Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The corner of his black eyes crinkled. “Indeed. Ian, in fact, was most persuasive. Far more than I ever believed him to be capable.”

  Summer’s mouth popped open. “Truly?” she whispered. “Father g-gave his permission?”

  Bose was dangerously close to forgetting his duty to punish the aggressive knight. All that mattered at the moment was Summer’s luscious lips, her incredibly beautiful face, as he gazed deeply into dark golden eyes.

  “A tentative agreement,” he replied softly, stroking her cheek once more. “In his drunken state, it was all I was able to wrangle. Certainly, we shall speak more on the subject tomorrow after I have emerged victorious in the joust.”

  Summer could scarcely believe what she had been told. Just as Bose began to wonder if she understood his words, suddenly, she let out a whoop of joy and clapped her hands together in a gesture of pure delight. All laughter and silks and rose-scented perfume, she threw her arms around his neck and he joined her excitement, whirling her about in a joyous circle as his men looked on.

  The smiles of de Moray’s knights were wide enough to cheer God himself. It was the first true display of emotion their lord had allowed to surface in four years of grief. None of them had expected such a happening on the day they had arrived for Lance du Bonne’s tournament; even if they returned home defeated and poor, they would always recollect the trip to Chaldon Castle with the fondest memories, for their liege had gained the grandest prize of all.

  Bose spun Summer in circles, listening to her giggles of happiness, thinking the feel of her in his arms to be the most wonderful of sensations. He was so consumed with thoughts of a new future that he forgot about the collection of men observing his excitement. Before he could stop himself, his mouth was clinging to Summer’s tender lips and she giggled softly in joy and ardor, her arms tightly about his neck as her feet dangled off the ground.

  Somewhere in the midst of their bliss, however, Breck had managed to regain his footing with a good deal of effort. Grunting and off-balance, he watched de Moray and his lady with mounting hatred. Morgan caught sight of the beaten knight from the corner of his eye and turned to him.

  “Clear out, Kerry,” his voice was low. “If you’ve not vacated the bailey by the time I count ten, I’ll finish what Bose started.”

  Breck drew in a deep breath through his nose, fighting the nausea and dizziness that threatened. Still, he couldn’t help himself from his haughty retort.

  “I had no idea you could count, Skye,” he rumbled.

  Before Morgan could reply to the jibe, Breck was wisely retracing his steps toward the grand hall of Chaldon. When he was out of sight, Morgan tore his gaze away from him long enough to pass a final glance at Bose and Summer as they continued to nuzzle and kiss.

  “Mayhap we should return to the hall as well,” he suggested with a faint smile. “Bose seems to have the situation well in hand.”

  Tate cocked an auburn eyebrow. “He’s doing far better than the rest of us,” he snorted softly, ignoring Farl’s gentle shove on the shoulder. “In fact, I have yet to so much as speak with the lady I have championed for the better part of the tourney.”

  Adgar cast him a strange glance. “What’s this you say? How can you be her champion if you’ve never met her?”

  Tate smiled, a devilish gesture. “She is my secret lady, of course. Unbeknownst to her, I chose her on the day of our arrival and have yet to properly introduce myself. Considering she has been seated in the lodges with a bear of a man clad in fine silks, I have yet to work up the proper nerve.”

  Adgar’s eyebrows rose in outraged recognition. “The lady in the blue silk gown with the golden wimple that….”

  “…that looks like a Unicorn’s horn?” Tate finished suspiciously.

  Adgar’s brows abruptly furrowed as realization dawned. “Indeed! She is my lady, Farnum. Choose another.”

  Morgan and Farl laughed uproariously, moving around Tate and Adgar as the two men squared off against each other like a pair of dominant cocks. Heading toward the cavernous entrance to the festive gallery, they left the two suitors to do their battle as they focused on more promising diversions awaiting them.

  Between the laughter and shouting and harsh arguments, no one seemed to notice that Artur continued to stand and observe the interaction between Bose and Summer. Old and hard of hearing though he might be, the old man knew his nephew well enough to know that the man was far gone in love with the beautiful young maiden. Not that he could fault the man his taste, of course; flawed speech or no, Summer du Bonne was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, Lora included, if Artur would allow himself to be so brutally frank.

  So Bose had found a new wife. As wonderful as the event was, the fact remained that Margot was casting a long shadow upon the destiny of Bose’s future union. Tearing his gaze away from the delighted pair of lovers, he turned toward the grand hall, alive with music and dancing and drunken bodies. Now was not the appropriate time to bring up his concern over Margot’s menace, but he had little doubt that such a time would rapidly come to bear.

  Passing one final glance at the couple locked in an amorous embrace, he followed the pair of Bose’s arguing knights into the warm, stenchy hall.

