Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Bose knew Stephan to be watching him as he approached Summer, chasing Artur away with a good-natured insult. As the old man fled, Bose refocused his attention on Summer with a sinking heart; in light of his dialogue with Stephan, he knew the general theme of the impending conversation.

  “What is it you wished to say to me, my lady?” he asked pleasantly.

  Summer’s beautiful face was upturned, her golden eyes boring into him as the gentle morning light caressed each feature with warmth. “I would ask you what Stephan said f-first.”

  Bose’s expression did not change, although he paused a brief moment to collect his thoughts. “He has asked that I stay away from you. Do you wish this as well?”

  Do you wish this as well? His sorrowful words echoed in Summer’s mind and she took a deep breath, glancing to her stiff brother perched upon the distant rise. Her gaze lingered on the man before returning her focus to Bose.

  “Would you walk with me, my lord?” she asked softly, heading in the direction of her Grandfather’s oak.

  Without hesitation, Bose complied, feeling the least bit like an eager squire trailing after a beautiful, unreachable lady. God’s Beard, he’d walk all the way to London if she asked him to. He’d do anything she asked of him.

  The grass was soft and moist beneath their feet as they strolled in silence toward the massive oak tree. Bose kept his gaze ahead, catching a steady glimpse of her persimmon-colored gown from the corner of his eye. As they proceeded to walk and Bose continued to ponder her beauty, he was jolted from his thoughts when her gentle voice filled the air between them.

  “I have been told to retrieve my f-favor,” she said, not looking at him. “And I have been f-further told to return Antony to your care.”

  Bose was prepared for her statement. “I see. Were you given a reason for these actions?”

  Beneath the great sprawling tree, Summer came to a halt and turned to face him. “Stephan has relayed a most disturbing bit of information and I know of no other way to approach the subject than to plainly ask you,” taking a deep breath, she fixed him in the eye. “Please forgive my cruel question, my lord, b-but I find I must know the truth.”

  His gaze lingered on her a moment, trying not to appear unnerved. Crossing his arms, he forced himself to maintain an emotionless facade. “Ask then, my lady. I shall answer truthfully.”

  Gazing into his scarred, rugged face, Summer felt brutal and foolish at the same time. After her brother had informed her of de Moray’s villainous reputation, she had spent the better part of the morning coming to grips with the information. Although her heart strongly refuted the lies, her mind was convinced that Stephan was merely protecting her best interests.

  “Please do not think me heartless, my lord,” she whispered, almost pleadingly. “I certainly do not mean to be.”

  A faint smile tugged at his lips; for certain, he could see that she was extremely upset by the entire circumstance. “How can I think you heartless if I do not know the question?”

  With a heavy sigh, Summer lowered her gaze. “M-My b-brother s-said… h-he said….”

  Her stuttering grew particularly bad. “Slow yourself, lady,” his tone softened. “Slow down and take a deep breath. There is no need to be nervous.”

  Swallowing hard, Summer’s expression was painful. “I-I am n-not, truly. I-It’s just that S-Stephan’s words upset me so.”

  “What words, love?”

  All twitching, agitation and disquiet came to a halt. Summer’s wide-eyed gaze came to rest on Bose’s piercing black orbs and, for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. He had called her love. The world around her could have exploded to cinder and still, she would be riveted to Bose’s wonderful face. Nothing else seemed to be more important than the emotions she was experiencing at this very moment.

  “That you killed your wife.”

  “I did not kill my wife.”

  Summer’s mouth worked as if she were attempting to speak, but no words came forth for the moment. “But… she is dead?”

  “She is. A result of childbirth and nothing more.”

  The truth. Clean, clear, and concise. Four years of rumors dashed in one swift motion. Summer stared at him, wanting so desperately to believe him.

  “But what of the rumors?” she wanted to know. “Stephan indicated your mother-in-law to be the source of the hearsay.”

