Chapter Seventeen #2
So they pushed onward, traveling through the dark, misty morn as Summer slumbered lightly against her husband’s armored chest. When the sun exploded upon the wide horizon and burned away the lingering haze, Lady de Moray found herself roused for the coming day by a husband weary of riding alone and silent as his wife dozed the time away.
Refreshed and free of the sneezing that had plagued her most of the night, Summer was unperturbed that Bose had aroused her to a clear morning and spent most of her time observing the scenery as soft conversation flowed.
“This is my property,” Bose said from behind her, his visor raised and his stubbled face vigilant. “My men and I hunt in these woods constantly.”
“Hunt?” Summer frowned. “What do you hunt? My b-brothers like to hunt, but I forbid them to kill anything precious or sweet.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “That leaves very little choice.”
She grinned, turning to face him. “Untrue. You have my permission to kill wild boar or opossum or skunk. But I forbid you to kill rabbit or deer.”
“I like to kill deer.”
“No longer. Sate your blood lust on a useless, ugly animal.”
“Like Breck?”
Summer laughed. “We shall d-display his head above our hearth and throw the rest of the carcass to the dogs.”
He grinned. “How barbaric, Lady de Moray. I like the idea very much.”
She continued to smile, touching his scarred cheek. “’Twould be justice well served. Speaking of the Devil, how are your stitches.”
“Itching,” he grumbled, putting his fingers to his scalp as if she had reminded him of his discomfort. “I must wash my hair tonight of the sweat and dirt so that the wound does not fester.”
“I cleaned it well enough so that it s-should not become infected,” she said, catching sight of the delicate black sutures.
After a moment, her gaze trailed to the three parallel scars that ran along his cheek, touching the thick, puckered skin.
“I doubt the scar will be worse than these. How did you acquire them?”
“Margot,” he replied without hesitation. “She did this to me on the day I learned of Lora’s death. ’Twas her way of expressing her grief, I suppose, raking her nails across my face in anguish.”
Summer’s pleasant expression vanished, her eyes taking on a distinct countenance of horror.
“Good Lord, Bose… she scratched you? I believed you to have encountered a wild animal or… or a terrible weapon of some kind. D-Do you mean to tell me that a frail old woman rent these scars across your face?”
He nodded faintly, kissing her hand when it came close to his lips.
“She did. And I let her.” When Summer’s appalled expression focused inquisitively on his onyx-black eyes, he found he could hardly hold her gaze.
“’Tis difficult to explain. It was as if I welcomed the pain, as if somehow I was accepting punishment for Lora’s death.
Accepting judgment for what I had done.”
Summer’s features softened. “We’ve had this discussion b-before,” she said quietly. “You did not kill Lora. ’Twas God’s will that she perished in childbirth and you must come to realize that.”
He merely shrugged and looked away, but Summer would not be put off so easily. Her intelligent mind began to work. “Tell me, Bose; if C-Chaldon was under attack and I asked you to help defend her, would you do it?”
“Without hesitation. ’Tis my duty, as your husband.”
“And you would do it gladly?”
“Of course.”
Summer cocked her head. “And if you were killed, would it be my fault for asking you to fight?”
He could see where she was leading and he shut his mouth, refusing to answer her until she grasped his chin and forced him to look at her. Eye to eye, his stubborn stance melted in the wake of her searing golden gaze.
“Nay, love. It would not be your fault.”
She cocked a well-defined brow. “But I asked it of you.”
He sighed, knowing the answer she was expecting. “And I complied willingly.”
She smiled. So did he. Gently, she kissed his smooth lips. “You see? Lora was willing to make the attempt, knowing it was her duty in life. And her attempt failed, but it had nothing to do with you.”
He held her gaze a moment, sighing heavily and with great emotion.
Grasping the back of her head with his free hand, he kissed her until she squealed.
“You are far too wise for your own good, Lady de Moray,” he murmured against her lips.
“I realize that I will never be able to win an argument against you.”
Summer smiled and his kissed her teeth. “Never,” she agreed. “Your days of domination are ended.”
Exhaling with contentment, Summer turned to face forward on the charger once again, eager to reach Ravendark and commence her new life.
For certain, she had never felt so completely satisfied or needed, as a wife should be; the world that had eluded her grasp was finally hers for the taking and she was eager to know the progression of her newly content existence.
