Chapter Four #3
Edward stared at the knight, shaking his head after a moment. “I am sorry,” he said softly, moving away from the dais and down the stairs before Bose could say another word.
Bose remained before the empty lodges for quite some time afterward, wondering why on earth the House of du Bonne had refused to allow him to speak with the fair Lady Summer.
First Stephan and now the father. Both of them reacting strangely toward the request, as if Bose had somehow demanded the maiden be allowed to bear him a son out of wedlock.
The problem, however, was clear; he simply wasn’t good enough for her. She was far too beautiful for him, an aged widower with nothing by way of bloodlines or family ties to offer her. Of course that was the true reason; she was well beyond his grasp.
With a heavy sigh, he turned his charger toward the edge of the field where his men were already collecting ransom from their humble prisoners.
Once a ransom was paid, the man was free to go and prepare for the coming joust. Though the thought of money to be had usually pleased him, he realized that there was nothing to be pleased with this day.
Victory or not, he shouldn’t have even come.
*
“Stop dragging me about, Genisa!” Summer snapped when the lodges were well out of sight. Yanking her arm free, she glared irritably at her sister-in-law. “Let go of me!”
Genisa appeared properly contrite in the face of her husband’s angry sister. “I do apologize, Summer, but you are fully aware that I only have your best interests at heart. We had to leave before….”
“B-Before I embarrassed everyone with my stammering speech,” Summer supplied harshly, humiliated and furious.
Sighing heavily, she turned away and allowed her pouting gaze to rove the grounds.
She wanted to be normal. She wanted to laugh as other maidens laugh, to encounter the thrill of her first beau, and to know all else that noble maidens usually experience.
The fact that Genisa and her father had chased Sir Bose away as if she carried the plague cut a path of anguish deep into her heart; more than ever, the true reason behind their shielding actions was obvious and Summer found herself wanting to be away from her overbearing sister-in-law.
Her voice was quiet but firm as she eyed her apprehensive sister-in-law. “Go away, Genisa. Please go away and leave me alone.”
Genisa’s expression washed with genuine remorse. “Summer, I am truly sorry. But you know as well as I that… we must make sure you are kept silent and protected.”
“Protected? Ha!” Summer snorted. “You mean properly hidden.”
“Hidden?” Genisa repeated, sincerely confused. “Not hidden, Summer. Protected.”
“Call it what you will, Genisa. Regardless of the term used, it means the same thing. Isolating me from the world.”
“Not by choice,” Genisa’s voice was quiet. “There are those who simply do not understand your flaw.”
Although Genisa had meant to describe her affliction and nothing more, Summer interpreted her statement as an insult.
Cheeks flushing with shame, she whirled on her sister-in-law in a vicious billow of golden satin.
“My flaw is that I cannot speak a sentence without f-faltering at times. Your flaw is that you talk too much and your voice grates upon my ears like the b-bray of an injured goat. Now tell me; whose flaw is greater?”
Genisa gasped, her mouth opening with outrage. “How cruel you are. I was merely trying to protect you, Summer!”
“Do not protect me!” Summer practically screamed, oblivious to the curious glances upon the two shouting ladies. “I do not want your protection! In fact, I do not want you near me at all!”
Genisa’s mouth gaped further, her cheeks mottling a hot red. “You ungrateful wench. How dare you spurn my concern!”
Summer let out a strangled groan. “Concern for what others will think of your reputation with a sister-in-law who stutters,” when Genisa attempted to lodge a stern protest, Summer simply turned on her heel and marched in the opposite direction.
“Go b-back to Stephan, Genisa. I do not need, nor do I want any more of your p-protection.”
Genisa called to her and attempted to follow, but Summer gathered her skirts and dashed off as if the Devil himself were nipping at her heels.
In and out of vendor shacks she ran, renting a wild path through the cluster of visitors in an attempt to elude her sister-in-law.
She wanted to be free of the woman, if for no other reason than to compose her thoughts.