  Bose’s gaze was steady. “The woman blames me for my wife’s death, insisting that the son I planted killed her with his size. Angry that I chose to divert my grief by joining the tournament circuit, my mother-in-law spread the rumors in hopes of ruining my chances of being accepted as a true contender.”

  “And you never sought to dismiss them?”

  “They never mattered until now.”

  Again, there was no hesitation in his answers and by the expression on his face, Summer realized that any lingering doubt was dissolved. He had answered her completely and she believed him without reserve. Unable to control her relief, she emitted a sigh of such power that her entire body deflated; she surely would have tumbled to the ground had Bose’s steadying hand not held her firm.

  “Good Lord,” Summer breathed, hand to her forehead. “I felt like such a fool for asking. I did not want to, but Stephan….”

  “Summer,” Bose interrupted her prattling statement. When she looked into his eyes, she could hardly explain the glimmer of joy and mirth within the onyx depths. “Do you realize you’ve spoken the last several sentences with hardly a stammer?”

  Her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to speak, abruptly pressing her lips tight when the truth of his words sank deep. She had indeed spoken the last three sentences without a stammer.

  “Impossible,” she whispered, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “I always stammer.”

  He smiled, a broad delightful gesture. “I shouldn’t have said a word. We could have continued the conversation endlessly and you would not have realized the event of a miracle.”

  “Miracle?” she shook her head, baffled and unbalanced by the entire conversation. “But… it’s simply impossible. I always s-stammer. I always will.”

  He stared at her. “Sometimes, we do things because others expect us to. Or we complete certain actions purely out of repetition or self-pity. Is it possible that you stammer because your family has pitied you and coddled you so that you’ve known nothing else? A childhood affliction that you’ve continued simply because it was expected of you?”

  Bewildered, she shook her head. “I… I do not know,” cocking her head with confusion, she peered at him curiously. “Are you saying my f-family is to blame for my problem?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, eyeing Stephan lingering impatiently atop the distant rise. “Of course not. All I am suggesting is that you do what is expected of you. I have treated your affliction with understanding and a casual manner, therefore, you are less inclined to realize the obvious.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you stutter out of habit. And because you are expected to.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. In faith, she’d never given his logic any measure of consideration and had no idea how to respond. “T-T…This is what you would believe?”

  He shrugged faintly. “I did not say that. I am merely suggesting the possibility,” his voice softened as his gaze raked her delicate features. “My father once said that my mother never stammered when she spoke to animals or pets, or when she muttered to herself when she was alone. And she never stuttered whilst she was singing, and she had a lovely voice indeed. My father managed to break her of her impediment somewhat late in life by putting their conversations to song. Can you sing?”

  She flushed about the ears. “Not a note.”

  He smiled, a wonderfully lop-sided gesture. “Then we shall have to discover another method to rid you of this habit.”

  How on earth they had moved from the subject of Bose’s evil reputation to the focus of her speech, Summer wasn’t sure. But just as the man had
been truthful and correct in every matter thus far, he also seemed to know a great deal about her flaw. Certainly, his speculations left food for thought and Summer found herself upswept with his suggestion. The more she thought on his words, however, the more she realized her stuttering had dramatically lessened the very moment he addressed her fondly.

  Flush deepening with the wonder of a new discovery, she was off course of the original subject and fading fast. Bose, however, was still acutely aware of Stephan’s menacing presence and he dropped his hand from her arm, nearly grasping at her again when she wobbled threateningly.

  “I believe your brother is waiting for you, my lady,” he said quietly. “In spite of our recent conversation, would you still like your favor returned?”

  Eyeing her brother, Summer sighed sharply. “Nay,” she said softly. “You will keep it. And you will do me a f-favor, as well.”

  He was unable to keep the smile from his lips. “Anything at all, my lady. All you need do is ask.”

  “Triumph over my brothers,” she said, returning her attention to his inquisitive, if not somewhat pleased, expression. “Beat everyone t-this day and win the joust.”

