Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Summer watched his expression as he spoke, the anguish, and was deeply moved. Reaching up, she gently stroked a stubbled cheek; it was a bold move, but she simply could not help herself. It was as if he needed to be comforted.

  “W-What was her name?”

  His black eyes glittered like the crisp night sky; literally, she could see the stars within. “Who?”

  “Your wife.”

  His gaze never left her beautiful face. “Lora.”

  She smiled faintly, still touching his scratchy skin. “A very p-pretty name,” she whispered. “What was she like?”

  He thought a moment, recollecting his wife without the pain and sorrow that usually accompanied such thoughts. “She was about your size with her mother’s pale blue eyes. And she possessed a head full of wavy auburn hair, a mane she complained over incessantly.”

  Summer’s smile broadened. “Why did she lament her hair?”

  The corner of his mouth tugged, his heart leaping wildly against his ribs as she touched the curving edge. “Because she claimed it had a life of its own and she could not control it. Once she threatened to cut it all off and probably would have had I not stopped her.”

  Summer laughed softly, running her finger along his lower lip in her increasing exploration of his face. “I know how she feels. There are days when I would shave my head as well.”

  In spite of the decidedly erotic gesture that nearly drove him to his knees, he managed to smile.

  “God’s Beard, don’t do that,” he breathed, not knowing if he was referring to her beautiful hair or her sensual touch. As he braced his enormous arms on either side of her slender, luscious body, Summer continued to toy with his cleft chin and Bose was gazing so intently into her porcelain features that he failed to remember the course of their conversation.

  “What else?” she asked.

  He stared dreamily at her a moment before abruptly responding, as if he had only just understood her words. “What do you mean?”

  “About Lora.”

  “Oh,” he blinked, struggling to focus. “Well, she had freckled cheeks and a nose that wriggled when she spoke. And she had a silly giggle that could veer out of control quite rapidly.”

  Summer pictured the lady in her mind, curious about the woman he had once been married to. As she pondered the mental picture presented, both hands came up to his face and she stroked his stubbled neck with a distant expression.

  “You cared for her a great deal.”

  “Indeed. She was my wife.”

  “D-Did you love her?”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  Summer smiled. “I think it wonderful that you married a woman you could love. Most men b-believe love to be a fool’s fantasy.”

  He shrugged faintly. Shifting on his massive legs, he somehow moved closer and Summer realized he had come very, very near. Her heart was pounding in her ears and excitement surged through her veins as he focused on her.

  “Men believe that love will weaken them, that it is a woman’s emotion,” his voice was faint. “I used to think so too, once. But I know better now.”

  He was so close she could feel his hot breath on her face, causing her limbs to tremble with desire. As an innocent maiden who had only just learned of the excitement of a man’s touch, the prospect of a stolen kiss was nearly beyond her comprehension. But she knew that Bose meant to kiss her.

  Softly, as not to frighten her, Bose’s head dipped low and his smooth lips consumed her delicious mouth slowly. God help him, it had been so long since he had kissed a woman that the first brief second of contact ignited his senses and immediately, he realized his slimly held control was vanished. A kiss was better than he had remembered.

  Drawing back briefly, he licked his lips and was consumed with such a surge of desire that he was unable to control it. Removing his arms from where they were braced against the tree, he swept Summer into his powerful embrace and clamped his mouth over hers. In that moment, he was lost.

  Summer gasped as he hungrily devoured her lips, licking and stroking and suckling until she was limp in his embrace. Unable to support her own weight, Bose lifted her from the ground and propped her against Grandfather’s oak, his mouth ravishing her as if he had no intention of stopping. She tasted far too delicious to stop.

  Summer was becoming accustomed to his tender suckles, his heated tongue as it toyed with her own. His delightfully masculine lips were driving her to the brink of madness and back again and still, she wanted more. Hands moving to both sides of his scarred, rugged face, she ceased being an inactive participant to his seductive attack and took the offensive.

  Through his haze of blinding desire, Bose was surprised to feel Summer’s response against his powerful assault. Her hands were on his face, in his hair, and the surge of lust building within him threatened to explode in all directions. His thick arms wound about her once again, pulling her away from the tree as he somehow managed to stagger to the other side of the trunk, using the massive oak to shield their activities from the eyes of the curious. Falling to his knees, he took her down with him.

  God, her body was so beautiful. So round, so full, so womanly. And her breasts… they were directly below his seeking mouth, calling his name with a silent scream. Whether or not he wanted to restrain himself from a more intimate action, he realized that his hands had a mind of their own.

  Summer gasped softly with surprise as his fingers delicately moved over the crown of her breasts, tracing the puckered nipples beneath the persimmon colored silk. Hearing her soft groan of astonishment, feeling the hard pebble of delight straining against the smooth material, was nearly more than he could endure. His pulsating manhood was already painfully engorged, reminding him of exactly how long it had been since he had indulged in the intimacies of sex. But taking his pleasure with the lady was simply out of the question. As much as his physical needs might desire the action, his emotions were still firmly in control and he refused to bed the woman without first coming to a great many conclusions.

  He knew what he was coming to feel for her, the power of his interest and mounting adoration. And as his thick fingers gently roved the silken flesh just above the neckline of her gown, it did not take a good deal of deliberation to realize that he simply could not stomach the thought of leaving her behind once the tournament was concluded. Clearly, the past two days between them had established a great deal and Bose was only now coming to realize the extent of his attachment to the beautiful young lady. He realized that he intended to claim her, permanently.

  Oddly enough, the thought did not bring about the tide of guilt he expected. From the moment his lips had claimed Summer’s, the fact that he was kissing another woman only four years after his dear wife’s death was suddenly no longer a factor. He had expected waves of shame. For everything he had anticipated to feel in light of Lora’s passing, he was amazed that the guilt had not consumed him. In fact, nothing in his life had ever felt so right.

  He pulled Summer closer.

  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 mis
sed 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.”

  Bose’s knights continued to chortle loudly at his expense, listening to Lance’s high-pitched delight join in their amusement. The loud laughter had attracted the attention of other knights on the opposite side of the table, interested expressions focusing on the frivolity. If Bose noticed the additional attention, he did not react. In truth, he had eyes only for Summer as she smiled beautifully in reaction to his response.

  “Truly?” she squeezed his hand. “You would do this for me?”

  He fought down a threatening smile. God’s Beard, it was difficult to look into her smiling face and not respond in kind. “I would do anything for you.”

  Bose’s knights roared their approval, clapping loudly as if Bose had just accomplished a mighty feat. Lance clapped too, heartily, as Ian paid particularly close attention to the conversation; in faith, he had only been jesting when he had asked Summer to use her influence against the fearsome warrior. And even though he did not truly believe the man to be serious in his reply, it was increasingly apparent that he was responsive to Summer’s pleas and Ian’s hope began to mount. Mayhap he had a chance tomorrow, after all.

  Summer was acutely aware of his softly-uttered words. She leaned closer to him, tugging on his sleeve.

  “You say you will do anything for me?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Promise?”

  “I do.”

  She did not hesitate. “Then knock my b-brother on his arse.”

  The entire table exploded with boisterous laughter. Lance turned to Ian, slouched in his chair and awash with a miserable expression, to slap the man heartily on the shoulder in a show of sympathy. Summer moved away from Bose, her lips still creased with a devilish smile, to regain her chalice of wine.