Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “With all of your hair, who will notice?” A younger man with a lighter shade of the same color hair lounged against the furs on the floor, staring up at his older brother. “Be thankful the gash was not across your cheek.”

  The man bearing the stitches tossed the mirror aside in disgust, ordering the physic away with a curt command. When the aged healer quit the tent with his usual slow pace, the injured man poured himself a healthy draught of ale.

  “Easy on the drink, Breck,” the younger man said. “You know your head will be aching come the morning if you consume too much. And you must be clear-headed for the joust.”

  “Aye,” Breck mumbled into his cup. “Clear-headed to return de Moray’s favor.”

  The man on the floor snickered softly. “Your own helm gashed your scalp.”

  “With de Moray’s assistance,” Breck turned to face his far less serious younger brother. The man simply would not realize a grave situation if it walked up and slapped him in the face. “Think, you idiot. I would not have slashed my scalp had de Moray not shoved me to the ground. I was lucky I wasn’t trampled.”

  Duncan Kerry laughed again, much to his brother’s annoyance. “Had he wanted you to be trampled, you would have been.”

  Breck stared at his brother a moment before turning away, pondering the world outside of the lavishly furnished tent. Beyond were a sea of vibrantly hued tarpaulins of various houses and provinces. Men he had fought against before, a number of times, and men he had beaten on more than one occasion. A plethora of losers prepared to bow at his mighty feet. Except for de Moray.

  It was always the same with him. A brutal fight, a decisive defeat – Breck’s defeat. Aye, he’d come close to beating de Moray on occasion, but never close enough. Never close enough to inflict enough damage that would send the powerful knight to the ground. Whether it be in the melee or joust, the story was consistently similar – Bose’s victory and Breck’s rout.

  Today was no exception. Breck had fought admirably until the end, finally put down by none other than de Moray himself before the man moved on to do final battle with Stephan du Bonne. More angry than injured, Breck had left the field in disgrace, watching the final duel as the crowd roared wildly with approval. Approval that should have been meant for him.

  It had been a bitter defeat to concede. Breck and Duncan were considered powerful contenders on the circuit, following in the legacy of their recently departed father. Breck knew that his tactics were looked upon by some of the other knights as brutal and unscrupulous. It was a mere difference of opinion, of course. Breck saw nothing inequitable in striking a fallen man in the melee, provided he wasn’t seen by a herald and disqualified, or using quick, sudden movements in the joust to unseat or injure his opponent.

  “I do not suppose the heralds would allow me to use my spear-tipped joust pole as opposed to the crows-foot point,” he muttered casually, far calmer than he had been moments earlier. Turning to cast a devilish, glance to his brother, he raised his red eyebrows quizzically. “Nay? Well, then, I must think of another way to defeat de Moray.”

  “God’s Toes, Breck, what were you going to do with the spear-tip? Gore him?” Duncan sat up from his pile of furs, shaking his head. “Even for you, that is a rather barbaric maneuver. Moreover, the very second you planted the spear, his knights would be all over you. You would never have a chance against them.”

  Breck shrugged, listening to a dog bay somewhere in the distance as the moon rose. “As I said, I’ll have to think of another way to best him,” he began to pick at his big, crooked teeth. “Did you see him ride toward the lodges today after his victory? He appeared to speak with Lord du Bonne.”

  “Or gawk at the Lady Genisa,” Duncan licked his lips lewdly. “I pray every night that Stephan du Bonne will meet his end so that I may claim his lovely leftovers.”

  Breck snorted, still picking at his teeth. “I suspect you’d have to fight Ian and Lance for the privilege. In fact, I have oft wondered if she services all three brothers as well as they treat her,” shaking his head, he examined the contents of his teeth in the tips of his dirty fingernails. “Nay, I doubt Bose was gawking over Genisa. And I doubt even the baron’s summons could have coerced his reluctant nature to move toward the lodges. I suspect, dear brother, that the unknown lady seated between Genisa and the baron was the reason for his interest.”

  Duncan cocked an eyebrow. “Why would you say that?”