  Biting back a broader smile, he bowed gallantly. “Your wish is my command, my lady. I shall endeavor to fulfill your desires.”

  His grin was infectious and Summer smiled in return. “Thank you, Sir Bose. F-For everything, I thank you.”

  “’Tis my pleasure to serve you, Lady Summer.”

  She reached out a small, delicate hand and grasped his massive gauntlet. Bose’s heart leapt wildly against his ribs and, unable to help himself, he brought her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. It was sweet and warm and wonderful. As Summer smiled radiantly, they could hear a faint shout in the distance. Bose did not look to see who it was; he simply kept staring at Summer.

  For decency’s sake, he attempted to release Summer’s hand, but she refused to let him go and eventually, they both turned in the direction of the shout. Thinking it must have been Stephan, they were surprised to see it had not come from him. Bose continued to hold Summer’s hand tightly as Morgan interrupted their gentle encounter.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” the well-groomed man said. “Another party has been announced nearly a mile out, bearing your household name and colors.”

  Bose’s brow furrowed. “What nonsense is this? Who could be approaching, bearing my banner?”

  Morgan cleared his throat, hesitant to continue in the presence of the lady. But he was given little choice. God help him, he wished he were bearing any news other than the information about to spill forth.

  “Margot has come, Bose.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Why are you here?”

  Margot was not surprised by the enmity-laced question. Her faded blue eyes narrowed at her powerful son-in-law, fury matching fury, hate matching hate. She had no love for the man who killed her daughter.

  “I begged you not to go to Chaldon during this time of mourning,” she said bitingly. “The anniversary of Lora’s death was yesterday and I specifically asked that you spend it at Ravendark, reflecting upon her memory.”

  Bose’s lips were pressed into a tight line of displeasure. From outside the black and white tent, the roar in the distance told him that the combatants had taken to the lists and were practicing for their coming bouts. When his presence was required on the field in preparation for the approaching games, he found himself locked in verbal combat with an aged shrew he could scarcely tolerate. But for Lora’s sake, he was compelled to abide the harshness.

  “You did not ask that I remain at Ravendark, you demanded I stay,” he replied, struggling to keep his emotions in check. Margot had the uncanny ability to snap his composure. “As I explained to you, Lora is well aware that I have been mourning her death consistently for the past four years. Whether or not I remain locked inside my chamber, wailing like a fool, does not mean that I am any less sorrowful for her passing.”

  Margot’s thin jaw ticked dangerously. “Were you any more of a man I would expect you to cease this foolish tournament obsession and devote the remainder of your worthless life to her glorious memory.”

  “Margot, I will not discuss this with you,” he said as evenly as he could manage. “I have a joust coming very shortly and your unwelcome presence is distracting. Tell me why you’ve come and be done with it.”

  Thin and frail and quaking with age, Margot’s feeble appearance concealed a ferocious tongue and bitter soul. Her eyes flashed angrily at the man she possessed like a hostile demon, sinking her claws deep into his soul as if to never let him go. He was hers; a possession, a whipping post, a limitless source of vengeance and pain.

  “I already told you,” her feeble tone was laced with malice. “I asked you not to continue your usual pursuits during the anniversary of Lora’s death. We should spend the time together, you and I, paying homage to her memory.”

  “So you followed me to Dorset because I am not mourning to your satisfaction?” he shook his head bitterly. “You make my life miserable enough at home. What makes you think I want you here, wreaking havoc and causing misery? ’Twas certainly not your right to commandeer the men I left behind to protect my keep and demand they escort you to Chaldon.”

  “’Twas indeed my right as your mother-in-law,” she snapped. “You and I should be together during this time of sorrow. Since you cold-heartedly chose to continue with your worthless occupation, I had no choice but to follow and ensure that you do not forget my daughter’s memory. Here I am, and here I will stay.”

