Chapter Seven #4
As the two opposing knights fumbled with their destriers and equipment, Stephan returned his attention briefly to his sister. Summer smiled faintly at her eldest brother.
“Thank you for your intervention,” she said softly, fumbling for an apology. “And I…I am sorry for my hateful words, Stephan. I never meant to b-be….”
He put up a quieting hand, matching her smile in spite of the anger and arguing that had taken place earlier.
No amount of fury and quarreling could dampen the true sibling affection they held for one another and Stephan knew that in spite of his bewilderment regarding de Moray, Summer would most likely have a champion for the rest of the tournament.
“I know, sweetheart,” he said, touching her pink cheek. “Do not fret; we shall discuss it later,” turning to his wife, he quickly motioned her over. “Come here, love, and give me a kiss. I have got to vacate the field before I am mistakenly gored by an eager competitor.”
Obediently, Genisa rushed to her husband and kissed him sensually on the lips.
His eyes closed at her tender touch and, smiling, he kissed her again.
Gently caressing her silken face for a brief, distracted moment, he nonetheless cast a final glance at Bose before slamming his visor shut and spurring his charger across the field in a rush of flying dirt and grass.
Summer and Genisa watched Stephan depart in proud silence, their smiles fading as Breck Kerry gruffly rode past, rubbing at his shoulder and adjusting his helm. As Genisa sighed dreamily and returned to her cushioned seat, Summer turned her gaze to the last of the trio that had yet to depart.
Bose sat atop his charger, fumbling with the neck of his helm.
Summer continued to stand at the edge of the platform, her heart beating wildly against her ribs as she watched him.
His visor was up and he was looking at her, his face emotionless, until he finally appeared satisfied with whatever his thick fingers had been toying with.
Summer’s breathing quickened as the charcoal gray charger moved slowly to the edge of the lodge, the beast amazingly calm and showing little of the agitation it had displayed earlier. Bose’s thigh grazed the edge of the platform, by Summer’s feet, as his rugged features gazed up at her intently.
“Are you certain he did not insult you?” he asked quietly, with genuine concern. “Breck Kerry is not one of the more chivalrous knights on the circuit.”
She shook her head. “’Tis sweet of you to ask, b-but again I say he did not,” her gentle expression faded somewhat. “However, he said some terrible things about you. I was going to punish him myself before you rode to my aid.”
Bose cracked a smile, a charming lopsided gesture. “Your vengeance on my behalf will be unnecessary, my lady. Beating him in the joust will be punishment enough.”
She matched his smile, lifting an arrogant eyebrow. “You promised to b-beat them all, my lord. I will hold you to that vow.”
“And I shall,” again, the piercing notes of the silver trumpet filled the brisk sea air and Bose turned in the direction of the heralds, obviously impatient to get on with the game.
With a faint nod, as if acknowledging the silent gazes fixed upon him, he returned his attention to Summer one last time.
“I am afraid my time has come. I do hope you enjoy the joust far more than the melee.”
Summer tore her eyes away from him long enough to note that Breck had taken up station on the opposite side of the field, retrieving his lance and shield from a young squire.
“So do I,” she replied, once again fixing him with her golden gaze.
“Take great care, my lord. I should not like it if my favor b-brought bad fortune upon you.”
Bose suddenly dug into the fold between his breastplate and armor, drawing forth a familiar small white kerchief.
Bringing it to his nostrils, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes at the blissful evocations of the rose scent.
With a smile, he opened his gaze to Summer’s beautiful face.
Kissing the white linen, he returned it to its safe, armored haven.
“Although I should like to have the final encouragement Stephan obtained, I will refrain from asking,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Your brother did not want to me to speak with you before the joust and were I to steal a kiss as well, I would undoubtedly incur his wrath. Ian’s and Lance’s, too, I suspect. ”
A faint pink mottled Summer’s cheeks as her gaze lingered on her strong champion for a moment. Averting her eyes, for she knew he was required at the far side of the field to obtain his lance, she turned for her cushioned chair.
“B-But you would not incur mine,” she said softly.
Bose watched, his entire body flooded with a surge of excitement and encouragement, as she elegantly took her seat.
Her cheeks were flaming madly and she refused to look at him, and he slammed his visor closed, digging his spurs into the smooth black sides of his charger.
Reliving her words the entire jaunt back to his starting position, there was no doubt in his mind that he would win this tourney.