Chapter Three
“Come along, Summer,” Genisa’s squeaky voice was crisp. “The du Bonne men will not wait for us. If we are late, they shall simply leave us behind.”
Hovering before a long mirror made of rare polished glass, Summer stroked her honey-blond hair with a heavy horse-bristle brush.
Using her hands, she curved the lengthy ends into fat curls, knowing the waves would not remain so entirely tame throughout the day’s activities and wondering why she was attempting to make the well-groomed effort.
But it was a joyful effort nonetheless, considering the event of her very first tournament was less than an hour away. Her excitement was thrilling and debilitating at the same time, and she fought to contain both nerves and nausea.
“Summer, what are you staring at? We are going to be late!” Frustrated that her pleas were going ignored, Genisa endeavored to relay the seriousness of the situation.
Clad in a gown of ice-blue with her pale blond hair properly secured in a bejeweled net, she looked ravishing.
“Certainly, if you brush your hair any more, you are going to pull yourself bald. Put the brush aside. We are expected.”
The brush stopped in mid-stroke as Summer continued to gaze at herself, half-listening to Genisa’s demands and half-ignoring them.
Tardy or no, what mattered most at the moment was her outward appearance and she would not proceed before properly and precisely prepared.
As Genisa prodded and pleaded, a soft knock echoed against the chamber door.
“You see?” Genisa raised her hands in the air in a beseeching gesture as she moved for the oak panel. “That is Stephan and he shall blister our hides for this delay.”
True to her prediction, Stephan was indeed lodged in the open doorway. Although his handsome features were somewhat perturbed, he nonetheless tapped his wife affectionately on the chin as he entered the feminine chamber.
“We are waiting to escort you to the field, ladies,” he said, eyeing his sister still poised before the mirror. “Are you ready?”
Genisa looked to Summer, a golden goddess from head to toe. When the woman refused to answer, she sighed delicately. “Aye, darling, we are ready. Aren’t we, Summer?”
After a moment’s reluctance, Summer nodded and set the brush to a table beside her. Clutching a delicately embroidered handkerchief to stave off the unseasonable warmth, she smiled bravely.
“Aye Stephan. We are ready.”
He smiled faintly, offering one elbow to his sister and the other to his wife.
Escorting the ladies down the smoke-stenched corridor, they descended the wide stairs into the stone-walled entry.
Just as they dismounted the last stair, a rotund, cumbersome figure emerged from the shadows in a harried burst of fine silks and wool.
“Great Gods, ladies,” he exclaimed. “The games are nearly ready to begin.”
Summer forced a smile at the ruddy man, his sparse hair the color of hers. Releasing her brother’s elbow, she claimed the man’s fleshy arm in a reassuring gesture. “Calm yourself, Father,” she said. “The games cannot b-begin without you.”
In spite of his agitation, Edward du Bonne could not help but smile at his youngest child.
The beautiful girl his wife had perished giving life to, a child so delicate and lovely that he had stared at her for three straight days after her birth in awe and wonder.
A female child completely unexpected after three healthy boys, so unanticipated that no feminine names for such an occurrence had been discussed.
Edward’s wife had been positive that her fourth child was male.
After all, there was little doubt since the three preceding pregnancies had resulted in a herd of strong du Bonne sons.
Therefore, on a warm summer’s eve eighteen years ago, Edward had been faced with a most pressing decision.
Beyond the grief of losing his wife, he was forced to select a name for the unexpected female offspring who had claimed her mother’s existence.
The baron, unfortunately, was not a clever or particularly attentive man and he lacked the concern to name his new daughter.
Giving the child over to a female servant and her spinster daughter, he delegated them the task of naming and caring for his newest, if not particularly wanted, child.
The two aging women, unable to think of a properly suitable name and fearful of displeasing the temperamental baron with a less than appropriate selection, made the most convenient, if not logical, selection; Summer Evening du Bonne.
A name, in fact, that was perfect for her.
She was as warm and beautiful as the summer months, soft and fresh and radiant.
Even now as the earl gazed into dark golden orbs, he could scarcely recall ever seeing a finer creature.