  “For the reasons I have already given. Mayhap there is something between the two.”

  Duncan shrugged carelessly. “And if there is?”

  The dusk deepened as Breck explored his unclear, if not somewhat evil, line of thought. “I do not know. Mayhap… mayhap we should discover who the lady is.”

  “Why?”

  “Simple curiosity, I suppose. I wonder if she is aware of de Moray’s darker reputation.”

  Duncan pursed his lips. “There is not one man among us without some sort of sinister, darker reputation. Moreover, any gossip regarding de Moray is just that – gossip. In four years no one has been able to discover much about him.”

  Breck appeared particularly thoughtful. “I’ll bet the lady knows something about him. Mayhap she could prove to be useful.”

  His brother snorted. “How? To divulge more damaging information regarding the truth behind de Moray’s shady reputation? Or do you plan to use her against the man in a literal sense, mayhap?”

  Breck did not reply for a moment. Then, he turned from the open portal and focused on his brother. “As I said, I do not know at the moment. But certainly, we should explore all of our options.”

  Duncan stared at his brother a moment before pursing his lips wryly, rising from his pallet with a grunt. “You are mad. There are dozens of knights we compete against with wives and ladies and you’ve never once made mention of using a particular woman to subdue her knight. And now you speak of the most powerful knight of all. Just how in the hell are we supposed to accomplish such a task?”

  Breck moved for the half-empty ale pitcher, pondering the possibilities. “Who can say? Mayhap an opportunity will present itself. Or mayhap not. However, I am willing to weaken de Moray any way I can. He has been a thorn in my side long enough.”

  Duncan wandered to the leaning table to pick at the remaining mutton, thinking his brother to be foolish and reckless with his thoughts of betrayal against de Moray.

  “The only reason Sir Bose hasn’t speared you through the gut is because he and father were friends once,” he said. “He tolerates you and nothing more. Were you to push him, there’s no knowing how the man would react. And you seem to forget that he employs four very powerful knights, men willing to kill for him without hesitation. Have you considered that?”

  Breck pretended that he hadn’t heard him. “She was certainly beautiful,” he muttered, taking a swig of ale directly from the pitcher. “I have never seen her before. I wonder who she is?”

  Duncan rolled his eyes in frustration, commandeering a small stool and sitting before the cold meat. Chewing on a slab of fat, he eyed his foolish brother. “If she belongs to de Moray, I say leave her alone. To make an attack on a knight on the field of competition is one matter, but to molest his lady is quite another. Forget whatever it is you are thinking.”

  Breck heard him. He did not want to hear him. Even so, he knew very well he should listen to his younger, more level-headed brother. But he could not seem to.

  *

  The hoot owl was directly overhead. Although Summer could not see the bird, she could certainly hear him. Asking the constant question; Who, Who, Who? Who indeed, Summer mused bitterly. Who would be foolish enough to remain alone, unescorted, in the midst of the knights’ camp well after dark? And who was content to wallow in the self-pity and confusion that had refused to abate for well over an hour? Who, indeed.

  Summer continued to recline against the ancient oak, ignoring the pesky owl and listening to the faint rumble of the surrounding camp. The sea breeze ha
d increased in intensity, casting a chill in the air and Summer rubbed her arms to keep warm, the golden silk providing little protection against the damp wind.

  Even so, she had little intention of leaving her quiet haven beneath the great tree. Although her thoughts had calmed somewhat since fleeing the field, there still remained a distinct measure of anger toward her selfish, proud family.

  Clearly, she had struck home with her accusations. Genisa had most likely returned to the keep to inform the rest of the family that Lady Summer was aware of their “alleged” protective actions. Her thoughts darkened as she pondered her relationship with her family from now on.

  Toying with the grass absently, she was so consumed with her gloomy visions that she was gradually aware of glittering black eyes staring up at her. Even as she found herself gazing into the tiny orbs, she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at; only when the eyes blinked, rapidly, did she realize that she was no longer alone beneath the aged, sheltering oak.

