Chapter Seven
“Why are you here?”
Margot was not surprised by the enmity-laced question. Her faded blue eyes narrowed at her powerful son-in-law, fury matching fury, hate matching hate. She had no love for the man who killed her daughter.
“I begged you not to go to Chaldon during this time of mourning,” she said bitingly. “The anniversary of Lora’s death was yesterday and I specifically asked that you spend it at Ravendark, reflecting upon her memory.”
Bose’s lips were pressed into a tight line of displeasure.
From outside the black and white tent, the roar in the distance told him that the combatants had taken to the lists and were practicing for their coming bouts.
When his presence was required on the field in preparation for the approaching games, he found himself locked in verbal combat with an aged shrew he could scarcely tolerate.
But for Lora’s sake, he was compelled to abide the harshness.
“You did not ask that I remain at Ravendark, you demanded I stay,” he replied, struggling to keep his emotions in check.
Margot had the uncanny ability to snap his composure.
“As I explained to you, Lora is well aware that I have been mourning her death consistently for the past four years. Whether or not I remain locked inside my chamber, wailing like a fool, does not mean that I am any less sorrowful for her passing.”
Margot’s thin jaw ticked dangerously. “Were you any more of a man I would expect you to cease this foolish tournament obsession and devote the remainder of your worthless life to her glorious memory.”
“Margot, I will not discuss this with you,” he said as evenly as he could manage. “I have a joust coming very shortly and your unwelcome presence is distracting. Tell me why you’ve come and be done with it.”
Thin and frail and quaking with age, Margot’s feeble appearance concealed a ferocious tongue and bitter soul.
Her eyes flashed angrily at the man she possessed like a hostile demon, sinking her claws deep into his soul as if to never let him go.
He was hers; a possession, a whipping post, a limitless source of vengeance and pain.
“I already told you,” her feeble tone was laced with malice. “I asked you not to continue your usual pursuits during the anniversary of Lora’s death. We should spend the time together, you and I, paying homage to her memory.”
“So you followed me to Dorset because I am not mourning to your satisfaction?” he shook his head bitterly.
“You make my life miserable enough at home. What makes you think I want you here, wreaking havoc and causing misery? ’Twas certainly not your right to commandeer the men I left behind to protect my keep and demand they escort you to Chaldon. ”
“’Twas indeed my right as your mother-in-law,” she snapped.
“You and I should be together during this time of sorrow. Since you cold-heartedly chose to continue with your worthless occupation, I had no choice but to follow and ensure that you do not forget my daughter’s memory. Here I am, and here I will stay.”
His face twisted into a wry, disbelieving expression.
“Why, for Christ’s sake? You would do well to simply return to Ravendark and mourn alone because I, for one, do not want you here.
And I certainly do not need you to tell me where and how I shall grieve the passing of my wife.
I believe I have grieved quite enough over the past four years to satisfy you. ”
Margot’s eyes glittered furiously. “You know nothing of grieving,” she hissed.
“You quit your post as Captain of the Guard simply because you could not bear the memories associated with the position and I agreed wholeheartedly with your judgment at that time. But instead of retiring to the keep granted you by King Henry to ponder your lonely future and bygone dreams, you chose to pursue the debauchery of life upon the tournament circuit. This, Sir Bose, I hardly call grieving and if you believe for one moment I am satisfied with your supposed display of sorrow, you are sadly mistaken.”
His jaw ticked faintly as he studied the embittered woman he had once liked a great deal. But time and death had changed the situation between them, a brittle relationship where there had once been genuine affection.
“So, instead of attempting to move on with my life in spite of tragedy, you would have me isolate myself from the world to live on broken dreams and a dead wife,” shaking his head, he sighed heavily.
“Margot, I had to do what was best for me and you are well aware of the fact. I have made a good deal of wealth upon the circuit, enough to keep you in comfort for the rest of your life. As Lora’s mother, it is my obligation to take care of you.
But I forbid you to criticize the method by which I have obtained my wealth or the method by which I grieve; the tournament circuit has offered me a good deal of support and distraction in both categories, of which I have greatly needed.