  His face twisted into a wry, disbelieving expression. “Why, for Christ’s sake? You would do well to simply return to Ravendark and mourn alone because I, for one, do not want you here. And I certainly do not need you to tell me where and how I shall grieve the passing of my wife. I believe I have grieved quite enough over the past four years to satisfy you.”

  Margot’s eyes glittered furiously. “You know nothing of grieving,” she hissed. “You quit your post as Captain of the Guard simply because you could not bear the memories associated with the position and I agreed wholeheartedly with your judgment at that time. But instead of retiring to the keep granted you by King Henry to ponder your lonely future and bygone dreams, you chose to pursue the debauchery of life upon the tournament circuit. This, Sir Bose, I hardly call grieving and if you believe for one moment I am satisfied with your supposed display of sorrow, you are sadly mistaken.”

  His jaw ticked faintly as he studied the embittered woman he had once liked a great deal. But time and death had changed the situation between them, a brittle relationship where there had once been genuine affection.

  “So, instead of attempting to move on with my life in spite of tragedy, you would have me isolate myself from the world to live on broken dreams and a dead wife,” shaking his head, he sighed heavily. “Margot, I had to do what was best for me and you are well aware of the fact. I have made a good deal of wealth upon the circuit, enough to keep you in comfort for the rest of your life. As Lora’s mother, it is my obligation to take care of you. But I forbid you to criticize the method by which I have obtained my wealth or the method by which I grieve; the tournament circuit has offered me a good deal of support and distraction in both categories, of which I have greatly needed. If you do not understand my motives or ideals, that is your misfortune.”

  Her thin lips drawn tight, a faint mottle lingered upon her wrinkled cheekbones. “’Twas Lora’s misfortune to have married you at the first.”

  He refused to be baited by the familiar insult Margot resorted to every time the conversation veered against her. Turning from the vicious woman, he ordered his manservant to see to her comfort and hastily quit the tent; he simply could not deal with her any longer.

  On his heels, the skilled squire followed closely, laden with his liege’s spare pole and other weaponry. The primary pole was already at the field with the fully armored charger, awaiting the appearance of the mighty lord.

  The j
oust field came into view shortly, the bright joust barrier carving a path down the middle of the field laden with the colors of the competing houses. There were several knights prancing about the field, gold and green colors, blue and yellow, and three red and white. The moment he laid sight upon the du Bonne red and white, all thoughts of Margot faded. There was a far more distracting presence in the stands than the lingering memory of his mother-in-law and her dead daughter.

  A faint roar went up from the crowd, distracting him from his thoughts as he realized the cry was meant for him. Artur appeared, babbling about the climate of the day and other insignificant notions, knowing his nephew had just endured a hellish go-around with Margot and attempting to distract the man with talk of the coming event.

  But Bose waved the old man away. The moment he caught sight of Summer in her persimmon colored dress seated beneath the large red and white canopy, he was quite adequately distracted.

  *

  Silent and attentive, Summer had all but ignored her sister-in-law and her father since her arrival to the lodges. Since the very moment Stephan had escorted her from Bose’s presence, her brother had been furious that she had refused to reclaim her favor and she, in turn, had responded to his anger. A few bitter words between them, unusual between the affectionate pair, had been a direct catalyst to even greater hostility.

  Red-faced and tight-lipped, the eldest du Bonne brother proceeded to roughly escort his rebellious sister to the lodges where Genisa and Edward awaited the commencement of the games. With a halting explanation of her behavior to his father, Stephan quit the lodges in search of his charger. With the joust set to begin, he had more pressing details to worry over than his sister.

  He had made her well aware, however, that he would deal with her at a later time. Edward had never dealt the punishment for his children; Stephan always had. As long as the eldest son handled the unruly brood, Edward was assured that all would be dealt with in a fair and diligent manner. In truth, Stephan was like a crutch; the more used, the more needed. Not strangely, Edward would never dream of interfering in his heir’s method of discipline or justice; whatever his son decided was good enough for him and he supported the man.