  Summer sat up from the tree trunk, not particularly afraid of the small, dark eyes as they studied her curiously. Sitting very still so as not to startle her little visitor, she was eventually rewarded when the small gray and white ferret emerged from the shadows and into the weak moon light.

  It was a beautifully maintained little beast, clean and bright and well fed as it scampered onto her lap. Sensing from the behavior and condition of the animal that it was exceptionally tame, she began to stroke the silky fur.

  “My goodness, little one,” she cooed in flawless speech. “Who do you belong to?”

  Tiny whiskers licked her arm as the ferret moved up her torso, sniffing her skin and wiggling its little nose. Summer giggled as tiny claws tickled her skin, collecting the ferret into both hands as to better inspect the best. Golden orbs met with curious, rodent black and she smiled brightly, noting the beautiful shadings of gray and white upon the fuzzy coat.

  “I would suspect that someone is missing you right now,” she said softly, tearing her eyes away from the pet long enough to glance to the glowing encampment. There appeared to be no lady in frantic search of her pet. With a shrug, Summer rubbed noses with her newest friend. “I suppose I should discover who you belong to. After we’ve become acquainted, of course.”

  Within her soft hands, Antony was quite content to allow his rescuer to gently caress him. But his attention was finite and he worked his way to her shoulder, perching atop the tender skin and sniffing the brisk sea air. Summer giggled as he scampered along her neck, losing himself in her hair and eventually coming to the conclusion that her thick mane was a wonderful, warm haven in which to hide from the frightening world.

  Summer attempted to coax the furry creature from her hair, but he ignored her and she suspected the hooting of the owl had something to do with his reluctance. She did not blame him in the least and was content to allow him to remain for the time being. The restless creature, however, eventually emerged from the silken blond cave and worked his way down her arm, moving to the comfort of her lap once more.

  Summer continued to stoke her new companion, thoughts of finding its owner fading by the moment. She’d never had a pet, not even a bird in a cage, and she realized that she could come to love the little animal deeply. He was sweet, well-behaved and clean, and she wasn’t the least bit sorry that she was stealing someone else’s property. If they were careless enough to allow him to escape, then they did not deserve the responsibility or the pleasure accompanying such an animal. She kissed and cooed to the little animal.

  “He has never been quite so affectionate with me.”

  The baritone voice startled Summer and she looked up as a massive form stepped from the shadows into the moonlight, his hands raised in supplication. She must have recoiled or otherwise displayed fright, because the figure came to a halt.

  “I am sorry if I frightened you, my lady, please forgive me,” Bose said quietly, keeping his hands raised to prove he was no threat. “I heard your laughter from the trees and followed the sound. I wasn’t spying on you nor do I intend you harm, I swear it.”

  Summer continued to stare at him with big eyes, surprised by his appearance, unsure what to say. Even though the man was without his helm, she remembered those features. She had seen him, earlier that day as he had asked permission from her father to speak with her. It was Bose de Moray in the flesh and delight mingled with her surprise, becoming nervous apprehension. Here they were, alone, and she was uncertain. Uncertainty sealed her lips. She just sat there and looked at him. She’d never been in this position in her life.

  Bose sensed her hesitance. He, too, was struggling to overcome the shock of coming across Lady Summer, with Antony in her hands no less. He still wasn’t even sure he wasn’t dreaming it. Eager to ease her anxiety, he lowered his hands while maintaining a distant, unmoving position. For a moment, all he could do was look at her. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

  “Antony has never been as loving with me as he apparently is with you,” he said quietly, wondering why his voice was tinged with an odd quiver. “He escaped this night and I was frantic with worry for him. How fortunate for me that you have found him.”

  Summer tore her eyes away from Bose long enough to gaze at the fuzzy creature in her grasp. Obviously, the little beast belonged to the knight. Without hesitation, she extended her hands to offer Bose the animal. He eyed her a moment, his black eyes blazing with warmth, before slowly shaking his head.

  “He likes you better, I can tell,” his voice was soft. “Please… you will keep him.”

