Chapter Ten
The feast that eve was a boisterous, loud celebration.
Even if the grand hall of Chaldon was crammed to the rafters with knights and ladies and nobles alike, the massive room was not large enough to accommodate everyone.
Spilling over into the upper bailey, through the open gates and into the lower bailey and encampment of knights below, it seemed as if the entire world were celebrating the past two days of merriment and games.
The massive hall was abundantly lit, reeking of burnt meat and sweaty bodies as a small orchestra of minstrels played from the gallery high above.
A pair of mummers worked the room in their jingling hats and pointed shoes, older men who were quite affectionate with one another and on more than one occasion sent the knights into groans of displeasure and disgust.
Amidst the bustle and revelry, Summer sat between Bose and Stephan at the massive head table, her eyes wide at the festivities going on about her.
Stephan insisted that the very same party had progressed the eve before, an event Summer had missed due to her wanderings.
Even though Summer did not regret her actions of the previous night, she was nonetheless sorry that she had missed such an overwhelming spectacle.
The table at which she sat was crowded with Bose’s knights, her brothers, and several other knights from various households.
Far down the table, Lady Margot sat in grim silence attended by her peevish lady, while seated several feet behind the chatty group, Edward was well into his second bottle of wine.
The chair he lounged upon was a great carved piece, inlaid with semi-precious stones and cushioned with silk that Genisa had embroidered.
Summer thought he looked somewhat like a king, overseeing the activities of his frivolous vassals.
He acted the part, too, hardly moving but to bring his chalice to his lips.
He just sat and watched. Even though the man was somewhat quiet and inconspicuous, Summer could not help but feel a bit wary; when her father drank heavily, there was no knowing what would spout forth from his mouth.
But she tried to enjoy herself nonetheless, clad in a lovely scarlet and gold gown borrowed from Genisa.
As the other knights around her laughed and gorged and sang, she found herself increasingly interested in Bose’s crew of somber warriors.
Except for the young knight with the lovely auburn hair, the entire collection seemed to be far more concerned with their own private dialogue than mingling with the rest of the group.
That went for Bose as well. He hardly spoke a word to the other men at the table, instead, only focusing on Summer or his own loyal knights.
Stephan managed to wrangle a somewhat involved conversation out of him regarding the latest style of armor worn by the Teutonic knights, but little else.
For the most part, he was silent as he devoured his venison and beef; under the table, however, his massive hand rested on Summer’s knee in a discreet display of his growing affection.
“Summer!” Lance shouted from several chairs down. He was quite drunk and quite happy. “You did not see my bout. Where did you go after you left the lodges with de Moray?”
She nearly choked on the food in her mouth, her cheeks flushing. “I-I…,” swallowing hard, she reached for her goblet of wine. Bose watched her carefully, stepping in to answer for her when she appeared to be having a good deal of difficulty forming an answer.
“My head required a good deal of stitches, Lance,” he said evenly. “The lady took great care in tending my wound and stayed to keep me company while I rested.”
Summer took another sip of wine, wondering how much penance Bose would perform in Hell for lying.
She had only spent a brief amount of time sewing his wound; the rest of the day had been spent behind Grandfather’s oak, learning the tenderness of his kisses and indulging in the discovery of lover’s dialogue.
An afternoon that she would have been willing to continue for eternity had the setting sun not prompted Bose to end their clutches so that he might return her to the keep.
The separation had been difficult, but he had promised to dress quickly for the feast and return within the hour.
Leaving Summer standing on the ramp leading into the broad keep of Chaldon, Bose had returned to his tent faster than he could ever remember moving.
Throbbing head and all, he did not want to be away from her for a minute longer than necessary.
Throughout the feast he had remained by her side, introducing her to his knights and placing his big body between her and any man foolish enough to show a measure of interest. The only men he would allow to speak with her were her brothers, and Stephan seemed to find Bose’s strong protectiveness amusing as well as oddly comforting.
His doubts of the man were fading and he realized he was growing comfortable with de Moray’s suit.
He was forced to admit that he’d never seen his sister happier.
Even at this moment, Bose continued to answer for Summer as if he had been doing it all his life.
Genisa noticed it, too, seated on the opposite side of her husband, and her gentle smiles in Summer’s direction were approving.
