Chapter Four #4
Beyond Morgan’s pensive silence and Tate’s deliberate quiet, Farl McCorkle eyed his liege with a good deal of sympathy.
A massive, burly Irishman, he had served with Bose for several years within the Household Guard.
His bushy red eyebrows and overgrown mustache almost gave him the appearance of an unkempt heathen; in truth, there was no finer warrior in the heat of battle and Bose considered himself fortunate to warrant the man’s loyalty.
Seated next to the crusty Irish knight was a diminutive warrior by the name of Adgar Ross.
Where his Celtic counterpart was brawny, loud and curt, Adgar by contrast was quiet, well-manicured and faintly handsome.
Nearly as old as Morgan, in spite of his small stature and meek manner he was a fierce fighter and an intelligent tactician.
Bose and Adgar had carried on many a conversation regarding battle methods and maneuvers before competition, establishing a winning pattern that carried through to this very day.
Aye, Farl and Adgar were worth their weight in gold as far as Bose was concerned.
As in the melee today, they had been powerful contenders who had lasted admirably.
But this night, their usual advice and commentary regarding the day’s match was unwanted by their brooding liege.
Having been advised of the circumstances regarding a certain young lady, the two knights maintained their respectful silence just like the others.
That is, all except for Artur. Bose’s great-uncle wasn’t a knight, nor had he ever been.
He was a tiny old man born with a crippled arm that had prevented him from training as a proper knight.
In spite of his defect, Artur possessed the extreme de Moray trait of determination.
He had fostered in a fine household and although unable to participate in actual knightly training, he nonetheless learned all he was able and soon took to training knights himself, working in apprenticeship with a collection of powerful warriors.
Artur had helped train Bose’s father, and Bose himself when he had come of age.
Throughout his grand-nephew’s years of service as Captain of the Guard, Artur had been at the forefront of organizing and instructed the captain’s men.
Bose refused to be without the little man – he may have been stubborn, private and independent, but he was extremely loyal to those closest to him.
’Twas a tightly knit group encompassing the House of de Moray, protective and strong, and if Bose never accomplished another feat of glory in his life, he would have gone to his grave extremely proud of the life and relationships he had nurtured.
“Why would not the baron let you speak with his daughter, Bose?” Artur finally asked the fateful question they had all been pondering for the better part of an hour. “Did you offend him somehow?”
Morgan and Tate looked to each other, waiting for their liege to explode.
Although Bose wasn’t a naturally violent man, he had been known to break furniture on occasion when pushed beyond his limits.
Farl simply pretended he hadn’t heard the question while Adgar focused on his half-finished meal.
When his grand-nephew did not answer right away, the old man pushed.
“What did you do, Bose?”
On his fourth cup of ale, Bose contemplated his pewter chalice in silence. After a lengthy pause, during which Artur grunted an additional measure of encouragement, he grasped the cup and drained the contents. Morgan refilled it immediately.
“In faith, I do not know,” his baritone voice was hoarse with fatigue and alcohol. “I suppose I am not considered a fine enough prospect for the baron’s lovely daughter.”
“Posh,” Artur spat, shuffling across the floor and shoving Tate from his chair. Taking the man’s seat, he focused intently on his brooding nephew. “You are as fine a knight as has ever lived, Bose, and certainly a suitable match for a baron’s daughter.”
Faintly, Bose shook his head. “It’s not the fact that she is a mere baron’s daughter. She is so damn beautiful that surely they are awaiting a more… attractive prospect.”
“Rubbish!” Artur crowed, jabbing a gnarled finger into the man’s chest. “There’s nothing wrong with your appearance. So you have a few scars; so what? There’s not one perfect individual upon the face of the earth, including Lord du Bonne’s daughter, I’d wager. Surely the girl has a flaw.”
“Not this girl.”
Artur shook his head in exasperation. “You are too quick to praise and too quick to concede defeat. The Bose I know would not have given up as easily as this. Are you so lacking in confidence that you will not fight for what you want?”
Bose’s brow furrowed with confusion and he took another hearty draw of ale. After a lengthy hesitation, he emitted a loud sigh. “God’s Beard, Artur, I never said I wanted the girl. I merely wished to ask for her favor and suddenly, everyone is acting as if my marriage proposal was rejected.”
“’Tis because you are acting in the same manner. I would tend to believe that you want more than a favor from the girl.”
Looking into Artur’s face for the first time, it was an effort for Bose to scowl convincingly.
“You are mad,” he hissed, draining his cup and rising from the table.
Still clad in his mail tunic and plate armor, he wandered away from the table.
“How would you know what I am feeling? You’ve never even seen the woman; you are basing your observations on what these fools are telling you.
They insist I am somehow in love with a woman I do not even know, and you believe them. ”
“I believe my eyes and ears and instincts. And they are confirming what I have been told.”
Bose grunted with frustration, turning away from the collection of men huddled about the small cherrywood table. “You are all mad. The woman means absolutely nothing to me.”
“Then why are you so troubled?”