Chapter Two #3
Bose repressed a smile as his furry friend devoured the carrot. “Antony loves you, Morgan. How can you be so selfish?”
“Easily. I do not take kindly to an alleged friend defecating all over my baggage.”
“What did you expect? He’s been sealed within your satchel for hours.”
Morgan swallowed his substantial bite, eyeing Bose as he drank deeply of the medium-bodied ale. “Next time, the rat can ride in your possessions. I refuse to carry him any longer.”
Bose cocked an eyebrow, the glimmer of mirth in his eyes fading. “My bags are always too full.”
Morgan shook his head. “That is a lie and you know it. You insist that the rat ride within my possessions because you are terrified someone will discover your weakness for this hairy beast. It is much easier to explain my attachment to such a pet due to my age or some other sort of nonsense. Who would ever believe the great Bose de Moray capable of fondness for a ferret?”
Bose scratched Antony’s nose with massive fingers, his black eyes glittering across the dim tent. “I am not ashamed of Antony.”
Again, Morgan shook his head. How many times had they shared this conversation?
“Nay, you are not ashamed of the bearded rat. But you are ashamed that a mighty warrior of your station should be firmly committed to a foolish little animal. Why not admit the truth, Bose? No one would fault you for your attachment to your deceased wife’s pet. ”
Bose looked away, his black eyes pondering the dim surrounding of the black and white tent.
In the far corner, the servant raised a small flap for ventilation and illumination, but Bose ordered the man to seal the breach.
He had a difficult enough time keeping his ferret protected from the world without the additional exposure of an open window.
“What about your charger?” Bose’s voice was subdued as he changed the subject. He did not want to argue about the only bit of tenderness within his dark life. “Is the beast lame?”
Morgan mopped his trencher with a piece of bread. “He’s got a genuine strain, but I would not go so far as to say that he is lame. Artur has made a healing mash and has the leg securely wrapped. I suppose time will tell.”
As Antony crawled about his master’s neck, his beady eyes glittering in the faint illumination, Bose poured himself more ale. “Will you avoid the joust altogether and simply concentrate on the melee?”
Morgan nodded, consuming the last of his meal as the faint rumble of commotion of the tournament field grew louder. “One fool with a misaimed blow and my charger would be ruined for good.”
Bose digested the statement, bobbing his head in agreement. “I shall miss you, then. But we will be unbeatable in the melee.”
Morgan drained the remaining ale from his cup. “Against Breck Kerry?”
“Against them all. We will be invincible this day.”
“Even against Lance du Bonne? It is, after all, his day of celebration. Mayhap you should allow the lad to win, just this once.”
Bose stared at Morgan a moment; the mere mention of the du Bonne name had been enough to remind him of the elusive du Bonne maiden and, once again, he found himself recollecting her radiant visage.
“Did you know the du Bonne brothers have a sister?” he asked casually, stroking Antony’s fur when the animal scampered down his arm.
Rising from the collapsible chair, Morgan grunted as he stretched his tautly-muscled body. “Nay, I had no such knowledge,” he cast a glance as he twisted from side to side. “What about her?”
Bose shrugged, laboring to appear blasé in manner.
“Nothing, I suppose,” he said. “I met her today when we entered the gates. Lance and Ian were chasing her about with pig-masks over their faces, creating a deplorable spectacle. Were I Edward du Bonne, I would lock the lads in the vault for a week or so. That would do enough to age their juvenile spirits.”
Morgan snorted at the mental vision of Lance and Ian du Bonne with pig-masks over their faces. “Good Lord, what an exhibition. Were those two not such excellent fighters, I would consider them most useless.”
“Useless indeed.”
Since Morgan had no helpful knowledge regarding the enigmatic Summer du Bonne, Bose let the subject rest for the moment.
Moreover, the melee was rapidly approaching and he needed his focus to prepare for the rough and glorious event.
Not strangely, however, it was difficult to force her from his mind as he went about the necessary tasks.
It seemed that with every subsequent recollection, it became more and more difficult to rid himself of her consuming memory.
God’s Beard, he had scarcely met the woman and already he was unable to forget her.
But forget he must if he was going to be of any use in the melee and subsequent joust…
until he remembered she would be in attendance.
Oddly enough, his words to Stephan came back to haunt him. The only chance you will have against me at the tourney is if your sister attends the games. Surely her beauty will distract me so terribly that a mere knave will be able to best me.
He realized it was the truth.