  *

  Breck had hardly taken a seat when a soft, bird-like hand touched him on the arm. Growling, he brushed the hand away and snatched a pitcher of wine from a passing serving wench, pouring himself a sloppy measure. Gulping the liquor, he sighed heavily as the fortifying warmth coursed down his throat.

  “Does the wine lend bravery as well?”

  The frail voice came from behind. Breck drew in another mouthful of alcohol, turning disinterestedly toward the source. A small woman, quite old, held his gaze a moment before he turned away, back to his drink. He had no idea who the woman was and did not care.

  “He left a bruise upon your cheek, young lord,” the woman spoke again. “Punishment for touching his lady?”

  Breck swallowed another gulp of wine, smacking his lips before deciding, strangely enough, to look to the old woman once again. His gaze raked her shriveled, tiny form.

  “What do you want, woman, and be quick about it.”

  The woman offered a thin smile. “I want what you want. To separate Sir Bose from his lady.”

  Breck stared at her a moment. “Why? So you can have him all to yourself? I’d hardly consider you to be of marriageable age.”

  The woman’s eyes glittered through the smoky haze of the hall. Even though she was tiny and feeble and harmless in appearance, Breck could sense a terrifying darkness from her. His gaze followed her as she seated herself daintily beside him.

  “I do not want to marry him, my lord,” she said quietly, her expression steady. “He is already married.”

  Breck continued to stare at her, cocking a slow eyebrow after a contemplative pause. “I understand his wife is dead.”

  “In body, mayhap. But not in spirit.”

  The red-haired knight pondered her odd answer a moment as his impatience returned. “What do you want?”

  The lady’s weak smile transformed into a genuine gesture. “As I indicated, the same as you. You are interested in Sir Bose’s lady, are you not?”

  Breck licked his lips thoughtfully. “And if I am?”

  “Would you do anything to obtain her?”

  “Within reason.”

  The woman laughed softly. “I am not suggesting you fight Sir Bose for her, for certainly, you would lose. The man is unbeatable.”

  “I know. I have battled him several times in tournaments and am well aware of his skill,” taking another swallow of wine, his small blue eyes took on a curious nuance. “Who are you?”

  The woman’s smile faded. “Who do you think I am?”

  “I most certainly do not know who you are.”

  The aged lady stared at him, her smile relaxing until her thin lips were straight and true. “Tell me your name, sir knight.”

  “Sir Breck Kerry, Lord of Crestwoo
d.”

  The old woman nodded faintly. “Sir Breck, if you desire Sir Bose’s lady, then I will most assuredly help you.”

  Breck pushed his cup aside and sat forward. Leaning on the table, he studied the ancient, once-fine woman intently.

  “Not until you tell me who you are.”

  “The perfect weapon by which to accomplish your desires.”

  “That tells me nothing. Are you involved in his household?”

  “Involved, yes,” the woman folded her translucent-white hands primly. “I am very close to Sir Bose and in a grand position to aid you in your quest for the lady’s attention.”

  Breck eyed her, settling back in his chair and eyeing the odd old woman. “And how is it you know of my interest in the lady?”

  The woman smiled again. “I saw you drag her from the hall, of course. And I saw Bose follow in a rage. I was standing in the entry when you came stumbling through, returning to your seat in a battered heap, and can only assume that Bose punished you for your interest in his whore. Am I incorrect?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then accept my assistance. If you want her, I shall aid you.”

  Breck refilled his goblet from the pitcher he had stolen from the serving wench. “And how will you do this, providing that I am interested in your proposal?”

  The mysterious lady drew in a deep, thoughtful breath. “Being exceedingly young and wise, I would assume that you will think of a plan to obtain Sir Bose’s lady if you haven’t already done so. Tell me of your plan and I will tell you how I can help.”

  Breck swirled the ruby-red liquid about his tongue, eyeing the woman pensively. Not knowing who she was, he wouldn’t say anything to her that could make its way back to de Moray.

  “I have no such plans,” he lied. “Even if I did, I certainly do not require the assistance of a helpless old crone. Return to your cave, witch, and leave me be. If I want the lady, I’ll take her regardless of de Moray’s interest.”

  The older woman snickered without humor. “A brave front, young knight, but a foolish declaration. You know as well as I that de Moray will kill you if you attempt any such bold action. You need my help if….”

  Breck slammed the chalice to the table, spilling wine over the scrubbed wood. “Cease your foolery, woman,” he hissed. “Tell me who you are or I swear I’ll slit your throat and leave you for the dogs.”

  “Slit my throat and you shall not obtain the lady.”

  “To the Devil with the lady! My truer goal is to destroy de Moray as, I suspect, is yours as well. Certainly, you would not be here if it were otherwise.”

