Chapter Eight #4
With Bose’s strength and weight behind his thrusting lance, Breck’s arm was dislodged from its socket before he realized what had happened. Dazed and in a good deal of pain with a useless limb, Breck hit the soft dirt of the lists as the crowd in the lodges went mad with approval.
Even on the outskirts of the joust field, opposing knights praised the tactics of de Moray as the man turned at the end of the joust barrier, reining his charger in the opposite direction for an uncharacteristic pass before the delirious throng of admirers.
Tate and Farl whooped like a pair of wild men, shouting accolades of Bose’s skill as their powerful liege thundered a wide sweeping arc in the direction of the lodges.
As Adgar and Artur congratulated each other with less boisterous means, Morgan simply stood by the wooden barrier surrounding the field and smiled.
He knew why the man had emerged victorious, the matter of honor and knightly skill a secondary motivation as much as he would profess to pretend otherwise. For the comfort and assurance of a certain young lady, Bose had been willing to chance a great deal on his skill and talents.
A lady he was currently riding to greet.
Summer was on her feet once more, her hands clasped against her breast and a miraculous smile on her lips.
The multitude of guests and allies screamed and cheered, favors and tokens of esteem raining to the trampled joust field as several squires and servants rushed about to collect the silken veils and copper pences.
Bose, however, ignored the tokens of esteem as he came to a halt before the beaming young woman. Far removed from the panicked young lass he had left just moments before, his lopsided smile made a weak return as he dipped his head gallantly at the lady’s feet.
“As I vowed, my lady,” his deep voice was a hoarse rumble. “I have unseated my opponent. Now, I will hold you to your promise; my head is sorely in need of your nurturing aid.”
Summer smiled. “I would be pleased to t-tend you, my lord,” she replied softly.
Near the center of the colorful joust barrier, Breck was being helped to his feet by several green and yellow clad servants as a cluster of grooms attempted to capture his spirited charger.
Summer tore her gaze away from Bose’s weary orbs long enough to cock an arrogant eyebrow in Breck’s direction.
“As you declared, you were quite efficient in unseating him. Did you, in fact, b-break his arm intentionally?”
Bose tried to shake his head in a negative gesture, but his ears were ringing and any movement of his head simply amplified the bells.
“His shoulder is merely dislodged from the socket. Had I wanted to break his arm, I most certainly could have. He is lucky that I did not take his damn head off for the fear he has caused you this day.”
Summer’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink, her heart swelling with admiration and appreciation for the bloodied, exhausted knight.
It was amazing how a few brief moments and a quick pass along the colorful joust barrier had served to ease her anxieties.
She opened her mouth to continue the conversation when she sensed a warm, lingering body behind her, not surprised when she caught sight of Genisa’s lovely blue gown.
“A brave course, my lord,” Genisa said sincerely.
“Much like the course in Chichester last January when you boldly unseated Sir Alwain Parham. Although others said the swift parry with your lance was considered an unfair maneuver, Stephan fully supported your actions. He said that if you had not brought your lance up when you did and clipped Sir Alwain’s shoulder, the man would have taken your head off. ”
Summer managed to spare her sister-in-law a genuine look of surprise; for a woman who could hardly remember the most important of details from one moment to the next, she was certainly knowledgeable when it came to a joust that happened five months ago.
However, considering the tournament circuit was her husband’s vocation, it wasn’t particularly surprising that Genisa endeavored to know something of his chosen profession.
In faith, it was nearly all she knew and she took great pride in her knowledge.
“I thank you for your kind recollection and support, my lady,” Bose replied, listening to the cheers of the crowd die down as the heralds prepared for the next bout.
As his surge of reprisal and determination wore thin, however, his gripping fatigue began to take firmer hold and he realized he would not be able to remain astride his charger much longer; the sooner he lay down and allow his wound to be tended, the better he would feel.
Moving from Genisa’s pretty face to Summer’s beautiful expression, he found the thought of her soft hands grazing his flesh to be most inviting.
“If you do not mind, my lady, I shall send one of my men to escort you to my tent. I do believe, at this moment, that it would be wise of me to seek my pallet immediately before I embarrass myself and topple from my horse.”