If you do not understand my motives or ideals, that is your misfortune. ”
Her thin lips drawn tight, a faint mottle lingered upon her wrinkled cheekbones. “’Twas Lora’s misfortune to have married you at the first.”
He refused to be baited by the familiar insult Margot resorted to every time the conversation veered against her. Turning from the vicious woman, he ordered his manservant to see to her comfort and hastily quit the tent; he simply could not deal with her any longer.
On his heels, the skilled squire followed closely, laden with his liege’s spare pole and other weaponry. The primary pole was already at the field with the fully armored charger, awaiting the appearance of the mighty lord.
The joust field came into view shortly, the bright joust barrier carving a path down the middle of the field laden with the colors of the competing houses.
There were several knights prancing about the field, gold and green colors, blue and yellow, and three red and white.
The moment he laid sight upon the du Bonne red and white, all thoughts of Margot faded.
There was a far more distracting presence in the stands than the lingering memory of his mother-in-law and her dead daughter.
A faint roar went up from the crowd, distracting him from his thoughts as he realized the cry was meant for him.
Artur appeared, babbling about the climate of the day and other insignificant notions, knowing his nephew had just endured a hellish go-around with Margot and attempting to distract the man with talk of the coming event.
But Bose waved the old man away. The moment he caught sight of Summer in her persimmon colored dress seated beneath the large red and white canopy, he was quite adequately distracted.
*
Silent and attentive, Summer had all but ignored her sister-in-law and her father since her arrival to the lodges.
Since the very moment Stephan had escorted her from Bose’s presence, her brother had been furious that she had refused to reclaim her favor and she, in turn, had responded to his anger.
A few bitter words between them, unusual between the affectionate pair, had been a direct catalyst to even greater hostility.
Red-faced and tight-lipped, the eldest du Bonne brother proceeded to roughly escort his rebellious sister to the lodges where Genisa and Edward awaited the commencement of the games.
With a halting explanation of her behavior to his father, Stephan quit the lodges in search of his charger.
With the joust set to begin, he had more pressing details to worry over than his sister.
He had made her well aware, however, that he would deal with her at a later time.
Edward had never dealt the punishment for his children; Stephan always had.
As long as the eldest son handled the unruly brood, Edward was assured that all would be dealt with in a fair and diligent manner.
In truth, Stephan was like a crutch; the more used, the more needed.
Not strangely, Edward would never dream of interfering in his heir’s method of discipline or justice; whatever his son decided was good enough for him and he supported the man.
Therefore, Edward pretended to disregard his daughter’s rebellion as she took a seat in the lists and Summer ignored him back.
Genisa eyed her sister-in-law with a great deal of bewilderment.
She couldn’t understand why the woman should suddenly transform from a respectful sister into a defiant vixen.
The sweet young lady who had sat with her atop the battlements yesterday morn had changed overnight.
“Summer?” she whispered hesitantly, tugging on the woman’s sleeve when she failed to obtain a response. “Summer? Is something the matter?”
Summer turned to her sister-in-law with an expression Genisa had never seen before. It was so… cold. “Nothing is the matter, Genisa. Nothing in the least.”
Genisa’s pure blue eyes were somewhat sad. “Then why is Stephan so angry with you? Summer, why won’t you tell me what’s happened? Does it have something to do with Bose de Moray?”
Summer’s cool stance wavered slightly. “Your husband is angry b-because I have made my own decision regarding Sir Bose and he does not agree.”
“Decision about what?”
Summer’s attention moved to the field as a knight clad in magnificent red and black thundered by the lodges, a massive carved eagle protruding from his newer helm.
The crowd roared its approval and she watched the knight as he turned at the end of the field and lost himself amongst the other contestants.
“Sir B-Bose asked that I supply him with a favor and I did,” she finally replied. “Stephan is angry.”
Genisa’s brow furrowed. “Why, that is foolish. My husband seems to forget that we met the very same way, at a tournament in Richmond. He gallantly asked for my favor and I supplied him with a piece of my gown.”