Chapter Nineteen #4
Between Stephan and Ian, Summer whimpered softly as the tears she had been struggling to control suddenly spilled forth.
Immediately, her brothers turned to comfort her, sensing the trial was heading for the worst possible verdict.
The three brothers were praying feverishly for the appearance of Duncan Kerry, bearing a missive of absolution from Henry himself.
For certain, it seemed as if the arrival of the youngest Kerry brother was their only surviving hope and they clung to their faith desperately.
Bruce was well aware of the emotional turmoil within the du Bonne encampment but his gaze remained focused on Breck.
For lack of support toward de Moray’s claim, he truly had no other choice but to agree with Breck’s assessment of the situation; according to the law, Bose had indeed stolen what did not belong to him and by all accounts had to be punished.
But Bruce would not make that final decision before he had viewed the very document upon which a man’s very life hinged.
“Show me this contract,” he muttered. “I would see it for myself before we continue.”
Breck immediately gestured to a Kerry servant, who fled the hall.
Meanwhile, the trial was on hold and Bose turned to Summer; lodged between her protective brothers and surrounded by his own knights, she seemed terribly vulnerable and amply shielded all at the same time.
Without asking permission, he went to his wife.
Artur was holding her hand as he approached, attempting to calm her fears.
But the comfort of seven men and her sympathetic sister-in-law could not compare to the loving arms of her husband and Summer threw herself against Bose, weeping uncontrollably into his soft linen tunic.
Massive, warm arms calmed and weakened her at the same time.
“Calm yourself, love,” he crooned, his voice hoarse. “’Tis merely argument at this point. Nothing has been proven or decided.”
She sobbed against his chest. “B-But m-my father s-says he… h-h-he did not….”
He shushed her gently, kissing the top of her head and glancing to the faithful men surrounding them; grim, emotional, torn expressions met with his even gaze and he found himself growing more despondent by the moment. He could not stand seeing his defeat in their eyes.
“I am sorry about my father, Bose,” Ian’s voice was faint with emotion. “I truly had no idea he would deny all recollection of his sanction.”
Bose shrugged faintly, cradling his hysterical wife. “It matters not in the overall scheme. But I certainly wish Duncan would return from London soon; it would appear that time is becoming of the essence.”
Wiping at her eyes, Summer looked up to her husband’s rugged, scarred face. “H-He shall be here. He promised S-Stephan he would return with Henry’s absolution.”
Bose smiled encouragingly. “And he shall, love, he shall. But he had better hurry or I fear we shall be on the run once again.”
Genisa, in tears beside her husband, touched his arm gently. “Should it come to that, you can steal away on one of my father’s merchant vessels. They travel all over the world and Breck could never find you.”
She had meant the suggestion seriously and Bose smiled warmly at her. “I thank you, my lady. Your offer shall be seriously considered if Duncan Kerry doesn’t come through that door within the next few minutes.”
A strong hand gripped his arm and he turned to Morgan’s grim face. “We are all with you, Bose, wherever you go. You know that.”
Bose’s smile faded. “Aye, Morgan, I know that,” his gaze was steady upon the man who had taken a severe beating on his lord’s behalf. “Ever my loyal friends through good times and through bad, though it seems as of late we are mostly meeting with bad.”
“You’re cursed,” Farl’s bushy mustache twitched with humor, sending the small group into light laughter, including Summer.
As the mood lightened somewhat, Tate suddenly caught movement from the massive doorway leading into the grand hall and he nudged Morgan, who diverted his attention to see what was happening.
As his expression slackened, the entire group turned to the commotion going on in the massive foyer beyond the gallery entrance.
No one was more riveted to the activity than Bose. His black eyes were sharp, his expression steady, when suddenly his features appeared to slacken. Blinking with disbelief, he released his wife and took a step in the direction of his focus as if hardly believing what he was seeing.
“God’s Beard… Olav? Olav Swenholm?” he could not stop himself from pointing to the cluster of vaguely familiar knights populating the wide entry hall. “Morgan, do you see him? Isn’t that Olav?”
Morgan looked equally stunned, but his shock did not prevent a shadow of a smile from creasing his lips, growing bolder by the moment.
“Aye, I see him, and several others I recognize,” turning to Bose, he suddenly erupted with triumphant laughter.
“I believe our prayers have been answered, Bose, and none too soon. Duncan has returned and he’s brought the entire company of Household Guards with him. God’s Blood, man, you are saved!”
Saved wasn’t the term Bose had in mind to describe the younger Kerry brother’s timely, if not astonishingly accurate, appearance. Miracle would have better served the situation. The man sent to seek royal aid had apparently arrived.
And the armies of Heaven were with him.