But Lance was still distrustful of the mighty knight and as Bose replied on his sister’s behalf, he scowled at the man.
“She can speak, de Moray,” he slurred, his expression sweet once more as he looked to his sister. “Well? Are you planning on missing my bout tomorrow as well?”
Summer swallowed hard, forcing herself. “Nay, Lance, I shall be there. I am truly sorry I missed your round today, b-but I was… b-b-busy.”
“I would not be so eager for your bout on the morrow, Lance,” Ian sat on the opposite side of Genisa, muttering into his goblet. “The heralds have already drawn lots and you, my dear brother, go against Tate Farnum.”
Lance cast his brother a drunkenly wry glance, looking to Tate far down the table between Farl and Artur. The auburn-haired knight, hearing his name mentioned, looked to the man he would face on the morrow’s joust and the two men exchanged salutes and threatening expressions.
“You joust like a woman, Farnum,” Lance said, his voice muffled as he drank deeply from his goblet. Rising from his chair, he plopped his taut buttocks onto the table to better see the man he was insulting. “’Twill be a pleasure to do away with you.”
Tate lifted his cup. “The wine is making you mad, du Bonne. I shall knock you to your arse and take great delight in your humiliation.”
Lance gave him a sarcastic twist of the lips. “I have defeated you more times than you have managed to best me, loverboy. Keep that in mind when I send you to the ground yet again.”
Next to Tate, Farl sighed dramatically, his bushy red mustache twitching. “I have a better idea. I’d like to see your bout end in hand to hand combat as the two of you bash each other’s brains to a pulp.”
Artur and Adgar gave a quiet “here, here” in agreement, sending Summer into giggles. Lance, distracted from his mortal enemy by his sister’s snorts, looked to his rosy-cheeked sibling.
“How dare you show humor at his insult,” he muttered.
“You should be begging my forgiveness for having missed my bout rather than supporting McCorkle’s slander.
” His eyes suddenly narrowed as he made contact with his sister’s golden orbs.
“In fact, you missed Stephan’s and Ian’s bout as well whilst you were off tending de Moray’s big head.
Well? What do you have to say for yourself? ”
Summer met his gaze steadily, a twinkle in her eye. “You won, did you not? Why are you lamenting my absence as if it somehow jinxed your chances?”
Lance’s scowl returned. “Because it was your duty to be in the lodges, supporting your flesh and blood.”
“She shall have the opportunity tomorrow,” Ian said, his lips twitching with mirth. “She shall watch every second of your brutal battle to the death against Farnum.”
Lance looked to his smirking brother. “And what do you find so amusing? At least I have a sporting chance against my opponent. You’ll be lucky if you survive the first pass against yours.”
Summer looked to her middle brother. “Who are you c-competing against?”
“Me,” Bose said quietly, smiling faintly when she turned her attention to him. She returned his smile, preparing to reply when Ian reached across both Genisa and Stephan to tug at his sister’s arm.
“Plead for mercy, Summer,” he said softly, with unmistakable humor. “Beg him to place himself in the path of my lance so that I might unseat him. Be a good girl and do this for your darling brother.”
Summer’s eyes glimmered mischievously at her brother before returning her focus to Bose. Tate and Morgan, seated next to Bose, saw Summer’s expression and shook their heads with defeat.
“Ian is as good as the victor,” Tate announced loudly, demanding more wine from the nearest serving wench. “God’s Blood, look at her face. How on earth can he refuse?”
“And the Gorgon falls like a mighty tree,” Morgan lamented with mock-sorrow. “Felled by the will of a beautiful woman.”
“She has not asked me yet,” Bose said calmly, his eyes twinkling at Summer’s devilish expression.
Her smile broadened, sensing the game afoot. Feeding off the humor and attention, she grasped Bose gently by the arm, her hand trailing to the fingers toying with his chalice.
“Would you allow Ian to win if I wished it?”
Her voice was soft, infinitely tender. Tate and Morgan, now joined by Farl and Adgar and Artur, laughed with varied degrees of humor as Bose remained focused on the young lady he had spent the better part of the afternoon kissing.
And he knew, whether or not she was jesting, that his answer would be the same.
“I would.”