  His tone was soothing, his manner gentle. Summer’s brow furrowed and her lovely face washed with a curious expression, looking to Antony as if the ferret could confirm his master’s directive. Bose continued to stare at her a moment before slowly crouching in an attempt to make himself appear less threatening. He wanted to be on her level.

  “I did not mean to disturb your peaceful evening,” he said quietly. “I would be honored if you would allow me to join you.”

  Summer continued to stare at him, knowing that he had been carrying on a one-sided conversation until this point. Sooner or later, he was going to expect a reply. But she did not want to make a fool of herself, as she wasn’t certain she could reply without stammering all over herself. It seemed to get worse when she was upset or nervous. As she pondered her next move, Antony abruptly scampered across her lap and onto the ground. Mounting Bose’s arm, he scurried to his familiar post atop his master’s broad shoulder.

  “Ah, my treacherous little friend, so you think to return to me?” his thick fingers scratched affectionately at the animal. “For certain, I thought I’d lost you. But it would seem that you and I had the same idea to find a certain young lady.”

  Summer watched him play with the pet, blushing furiously when he turned his gaze upon her. Averting her eyes, her respiration began to come in sharp pants. Say something, you foolish wench!

  “I did not receive a reply from you earlier, when I asked if you had enjoyed your first melee,” he said, drinking in her exquisite profile and finding that the peculiar quiver in his voice had spread to his limbs. “Your brother’s wife seemed most anxious to answer for you. Does she do this habitually?”

  Summer stared at her hands. Then, she nodded faintly. “S-She does.”

  Bose’s gaze held even, although there was no mistaking the stammer in her softly-uttered reply. As an inkling of suspicion came to mind, a curiosity took hold and his stare grew in intensity.

  “I have heard Lady Genisa possesses the ability to talk God off his throne,” he said casually. “I see that the rumors were truth.”

  A faint smile creased Summer’s beautiful lips. “Indeed, my lord,” she nearly whispered. “Genisa is most chatty. And most overb-bearing at times, although she means well.”

  Then it was true. Bose came to realize that he had not imagined the catch in her speech. He also knew why the lady had remained so silent in his presence, why her sister-in-law
and father has answered for her, and why Ian had dragged her away when a conversation was imminent. It made his heart ache for her, because what they did not know was that Bose understood such things. God help him, he understood a great deal.

  “I see,” his baritone was scarcely audible as he replied belatedly to her statement. “Since she is not here to answer for you, then I would expect to hear your thoughts personally. Did you, in fact, enjoy the melee?”

  Summer continued to stare at her hands, the ground, and finally Antony as he scampered down Bose’s arm and clamored up her thigh. Petting the fuzzy creature, he heard her give a faint sigh before she gave him her full attention.

  “Nay,” she replied frankly. “I thought it was a horrible d-display of savagery and male pride. I never want to see another melee as long as I live.”

  He met her gaze a long moment, his lips creased with mirth. Before he could control himself, he was howling with laughter such as he had never known and Summer watched him, horrified and ashamed, knowing that he was laughing at her affliction. With a whimper of anguish, she bolted to her feet and gathered her skirts. But massive hands were suddenly holding her firm. Somehow, he had covered the distance between them and was now grasping her. His grip was like iron.

  “Where do you go?” he demanded softly.

  “Let me go!” she cried. His fingers were like iron, biting into the soft flesh of her arms and much to her dismay, Summer felt the sting of tears. Throwing herself about, she struggled fiercely to release his hold before she disgraced herself further. “Release m-me immediately!”

  Instead of complying, Bose’s grip tightened. Summer gasped as bolts of pain coursed through her arms and her struggles came to a halt. Golden orbs locked with onyx-black and Bose could literally read the shame and terror brimming in the depths.

  “You believe me to be laughing at you?” When she refused to reply, he shook her gently. “Answer me. Do you believe me to be laughing at you?”

  After brief consideration, during which she realized that she had little choice but to respond to him, Summer nodded once. He released her and she stumbled away from him, her eyes wide and accusing. But she did not run.