Summer’s gentle smile faded. “Are you f-feeling worse, my lord?”
He drew in a deep breath, gathering his reins. “Nay, my lady, not worse, but it would be inaccurate for me to say that the mere thought of lying flat on my back for the rest of the day was an unpleasant prospect.”
He appeared drawn and ashen and Summer was once again greatly concerned for his injury. She gathered her skirts and leapt to the trampled field below.
“I shall escort you, my lord,” she said firmly, looking up to him astride the tall warhorse. “Mayhap you should walk. ’Twould be b-better than falling off your horse and completely humiliating yourself in f-front of your devotees.”
Bose smiled weakly, already moving to dismount even though riding to the tent would be quicker and far less strenuous.
But he could hardly allow the lady to walk alone and found himself moving wearily to complete her bidding.
The moment he hit the ground, however, a weak male voice from the lodges abruptly made itself known.
“Summer,” Edward was on his feet, swaying dangerously from the effects of too much alcohol. “I will not allow you to accompany this… this knight back to his tent, unescorted. I believe Stephan has warned you against him.”
Summer paused, her gaze lingering on Bose a moment before turning her attention to her unsteady father. “Stephan is wrong about him, Father. Moreover, as Sir Bose’s f-favored lady, ’tis my duty to tend his wound.”
Edward eyed her angrily, an expression that drew a good deal of surprise from Bose; certainly, a father should not gaze to his daughter as if she were his mortal enemy.
Much to Bose’s dismay, that seemed to be the precise gist of the baron’s expression and he felt a tremendous surge of protectiveness toward the beautiful young woman.
Edward, however, was too far gone with his wine to notice Bose’s dark expression as he focused on his defiant daughter. “Stephan has deemed this man unsuitable, Summer. You will listen to your brother and return to the lodges immediately to view the remainder of today’s bouts.”
“I will not,” Summer said firmly. “I am Sir Bose’s f-favored lady and it is my duty to tend his wound.”
With that, she turned her back on her drunken sire and began to move away from the lodges.
Furious that his youngest child would disobey him, Edward slammed his chalice to the table beside him, missing the table completely.
The gold-encrusted goblet spilled to the wooden floor of the lodges, bleeding red alcohol across the slats as the drunkard baron wobbled to the edge of the platform.
“Summer du Bonne!” he shouted. “You will return this instant or I shall have my soldiers throw you in the vault for your insolence! Do you comprehend me?”
Summer kept walking. Bose, unmoving where she had left him standing before the lodges, watched her walk away with a straight, confident back.
He wondered just how far she was going to push her father and indeed contemplating the potentiality of her own sire seeking to punish her for her defiance by locking her in the dungeon.
Should the possibility occur, he realized that he would not allow the execution of such an action and the situation would rapidly deteriorate. Therefore, with the desire to avoid an ugly situation, he endeavored to take the initiative.
“Summer,” he called softly, pleased when she came to an immediate halt.
But the expression on her face was not the soft, sensual expression he had come to appreciate.
It was hard and stubborn. Oddly enough, he liked it a great deal; the woman possessed a measureable amount of courage and he found himself smiling at her plucky display.
“Come back, my lady, and obey your father. My men are fully capable of tending my wound, even though I shan’t enjoy their attentions nearly as much as yours. ”
She frowned, retracing her steps with a good deal of reluctance.
Just as she moved into Bose’s proximity, thundering hooves from the opposite side of the field rumbled toward her and she turned in time to note Stephan’s colorful arrival.
Shield slung over his left arm, his visor was raised as he focused curiously on his sister.
“What are you doing in the lists, Summer?” he demanded, looking to Bose and cocking an eyebrow. “And why are you still here? Your bout is over, de Moray. Get out of here and allow my sister to suture your hard head.”
The corner of Bose’s lips twitched at the attempted humor, his jaw ticking with the stress of the situation nonetheless. “We seem to have a problem, Stephan. Your father….”
“He demands that I not tend Sir B-Bose’s wound,” Summer interrupted Bose’s tactful reply. “H-He says he shall throw me in the vault if I do.”