless cheeks mottled with a lovely blush. As a faint smile creased her lips, Bose was absolutely enchanted. But his haze of fascination was disturbed as Ian grasped Summer by the arm, forcibly escorting her away.
“If you will excuse us, my lord, my sister is feeling… fatigued,” he said, casting Summer an expression that indicate she dare not disagree. “I will apologize for her clumsy manners, however. I do hope your armor was not scratched.”
“She would not have been clumsy had you not been chasing her with your usual tact,” Bose returned quietly, not at all pleased that Ian was removing her. “I will forgive her completely. But you are another matter.”
With Summer clutched in his grip, Ian paused uncertainly and was preparing a calm, mayhap more placating reply, when Stephan laughed softly and interrupted the exchange.
“Ian fears you already, my lord,” he said. “If you threaten him any further, he shall surely hide for the rest of the day and I need him on my team if I am to have a fighting chance against you in the tourney.”
Bose continued to stare at Ian and his beautiful sister, gazing at the lady far more than her flushed brother. After a moment, he bobbed his head vaguely.
“The only chance you will have against me at the tourney is if your sister attends the games,” his voice was calm. “Surely her beauty will distract me so that a mere knave will be able to best me.”
Stephan chuckled again, passing a glance at his pink-cheeked sister. “She shall be there, my lord. I doubt all of the armies in England could keep her from attending her first tournament.”
Before Bose could reply, Ian whisked Summer through the crowd and into the keep. Bose watched her mount the ramp into the fore building of the massive keep with a good deal of confusion, wondering why Ian had refused to allow her to respond to his greeting.
For whatever the reason, Bose found himself unexpectedly preoccupied by the brief vision of the lovely Lady Summer.
Even when his men began dismantling the troops in preparation for erecting their encampment near the tournament field, Bose was distracted.
Stephan, having other duties to attend to, excused himself and his wife with an additional apology on his family’s behalf.
But Bose was barely aware of the departure of his host. His mind was still fixated on the image of the golden-eyed maiden, so much so that he hardly heard the familiar voice at his side.
“Farl and Adgar have proceeded to the field to establish our perimeter,” the armor-clad knight informed his lord. “Artur went with them and took the horses.”
“And Morgan?”
The warrior shook his head. “He’s still having trouble with his charger. He’s taken the horse directly to the field in an attempt to lessen the swelling of his fetlock.”
Bose sighed heavily, forcing himself to abandon thoughts of the du Bonne sister. “No wonder the steed is lame,” he mumbled. “He is as old as Morgan is.”
Turning for the portal that led from the bailey, they headed toward the gaily decorated field below.
A du Bonne servant clad in red and white escorted them from the courtyard, a man assigned to the de Moray party to answer any questions or service any needs.
But Bose ignored the hovering servant as he and his companion strolled down the embankment toward the tournament arena.
“God’s Beard,” Bose muttered as he neared the cluster of bright tents. “The Kerrys are here.”
“So I noticed. Did not you see their colors as we rode in?”
Bose shook his head. “Nay, but I certainly should have,” he sighed heavily, raising his visor to release the steaming heat saturating his heavily-lined helm. “Tate, I demand you burn their tent to the ground and all occupants within it. I have no desire to go against Breck Kerry this day.”
Tate Farnum, young and arrogant with a beautiful crown of auburn hair and milky skin that would have made a woman proud, snorted humorously. “What you mean to say is that you do not wish to compete against Asa Kerry’s son.”
“Asa and I served together under Hubert de Burgh,” Bose said. “Of course I do not want to compete against his spoiled, pimple-faced son. The boy is a menace to the honorable knights competing on the tournament circuit with his unscrupulous tactics and barbaric methods.”
Tate nodded faintly, gazing at the bright yellow and white tent. “He broke Stephan du Bonne’s wrist last year. Truthfully, I am surprised to see him here at all.”
Bose’s onyx-black eyes studied the elaborate shelter and waving banners, announcing to the world that the House of Kerry was present.
From the subject of Breck Kerry one moment to Stephan du Bonne the next, Bose was reminded again of the delicious Lady Summer.
Since it was apparently futile to forget the woman, he struggled to appear casual as he spoke of her.
“What do you know of Stephan’s sister?” he asked nonchalantly. “I did not even know the du Bonne brothers had a sister.”
Tate liked to believe himself well informed about everything; sometimes, in fact, his hunger for gossip exceeded that of the most curious woman and Bose was constantly chiding him for the fact.
But in a situation such as this, it might actually prove useful if he had heard anything about the fair Lady Summer.
“This is the first I have seen of the girl,” Tate replied. “But a beauty, to be sure; no wonder the du Bonnes have been hiding her.”
Moving into the cluster of tents with their du Bonne servant in tow, the area was alive with squires and soldiers, milling about in orderly chaos as they went about their duties in anticipation for the approaching tournament.
Bose ignored the rabble for the most part, his mind still focused on the subject of conversation as he and Tate made their way toward the half-pitched black and white tent well removed from the cluster of shelters.
“How old do you suppose she is?” Bose asked, realizing with dismay that he sounded eager to know.
Tate sensed the curiosity and cast his liege a long glance. “God’s Blood, Bose. Do I detect a hint of genuine interest in the woman?”
Immediately on-guard with Tate’s knowing query, Bose averted his gaze stubbornly. “Answer the damn question. How old is she?”