By the time she entered the perimeter of tents housing opposing knights, Genisa’s shouts had faded and Summer slowed her pace, wiping the steady stream of tears from her cheeks.
The day was waning as the sun set steadily in the western sky and high above, seagulls called loudly in their search for food.
Summer ignored the gulls, the cooling sea breeze, and the distant roar of the crowd populating the vendor stalls and surrounding area.
In spite of the clusters of unfamiliar tents, she knew the area well and realized, eventually, she would emerge onto the road leading to Chaldon.
So she wandered, staring at the ground and going out of her way to avoid a knight or squire or servant within the field of the tightly clustered shelters.
She did not want to speak with anyone. Nor did she particularly want to see anyone, given the fact that the only man she possessed a desire to see was probably lodged within the warm comfort of his tent, congratulating himself on a fine victory and putting her out of his mind.
Toying with the ends of her hair absently, her expression molded into that of a permanent pout, she wandered to the base of a gnarled old oak and deposited herself at the roots.
The pungent smells of roasting meat filled the air as the evening meal drew close, but Summer wasn’t hungry in the least. There wasn’t a food or drink in the world that could ease the ache she was experiencing at the moment.
It was an ache that only intensified when she caught sight of the striking black and white tent in the near distance.
The proud Gorgon banner flapped sharply in the brisk sea wind, silently saluting the onset of a mild evening.
Summer ripped up clods of grass, venting her turmoil and wondering why God had saddled her with so horrible an affliction.
She oft made a conscious effort not to stammer her speech, speaking slowly and distinctly.
And sometimes, her efforts worked. But more often than not, she would forget her slowed pace and return to her natural pattern and stuttering syllables.
Sir Bose wasn’t to blame for his unwillingness to defy her father’s denial.
In truth, she did not blame him; she blamed her father for his sense of pride, unwilling to expose his daughter to a potential suitor and thereby release the secret of her speech impediment.
And once Sir Bose discovered her imperfection, certainly, he would formulate his own rejection.
But, Dear God, somehow she wished he would be able to overlook her flaw in lieu of her better qualities. As if, somehow, he would be able to tolerate her stammering in lieu of coming to know the woman beneath the defect. Dear God… she wished he would be different from the rest.
The sun descended in the western sky, turning the colors from blue to orange to gold; still, Summer continued to sit beneath the old oak tree in gloomy silence.
As dusk drew nigh and the damp sea breeze turned cold and wet, still, she sat and pondered her impending future.
Realizing that, indeed, she appeared not to have one at all.
*
In spite of the fact that the evening meal should have been a victory celebration, there was very little happiness at all.
Within the encampment of the House of de Moray, the mood was oddly sullen and strangely quiet.
As the knights in Bose’s service commenced their meal of mutton, onions and sweetened carrots, there was far less joviality than usual.
Little talk, meaningless banter, and at the head of the silence sat none other than Bose himself.
A trencher of half-eaten mutton sat before him, cooling and scarcely touched.
On his right, Morgan picked through his meal in respectful silence, eyeing Tate now and again to make sure the knight had every intention of keeping his mouth shut on the subject of Lady Summer.
To make sure they all kept their mouths shut.
There was not one man among the morose crowd that wished to broach the truth.
They had all seen Bose ride to the dais with the intention of speaking to the beautiful young woman. And they had all seen the lady escorted from his presence. What could have been a potentially pleasing situation turned dark and moody the moment the lady left his company.
Even after the lady had long since vanished, Bose had remained silent and pensive and isolated, poised before the lodges that had once been filled with people screaming his name.
There was no one left to congratulate the victor; not even the only woman from whom he would have gladly accepted the accolades.
So he turned away from the vacant seats and returned to his encampment, empty-handed and closed mouth.
There was not one man in the tent that hadn’t suspected Bose’s purpose when he boldly approached the dais.
Knowing their lord as they did, his reserved nature and disinterest toward life in general, it must have taken a tremendous amount of courage for him to initiate the action.
And further knowing the man as they did, there wasn’t one man in the tent immune to the sting of rejection their liege was experiencing.