Chapter Eight #2
“Indeed,” Bose directed his horse a few feet in Stephan’s direction, knowing the heralds must be nearing seizures of anger by his lack of readiness. “I am afraid I must make this brief and I apologize for taking you away from any pressing business. I… I simply wanted to thank you.”
Stephan’s visor was raised, a blond eyebrow lifting slowly. “For what?”
Bose was apparently unconcerned with the dozens of ears witnessing their conversation. “For allowing me to speak with the lady. Although you had originally denied me, still, I thank you for relenting your stance. Your generosity is commendable.”
Stephan stared at him a moment, listening to the increasingly agitated roar of the congregation as their champion delayed his arrival to his joust position.
“’Twas your right, I suppose, after you subdued Kerry,” his bright green eyes sought the impatient knight in yellow and green standards at the far sight of the field. “I suppose you must subdue him again.”
Bose had said what he had intended, feeling satisfied that he had made his thanks known.
Somehow, it was important to him. Knowing that without Stephan’s approval, the chances of courting the man’s lovely sister were slim and he was determined to earn his support.
After a moment, he dipped his head again in a gesture of gratitude.
“I suppose I must,” he said, gathering his reins. “And if I do not arrive shortly, I fear the crowd will rip Kerry’s pole from his grasp and gore me in a fit of impatience.”
The last few words were muffled as he dug his spurs into his charger’s heaving sides, the crescendo of the crowd and the thunder of hooves all but drowning out the bass-toned voice.
Stephan watched with an odd mixture of envy and understanding as the multitude of spectators welcomed the previous day’s melee champion.
Bose assumed a prepared stance, his lance in the customary upright position and his shield poised as the chief herald moved to the edge of the lodges with Lord Edward’s sword.
Since Bose had delayed the match by several minutes, they were eager to commence the bout immediately.
As the squires vacated the field and hovered about the edges, the crowd quieted dramatically in great anticipation.
Fortunately, the wait had ended. As the sun traversed the sky-blue field above in its hunt toward the nooning hour, the chief herald raised the sword high into the crisp sea air of Dorset.
“For honor and glory, charge!”
*
Summer could hardly stand it. The herald’s shout to commence startled her and the thunder from the chargers was more than she could bear. In spite of her unease, however, she was unable to look away from the spectacle before her.
The green and yellow lance splintered on Bose’s shield, sending daggers of wood exploding in all directions. A piece of coated pole landed a foot or so away from Summer and she stared at it a moment, forcing herself to breathe as she realized Bose had made it through the first pass unscathed.
Even though the recoil motion with the contact sent the chargers reeling onto their hind legs, both knights remained seated and finished the first pass. Summer turned her relieved gaze in the direction of her champion as the lodges around her were literally mad with delight.
“Nobly done!” Edward shouted from his elaborate chair, cushioned with a fine satin pillow. “A fair break, indeed.”
Summer was distracted from Bose’s undamaged vision by her father’s cries of pleasure. She cast the man an intolerant glance, suggesting she did not agree with his assessment. He caught her expression, his fair face folding into a smile.
“What is the matter now?” he asked jovially. “You do not like the joust, either? It does not possess the violence of the melee and for that, I should think you would be appreciative.”
Summer’s gaze lingered on her father a moment and she shrugged. “I do not believe appreciative would be the word I would choose to describe my opinion,” she passed a glance at Genisa, who was completely unruffled by the spectacle. “How can you be so entirely c-calm throughout this savagery?”
Genisa patted her arm. “’Tis easy, truly. Stephan is not competing at this moment, therefore, I am calm. My demeanor will change considerably when he takes the field, I assure you.”
Summer shook her head, not particularly surprised when her father turned away to involve himself in the food his servant delivered.
The man was barely beyond a word of comfort and she was accustomed to his indifferent manner in all aspects.
Therefore, she returned her attention to the field as Breck was handed a fresh lance.
“Do not worry so, Summer,” Genisa’s voice was soft, nearly humorous. “Sir Bose is the very best. Even Stephan says so.”