It was a cruel twist of fate that her beauty was marred by a disturbing speech impediment, for she would have made a very fine marriage match for the du Bonne family.
Edward had resigned himself to the fact that his beautiful daughter would never know the experience of a decent marriage, and for that he was truly sorry.
The day was warming as the damp sea breeze caressed the dusty grounds of Chaldon as Edward, Summer, Stephan and Genisa quit the dark-stoned bastion and made their way outside.
Summer’s hair whipped about her and she struggled to keep it at bay, knowing the over-brushed curls were vanished and wishing she was married if only so she would have been able to net the unruly mass as Genisa did.
As a maiden, however, it was customary to keep one’s head uncovered to show the beauty of a maiden’s hair.
As the small party neared the edge of the bailey, the tournament field came into focus and Summer forgot all about her misbehaving hair.
Her focus was completely on the distant cluster of colorful tents, the faint hum of the crowd, and the thunder of the chargers as knights took in a few bouts of last-minute practice.
Somewhere in the distance, a lute and lyre could be heard entertaining the throng and Summer was about to comment on the beauty of the song when a great black banner caught her attention. It was the same black banner that had saved her from a pig-masked fate. She turned to Stephan.
“Is that de Moray’s b-banner?” she asked.
Distracted from a game of slap-and-tickle with his wife, Stephan passed a glance at the towering standard. “Aye,” he replied, casting his sister a curious glance. “How did you know his name?”
Summer pursed her lips wryly. “Good Heavens, Stephan, you spoke the man’s name and it was only obvious that I should hear you,” turning from her brother, she once again eyed the flapping colors. “Who is he?”
Stephan took a contemplative breath, adjusting his pinching helm. “God’s Beard, where to begin? What is it you wish to know?”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Everything. For example, do you know how he acquired his unusual name?”
Stephan shrugged. “Mayhap it is an old, well-used family name.”
“B-Bose,” Summer repeated softly, drawing out the long “o” until the name sounded like “Bow-z”. “Where does he come from?”
“He has a keep outside of Salisbury called Ravendark, and he’s been on the tournament circuit for four years,” finding a comfortable position for his helm, Stephan once again glanced to the foreboding standard.
“Until he joined our ranks, my competition was limited. Now I am lucky if I run a close second to de Moray’s talents. ”
Strangely, Summer felt a good deal of pleasure at that statement. Her brother was praising the man who had saved her from certain torment and she smiled faintly, feeling oddly attached to the fearsome black banner. “What is that on his standard? I do not recognize the s-symbol.”
Stephan, disinterested in speaking of a man he would very shortly be competing against, kissed his wife’s hand fondly before lowering his visor. “’Tis a Gorgon.”
“A Gorgon?”
“Aye,” Stephan’s voice was muffled behind the steel protection. “They call de Moray the Gorgon because he is massive and dark and ugly. Therefore, the term has become his crest.”
Summer’s brow furrowed. “I b-believe I have heard of a Gorgon. Isn’t that a demon?”
Stephan nodded. “Greek demons. Oddly enough, however, they are female, but the very name means ‘dreadful’, which describes de Moray perfectly.”
Summer’s smile faded as she looked to her brother.
Somehow, in calling de Moray ugly, it was inferring that he was imperfect.
Flawed. Just like she was, in a sense – her imperfect speech against his imperfect looks.
But having never seen the man’s face through his lowered visor, she had no way of disputing Stephan’s claim.
After a moment, she turned away and refocused her attention on the field before her.
“How cruel,” she murmured. “You should not taunt him for his lack of b-beauty.”
Stephan snorted, catching a glimpse of his charger near the small tent bearing the red and white du Bonne colors.
“You have yet to see the man, Summer. Just because he saved you from Ian and Lance’s foolery, do not permit yourself to have any romantic notions regarding his magnificent knightly appearance.
In spite of that fact and other nasty rumors regarding his reputation, he has no shortage of admirers. ”
Feeling somewhat defensive on the knight’s behalf, Summer frowned at her arrogant brother.
“Rumors that are lies, I am sure. Sir B-bose is noble and chivalrous, unlike several other knights I know who shall remain nameless. Women are able to sense good within a man regardless of his physical appearance.”