Chapter Three #2
“That is not the reason, my ingenuous little sister,” Stephan said patronizingly, waving to his squire to let the boy know he was on the approach.
“The women who pursue de Moray are simply interested in his wealth and nothing more. With all the winnings he has acquired over the four years of tournament play, he is amply loaded with the stuff and the wealth alone is enough to outweigh the darker implications of his name.”
Bidding his family a distracted farewell, Summer watched her brother stroll across the trampled grass, pondering his words.
As Genisa moved to Edward’s free arm, Summer obeyed her father’s insistence that they proceed to the tournament field.
After all, the games could not begin without the attendance of the illustrious castle Constable and already they were a half-hour truant.
Let the games begin.
*
“Very well, Bose. Ask me any question about the Lady Summer. I can tell you anything you wish to know.”
Bose did not look up as he assisted his squire in latching the last of his chest protection.
And he furthermore did not look to his confident friend as the young squire finished the final fastens about his massive neck, straightening the mailed hood underneath the plate steel.
Only when the lad moved away to collect his master’s gauntlets did Bose fix his onyx-black eyes upon the smug, entirely annoying knight.
“I told you that I did not want to know anything else about her. There is no need.”
By the corner of the tent, Morgan looked up from repairing his well-used scabbard. The end of the aged leather was fraying and he was distraught with worry; however, his fret did not prevent him from overhearing Tate’s thoroughly self-satisfied statement.
“Who is Lady Summer?”
“No one,” Bose grumbled.
“A certain lady who seems to have captured our illustrious leader’s attention,” Tate supplied with restrained humor as Bose looked away, fumbling with the gloves offered by the squire.
“Although he refuses to admit anything, I am quite confident that he has a moderate interest in her. Am I incorrect, my lord?”
Bose maintained his silence as Morgan rose from his corner seat, his brown eyes wide with genuine surprise. “God’s Blood, Bose. Is this true? Have you finally found interest in a woman?”
Yanking on a glove in a distinct exhibition of annoyance, Bose’s black eyes blazed with threat and hazard. “Not in the least. And if Tate isn’t careful, he shall find himself impaled in the melee by my very own weapon. Do I make myself clear, Farnum?”
Much to Bose’s aggravation, Tate merely snorted humorously to the deadly threat and turned his attention to a still-surprised Morgan.
“You should see her, old man. As beautiful as when the world was new,” spacing his hands a foot or so apart, he outlined an obvious female figure.
“And her form is in fine shape. Fine, fine shape. My God, I do believe I would have her myself had our liege not expressed interest first.”
Morgan stared at the snickering young knight, hardly believing what he had heard. To declare that the omnipotent, focused Bose de Moray was interested in a woman was beyond his scope of comprehension. A smile of hope creased his lips. “Who is she?”
Casting Bose a long glance from the corner of his eye to make sure the man was paying attention, Tate crossed his arms smugly.
“She is the Lady Summer du Bonne, a mere eighteen years old one week ago today. She is unmarried, unpledged, and unattached. And from what I have been able to discover, something of a hermit. Her father keeps her under constant isolation for reasons I have been unable to ascertain.”
Although his manner indicated a lack of interest, Bose was nonetheless listening carefully to Tate’s information.
As his squire secured his remaining gauntlet, he struggled between the instinct to demand more of Tate’s knowledge on the woman and the urge to deny the situation.
Bewildered and confused, for the moment, denying his interest was the only manner of self-preservation he could think of…
at least, until he could come to better understand the chaos for himself.
“I am not surprised to discover you been wasting your time in pursuit of useless knowledge when there is a tournament to be had.” Determined to move from the subject, he gestured sharply to Morgan.
“Did you finish repairing your scabbard? And what about your horse? Have you checked on the animal since Artur wrapped his leg?”
Morgan’s gaze was even at his brusque lord; since it was rare that Bose display any emotion whatsoever, he was able to deduce by his sharp mannerisms that Tate’s ramblings held a measure of truth.
But how much truth? If for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity, Morgan was determined to find out.