Around her waist, Bose’s arm tightened and she smiled, patting his gloved hand.
He was anxious to reach his fortress, too, for more reasons than she could grasp.
“Do you s-suppose your knights are waiting for us?” she asked.
“If they left Chaldon when we did, undoubtedly,” Bose could nearly see the tip of his northern turret in the distance. “In fact, I should have expected to meet a welcoming party by now.”
Summer looked about, the heavy clusters of foliage and endless meadows beyond. “We are still a good distance out,” she offered helpfully, noting Bose appeared somewhat perturbed when she turned to look at him. “T-Tell me, husband; what are Ravendark’s sundry functions?”
Bose answered even though he was still on the lookout for his knights. “Aside from the fortune I have built on the tournament circuit, Ravendark has three small herds of cattle. We do adequately well selling beeves and hide.”
“No textiles or sheep?”
“This isn’t Yorkshire, Summer,” he said with a faint smile. “The Wiltshire countryside is fairly devoid of lush lands and soil. But there is enough to sustain the cattle and whatever flocks the villeins cultivate.”
She pondered his statement a moment, indeed noticing the chalky downs that covered the Wiltshire landscape.
“S-Surely with all of this land, Ravendark can be made far more profitable by increasing her herds and expanding her interests. Have you ever given thought to raising goat for their milk and cheese?”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You mentioned that your father’s steward schooled you in basic learning. Am I now to be the recipient of your grand knowledge of profit and fortune?”
She laughed softly. “I t-took over all stewardship duties when Kermit passed away last winter and I am rather proud of the fact that Chaldon has never run more smoothly. I can do the same for Ravendark too.”
He nodded faintly, knowing she was an intelligent and educated woman but truly having no idea how deeply the vein of knowledge ran.
Instead of feeling threatened by her mind as most men would have been, the idea of his brilliant wife taking charge of Ravendark and her holdings pleased him immensely. She pleased him immensely.
“I would be very interested in any and all ideas you might have on the subject, Lady de Moray.”
Resting against her husband’s mighty chest armor, Summer was flattered by his declaration of confidence; not all men were acceptant of a woman whose intellectual education neared their own.
“We make a good deal of cheese at Chaldon,” she continued on thoughtfully. “Mayhap we could use the milk f-from your cattle to mass-produce cheese and sell it. If we make enough money, mayhap you can leave the tournament circuit altogether.”
“And help you make cheese?”
She nodded, feeling his soft chuckle against her ear. “Blue V-Vinny cheese is delicious. It’s indigenous to Dorset, you know. Why, the entire province is famous for its blue-veined cheese and….”
In the quieting trees flanking the dirt trail, a branch snapped loudly and Bose suddenly stiffened in the saddle, interrupting his wife’s prattle as his entire body tensed with anticipation.
He was already moving for his sword when the bleak foliage surrounding the roadway suddenly came alive with men on horseback, shouting and whooping in a most terrifying manner.
Summer shrieked, instinctively covering her face protectively as Bose deftly collected his shield, throwing it up in front of his wife in an effort to protect her from the onslaught.
But the destrier startled as the roar turned deafening, rearing on its hind legs in fear.
With both hands occupied, Bose had no chance to grab her as she fell to the dusty road in a heap.
“Summer!” he cried, using an impassioned tone she had never heard before. “Hurry, love, come to me! Come to…!”
His desperate plea was cut short as several men rushed him, bombarding him with their swords and battleaxes.
Summer shrieked again, laboring to regain her footing as massive hooves threatened to crush her.
Stumbling away from the action, she fell to her knees on the damp grass, ugly green stains ground deep into the fabric.
She barely had a chance to regain her balance and her breath when gloved hands were grabbing harshly at her wrist.
“Ha!” came the triumphant cry. “Think not to escape me again, wench, for now I have you!”
Hair hanging wildly in her face, Summer managed to right herself, struggling ferociously against the iron grip to her arm. Through all of the twisting and gasping and restrained screams, her hair moved from her vision and she suddenly found herself face to face with Breck Kerry.
He smiled lewdly at her, a smile she had come to hate terribly over the past three days. Instinctively, without thought, she brought a clawed hand to bear on his pimpled face and with a powerful, vicious surge, raked her sharp nails across his reddened cheek in an act of self-defense.