Chapter Nine
Her name was Margot.
That was all Summer knew of the elderly woman who had gazed at her with such venom that Summer was certain the lady was hexing her with a curse.
Even as she knelt over Bose, sewing the substantial gash bisecting his scalp, she could feel the heated stare of the old woman and her equally vicious lady-in-waiting.
Bose had tried to convince the finely-dressed woman to leave the tent while Summer stitched his head, but the lady had been openly defiant, soliciting an uncomfortable argument as Summer stood by, respectful and silent and uncertain.
When it appeared obvious that the old woman had no intention of vacating the tent, Bose had left Summer in the company of an older knight, a distinguished looking man who had introduced himself as Sir Morgan Skye.
Disappearing into the privacy of the black and white tent with the older female, Summer could hear their angry dialogue from her position outside the shelter.
The fact that the woman’s lady continued to gaze at Summer as if she carried the plague did nothing to alleviate her discomfort.
The elderly woman’s haughty servant aside, Summer grew increasingly embarrassed as she listened to a good deal of hissing from the old woman, intermingled with Bose’s deep, rumbling replies.
She could not make out any definitive words nor did she understand the gist of their disagreement, but several moments later Bose re-emerged from the tent appearing somewhat paler and drawn of expression.
Ordering his knight away, he gently pulled Summer into the tent with hardly a word spoken. Indicating the supplies lain out on the floor by his pallet of furs, he pulled off his mail hood and lay down in preparation for her healing hands.
That had been an hour ago. As the elderly lady sat against the wall in grim silence with her arrogant woman hovering by her side, Summer had sewn tiny stitches into Bose’s scalp, not daring to speak a word as she worked.
Bose lay completely still, his eyes closed, and Summer seriously wondered if he had fallen asleep, as if a constant prick to his head was nothing to be concerned over.
But his patience and tolerance had eased Summer’s discomfort and allowed her to complete the job in rapid time.
An hour later, Bose had a beautiful row of silk sutures planted on his head and Summer paused after securing the last stitch, gazing down at his pallid, still face.
Smiling faintly at her perfect patient, she found herself staring at the sharp angles of his face, the square plane of his jaw.
The three scars that ran along his cheekbone were longer than she had originally observed, going well beyond the hairline and into his scalp.
“Are you finished?” the bird-like woman from the corner croaked, startling Summer from her train of thought. Turning to the woman, she was hardly able to open her mouth before Bose was sitting up, his black eyes blazing.
“I told you that you could remain in my tent only if you were perfectly quiet,” he very nearly snarled.
Turning from the old woman’s challenging features, he called to the nearest servant hovering outside of the tent.
When the man appeared, he waved him in. “The Lady Margot has a desire to seek fresh air. Escort her outside and demand my squire to take her and her woman to the vendor area.”
“I have no desire to venture to the vendor’s shelters,” Margot growled, looking between Bose and the lady. “Surely you do not expect me to leave the lady alone and unescorted.”
Bose cocked an eyebrow. “You have remained as proper escort throughout the time she has tended my wound, as you so graciously pointed out to be your proper duty,” rising to his knees, he sighed heavily as the world rocked a bit and his aching head throbbed.
“But the time is past and my wound is properly sewn. Your presence is no longer required and I would see you removed.”
Shocked at the tone in his voice, Summer was disturbed by the air of hostility between him and the older woman. Obviously, there was a good deal of animosity and Summer abruptly rose, setting the needle and other items to a small maplewood table.
“T-Truly, my lord, her removal is unnecessary,” she said, hoping to ease a strain she did not understand. “Your wound is tended and there is no longer any reason for me to stay.”
Margot, verging on a wicked rage, was caught off-guard by the stammer. “You stammer,” she said bluntly, focused directly on Summer as if Bose was non-existent. “A terrible defect. I am surprised your family allows you to mingle with normal people, sputtering and gasping as you do.”
Summer’s cheeks flamed a bright red and she lowered her gaze, a terrible embarrassment filling her.
Knowing that her shame only served to accentuate her flaw, she struggled to calm herself as she formed a carefully worded reply.