Summer cast her sister-in-law a dubious glance. “I do not think I like the tournament, Genisa. I b-believe this shall be my last spectacle.”
Genisa smiled slyly. “But what if you marry Sir Bose? He is a member of the tournament circuit and you, as his wife, should travel with him.”
Summer’s doubtful expression softened as a faint flush mottled her cheeks. “Good Lord, Genisa, what would lead you to believe that B-Bose would want to marry me? We’ve only just met.”
“And he hasn’t left you alone for a minute. I’d say his attention has been a distinct sign of serious interest.”
Averting her eyes uncertainly, Summer fixed on the field before her. “I cannot b-believe his attention toward me is anything other than normal chivalry. Why would he want a wife who stammers?”
Genisa’s reply was cleaved as the chief herald shouted another start.
Summer’s apprehension returned full-bore as Bose and Breck charged each other on opposite sides of the joust barrier.
The rumble of destriers filled the air as the opposing knights rapidly closed the distance, lances leveling and shields fixing as they drew closer and closer still.
The crowd in the lodges was taut with anticipation as the competitors swiftly shortened the gap.
An expectant hush settled as the second run appeared to be going smoothly.
But the illusion dashed when Bose suddenly jerked off-center in the saddle, a last minute move with no apparent reasoning until deafening sounds of metal against wood filled air.
It was not a normal sound to be associated with a joust. As a horrified crowd looked on, Bose’s helm went spinning from his head, flying through the air in a violent burst of twisted steel.
The dented piece of protection that had once been on Bose’s head smashed into a supporting post near the center of the lodges, sending people scurrying with screams.
But no one screamed louder than Summer. Convinced she had just witnessed Bose’s beheading, she screamed in horror and covered her eyes.
She could feel Genisa grasp at her, a faint trembling voice of comfort in her ear, but she was unable to comprehend the meaning of the words.
Somewhere above the hysteria, she thought she heard her father’s voice, demanding she cease her screaming and look to the field.
But she kept her hands over her eyes, sobbing. She couldn’t bear to look.
“Look, Summer!” Genisa’s voice was in her ear, stronger than before. “Sir Bose is at the end of the field; he’s still mounted!”
As if by magic, Summer’s hands came away from her face and she bolted to unsteady feet, her golden gaze coming to bear on the near side of the field.
Indeed, Bose was still seated astride his warhorse, his black hair spiky with sweat beneath his askew mail hood and his face pale.
But he was alive and Summer was so swept with relief that she was weak with it.
But her relief was cut short when Bose turned in her direction.
Blood streamed down the right side of his face, coating his mail and disappearing beneath his plate armor.
The chief herald stood alongside him as well as several of his knights, concern and fury evident in their expressions as they evaluated his ability to continue the event.
Bose’s unnaturally tight expression listened intently to the herald’s words and he nodded now and again, eventually shaking his head as if to disagree with what was being said.
Summer watched with her breath caught in her throat as he conversed with the distressed men about him.
When it became apparent that he planned to continue in spite of his wound, Summer could not help her reaction.
With all of the volatile emotions she had sampled over the past few moments, there was truthfully no other outlet for her tension and strain. The tears returned with a vengeance.
In spite of his spinning head and ringing ears, Bose was acutely aware of Summer’s hovering presence by the edge of the platform.
Although he had convinced the heralds and his men that he was indeed capable of finishing his bout, he was truthfully having a good deal of trouble focusing his eyes and could scarcely remain balanced atop the saddle.
But the fact remained that Breck Kerry’s vicious tactics could not go unanswered.
Bose was well aware that Breck was retaliating for the earlier justice dispensed on Summer’s behalf and he was equally aware that Breck had fully intended to do more than unseat him.
There was no doubt the lance had been aimed at his head in a last-minute maneuver that left Bose hardly able to compensate.
Even though he had been able to dodge the full effect of the blow, he had still been caught on the side of the helm.
Unfortunately, his head protection was smashed and distorted and there was no possibility of wearing the damaged equipment until it could be properly repaired.
Better the helm destroyed than his skull.
He ignored Morgan’s and Tate’s protests as he prepared to take his third run without his head armor.