Chapter Four #5
Bose stared at the half-open tent flap, his frustration fading as he pondered Artur’s softly-uttered question.
God’s Beard, why was he so troubled? He’d never spoken to the Lady Summer; he’d seen her barely twice and the relationship they shared was purely one of smiles and glances and nothing more.
There was no physical contact involved, no stolen kisses, nothing whatsoever to warrant a strong emotional attachment.
… then why was he so troubled?
“I am not troubled by the lady,” his reply filled the drawn-out pause. “’Twould seem that my collection of knights is intent to exaggerate the situation and for that, I am indeed distressed. Now hurry and finish your meals and be out of my sight.”
The order was taken literally. Those with food remaining on their trenchers began to shove huge bites into their mouths. But Artur continued to stare at the dark warrior and knowing that there was far more supporting the refusals of his interest in the lady than he was willing to voice.
“It’s Margot, isn’t it?” the old man’s voice was quiet. “She has managed to convince you that any normal interest you should experience for a woman is a direct insult to Lora’s memory.”
Bose looked to his grand-uncle, the onyx-black eyes smoldering with restrained emotion. “She has not convinced me of anything. And you will not bring Lora into this.”
“The old bitch has you chained to her daughter’s memory as if you were an eternal prisoner.
” Artur was unafraid of his hulking nephew’s wrath; when speaking of Margot or Lora, the calm persona that was the epitome of Bose’s character saw a rapid collapse.
Artur was genuinely distressed over the peculiar power Margot seemed to wield against her son-in-law, a strength Bose oddly refused to acknowledge.
“Do you not see what she is doing to you, Bose?” the old man hissed pleadingly. “She is controlling you through her dead daughter and you are allowing her to do so.”
Bose’s cheek ticked faintly as he eyed his uncle a long moment. “I will not discuss this with you, uncle. Not tonight.”
“So you are not. ’Tis I who am discussing it with you.
Margot has persuaded you to live only for Lora’s memory and not for the future that lies ahead.
What if this Lady Summer is someone with whom you could arrange a satisfactory contract?
Will you give it all up for the ramblings of a bitter old woman and the memory of her dead daughter? ”
Bose’s face mottled a dull red. Had he not forced himself to turn away, he most likely would have said or done something unreasonable.
“Good knights, if your meal is concluded, then be gone with you,” he said quietly. “The joust is on the morrow and I will insist my men retire early.”
Tate needed no further encouragement. He had already provoked his liege well beyond the limits this day and from his liege’s current mood after Artur’s pestering, suspected it would be wise to make himself scarce.
Farl and Adgar abruptly lifted themselves from their chairs, determined to finish their food elsewhere. This was not a place they wanted to be.
Only Morgan and Artur were left, alternately staring at each other and the massive man frozen near the shelter opening.
Seeing that it would be of no use to press the topics of Margot or the obscure Lady Summer, Artur wisely concluded to rest both subjects.
All thoughts of Bose’s manipulative mother-in-law aside, he would again press the focus of the mysterious woman with the next opportunity.
“Where’s Antony?” Bose shifted the focus.
Artur looked around, disinterestedly at first, but with more conviction when Morgan leapt from his chair and joined the search.
“He was here when we commenced with our meal,” Morgan replied, sifting through the bedding at the opposite side of the tent. “I fed him a piece of bread.”
Bose’s brow furrowed as he began to search, looking under the table and chairs, rummaging through the boxes and satchels. But as the search progressed and still no ferret, Bose realized that his clever friend must have escaped the tent.
“God’s Beard,” he hissed, more frightened that Antony would come to harm than he was for the fact that his secretive pet would be discovered. “I have got to find him. Come along, Morgan, and help me search. He knows you.”
Without hesitation, Morgan quit the tent in pursuit of his liege, leaving Artur to finish combing the far reaches of the tent.
But the old man realized that the black-eyed animal was not within the boundaries of the black and white shelter.
If he did not end up as mashed guts beneath the hooves of a charger or the main course of a peasant’s meal, it would be a miracle.
But Artur believed in miracles. Slowing his search, he lowered his weary body to Bose’s comfortable chair and sighed deeply, listening to the cries of the nightbird.
Even as his thoughts were focused on his nephew’s attachment to the pet, somewhere in the midst of gray and white fuzz again came thoughts of a certain young lady.
He wondered if the lady liked ferrets, too.