Before she could bring the necessary words forth, however, Bose was leaping madly to her defense.
“Damn you, Margot,” he hissed. “We all have flaws, although some are more pronounced than others. The fact that you are a bitter, nasty shrew happens to be your particular defect and if I had any wisdom at all, I would not allow you to associate with normal people, either.”
Margot looked to her son-in-law, unaffected by his mounting rage.
Her eyes took on an unnatural gleam. “I understand a great deal now; you have simply taken to the lady out of pity. You were always exceptionally soft-hearted, Bose. Especially to those beings who are weaker and far more impaired than the general populace.”
Summer felt as if she had been slapped; her chest ached with humiliation.
Her first instinct was to run from the tent and sob until she could sob no more, but that would not solve the dilemma.
Obviously, the old woman was attempting to belittle her, to unbalance her in front of a man she apparently held little affection for.
Bearing that in mind, she struggled not to succumb to her usual reaction of tears.
“I am sorry you f-feel that way, my lady,” she whispered, feeling Bose’s hand as he attempted to grasp her. “If you will excuse me, I will take my leave.”
Bose’s warm grip had her firmly by the arm as she endeavored to leave the tent, holding her still. Even if his hand was reassuring and strong, his gaze upon the frail old woman was anything but pleasant.
“Get out,” he rumbled, his baritone voice quaking the very ground beneath their feet. “Get out before I do something you’ll regret.”
Margot continued to maintain her even expression, though there was something in Bose’s tone she had never heard before.
Defiant as always, however, she refused to be intimidated.
Especially when she was rapidly coming to realize that the stammering lady meant more to Bose than mere female attendance.
“Lora would not allow you to speak with me that way,” she snapped. “How dare you threaten me!”
Still maintaining his grip on Summer, his onyx orbs flashed. “’Tis no threat, I assure you. Get out and stay out of my sight if you value your life.”
Margot’s thin eyebrows rose in outrage; she refused to allow the man to gain the upper hand. “Do you think to replace my daughter, Bose?” she demanded. “Do you think to replace my daughter with another woman you can just as easily kill with your massive seed?”
Bose was losing his composure, so easily provoked by Margot’s guilt-strewn ramblings.
He released Summer, unaware that he was frightening her tremendously.
He simply wanted the old woman out of his sight and he did not care who he terrified in the process.
The moment he moved for the vicious elder lady, however, Summer found her feet and bolted from the tent before he could stop her.
His fury diverted by the lady’s flight, he attempted to move after her when Margot was suddenly clinging to his arm, her sharp claws batting at his face.
“You bastard!” she cried, drawing blood on his chin. “How dare you flaunt your whore in front of me. How dare you think so little of Lora’s memory that you would sate your lust with another woman!”
His emotions soaring, Bose grasped the elder woman by the arms and thrust her away from him.
Margot stumbled back, yelping with surprise that Bose had actually prevented her from demonstrating her rage; usually, he simply stood by while she beat and scratched him until the seizure passed.
But not today; today, he had actually stopped her, and she found that prospect terrifying.
Even as she struggled to sit from her crumpled position, Bose was quitting the tent.
Margot sat up, screaming her curses upon his deaf ears as went in search of her daughter’s replacement.
Even if he hadn’t indicated as much, already, she knew.
She knew the end of her tyranny was near. She was losing him.
*
For all of the grunting occurring within the green and yellow tent, one would have believed childbirth to be imminent.
To Breck, of course, the pain was similar as the physic popped his shoulder back into the socket and bound the arm.
And with every grunt of anguish, the hatred toward de Moray deepened.
“Christ!” he hissed as the physician completed the last of the bindings. “Do you see what the man has done to me, Duncan?”
By the edge of the shelter, Duncan gazed at his brother with a mixture of uncertainty and support. “You nearly took off his head, Breck. Surely you expected the man to seek vengeance.”
Breck curled his lip at his brother, his forehead beaded with sweat as he struggled to find a comfortable position on his pallet. “A completely unfair maneuver,” he grumbled. “Did you see how he literally shoved me from my charger? I had no chance to recover.”