“Whether I tend the beast now or at tournament time will be of little difference in how correctly the leg has healed. Clearly, I have done all I can,” turning to Tate, he met the man’s twinkling eyes. “Is that all you discovered about the Lady Summer? What of her schooling, her beau?”
Tate shook his head, struggling not to look at Bose as he spoke. “Apparently, she did not leave home to foster and from what I have been told, she has not entertained a single suitor. Most strange, considering the woman is lovelier than any female I have yet to witness.”
Morgan cocked an eyebrow. “Lavish praise coming from a man who had known his share of feminine companionship,” he said. “But I do believe your clues are obvious – there must be something wrong with the woman. Mayhap beneath the beauty and grace, she harbors the temperament of a shrew.”
Tate sensed the game, taking the lead. “God be merciful, I should have realized. ’Tis the only explanation. Mayhap… mayhap she harbors a hideous defect. Like a third leg hidden beneath her gown, or a chest carpeted with hair.”
Morgan made a distasteful face. “Good Lord, I can hardly imagine running my lips over breasts as hairy as mine,” suddenly, his unpleasant expression turned to one of overstated dismay, his eyes bulging with mock horror.
“What… what if she is not a woman at all? What if she is truly a man, merely dressing as a woman?”
“An incubus!”
“A demon!”
“A sorceress! Good Lord, a sorcerer!”
“A…!”
“Enough!” Bose finally roared, out of character for his normally restrained disposition.
Turning away from the sword he had been fumbling with, his dark face was lined with irritation.
“I have heard enough from the two of you. No more talk of hairy chests or men wearing women’s clothing.
And I do not want to hear another word regarding Summer du Bonne. Do you comprehend?”
Unable to keep the smile from his lips, Morgan snickered softly and clapped a companionable hand on Bose’s shoulder before returning to his own equipment. “Indeed, my lord. Not another word.”
Bose’s black eyes were piercing as the older knight continued to snort disrespectfully. “I do not jest, Morgan. Not another word.”
Morgan eyed the man, nodding his head with earnest agreement. “I indicated that I understood, Bose. There is no need for threats.”
“Aye, there is. You are pushing me to the brink and should be amply forewarned.”
“I have done nothing of the kind. What has happened to your sense of humor?”
Bose continued to stare at the man long and hard a moment before turning away.
“It is intact given the proper circumstances, and considering we have a competition in fifteen minutes, I hardly find your amusement valid.” He lifted his arms as his squire secured his scabbard for the melee, long and free and at the ready, as he cast a final glance at his two comrades.
“Tate, get mounted. Morgan, if you are not going to compete, you and Artur discover from the heralds who is to be on our team for the melee. I would know these fools who intend to ride upon my glory.”
With a smirk, Morgan quit the tent. Tate maintained his position a moment longer, wondering if Bose intended to press him for more information regarding the fair Lady Summer without Morgan’s presence.
Even though he was well aware that Morgan was Bose’s closest friend, still, it would somehow be easier to discuss the lady between two men rather than three.
But Bose apparently had no intention of pressing the issue further and Tate wisely left the tent, heading for the gnarled oak where his squire had prepared his charger. Bose’s massive beast was prepared as well, muzzled to prevent him from attacking his handlers.
As Tate mounted, making sure the banner decorating his horse’s body was properly secured beneath the armored tack, he wondered if he shouldn’t attempt to ascertain more about the young maiden who had captured Bose’s eye.
The further his lord denied such interest, the more Tate knew the fair lady had indeed succeeded in snaring the man’s attention.
The silver peals of the trumpet could be heard, calling all spectators to the lodges and announcing to the competitors that the event was about to commence.
Forcing thoughts of Bose’s lady aside for the moment, Tate straightened the decorative plume atop his helm and reined his charger toward the arena, his excitement mounting.
He knew that Bose’s remaining two knights would already be at the field, awaiting his company.
And with all of the houses preparing to combat in honor of Lance du Bonne, the day would prove to be exciting and profitable.
Tate looked forward to certain victory. With Bose de Moray on his team, there was no question.
*