  The woman produced a sinister smile. “How true, my young lord. Place your trust in me and our goals shall become reality.”

  “Then tell me who you are!”

  The lady reached for her own chalice of wine. She suddenly felt very much like celebrating.

  “The answer to your prayers, Sir Breck,” she sighed contentedly. “As you are, apparently, to mine.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Summer hardly remembered how she and Bose had reached her chamber. Between heated kisses he had asked instructions for navigating Chaldon’s corridors and before she knew it, Bose had entered the keep and wound his way through the maze of halls. Summer’s heavy oaken door loomed before them and without hesitation, Bose kicked the panel open and ushered them both inside.

  Aloft in Bose’s arms, Summer was aware of the familiar surroundings, the familiar scent of her possessions. Removing her face from Bose’s neck, she blinked her eyes as if emerging from a deep sleep. Looking curiously to the dark knight, he met her gaze and smiled gently as he lowered her to the floor.

  “Why are we here?” she asked, truly innocent of his intentions.

  He continued to smile, stroking her hair. “Because it is quiet and private, and away from the Breck Kerrys and drunken fathers of this world.”

  She blinked again, regaining the composure that his heated kisses had shattered. Smiling weakly, she nodded in agreement. “I suppose so,” unable to match his searing expression, she turned away, unconsciously moving toward her massive bed. “It is much b-better here, isn’t it?”

  He nodded faintly, watching the delicious curve of her back as she moved away from him. God’s Beard, he knew he shouldn’t be here, but he honestly could not help himself. The more he touched and tasted, the more he wanted to claim her in every sense of the word.

  “C-Come here.”

  Summer’s voice roused him from his train of thought. Realizing she was standing by the bed as she spoke, he nearly tripped over his feet in his attempt to reach her. Ever cool, customarily composed Bose de Moray was as giddy as a young squire and he nearly laughed at himself for his clumsy, eager actions.

  Summer, however, did not seem to notice his ungraceful moves. As Bose reached the bed, she smiled sweetly and pointed to the pillow. Tearing his gaze away from her beautiful face, his black eyes located the source of her interest.

  “Antony,” his voice was soft as he reached down to stroke his former pet. Wriggling and twisting, Antony greeted his previous master by nibbling his massive fingers.

  “He is rather fond of this p-pillow,” she said, her hand joining Bose’s against the gray and white fur. “In fact, he sleeps with me.”

  Bose sat on the edge of the bed and Antony scampered onto the massive lap. “As he used to sleep with Lora and I,” he said, caressing his fuzzy friend. “After you and I are married, however, I shall find him a bed of his own.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed as she leaned against the canopy post, watching him toy with the playful creature. “Why would you do that? He will be comfortable with us.”

  Bose maintained a steady gaze upon the animal. “Because I do not intend to share you with anyone and especially not within the confines of our bedchamber.”

  She smiled. “Not even with Antony?”

  “Nay.”

  “B-But you shared Lora with him.”

  “I had no choice. Antony was her pet well before she met me.”

  “B-But you allowed her to continue to sleep with him. Why not me?”

  He frowned. “Because you show far too much affection for him. I’ll not be ousted from my own bed by my wife’s pet.”

  Summer laughed softly, sitting at the end of the bed and calling softly to Antony. The ferret immediately left Bose’s lap and scurried across the heavy bedrug, writhing delightedly under his mistress’ delicate touch.

  “Do you hear that?” she crooned tenderly. “Sir Bose intends to oust you from our bed. What have you to say to that?”

  Bose stared at her in surprise, noting that the stammer completely vanished from her speech as she spoke sweetly to the little animal. True, sometimes she could speak a complete sentence without stammering, but that was rare. Moreover, the way she spoke to the animal was different… so confident. He liked it. He wanted to hear her speak that way to him as well, for always.

  Summer caught Bose’s expression from the corner of her eye, a gentle quirk of a smile gracing his lop-sided lips. Distracted from Antony’s frenzied play, she cast him a curious look.

  “W-Why are you smiling?”

  He continued to gaze at her a moment before leaning back against the heavy pillows, his smile growing. “Because I have listened to you speak to Antony without a stammer to be heard,” when she looked bewildered, he laughed softly. “I told you that your speech was purely habit. You stutter because it is expected.”

  Summer watched the ferret as it scooted away from her, returning across the bedrug and attempting to make a nest in the mound of pillows. After a moment, she shrugged feebly.

  “Y-You are speaking in riddles,” she said weakly, knowing in fact that his theory made a good deal of sense.

  Unable to match his argument at the moment, she rose from the bed in an attempt to move away. Bose, however, would have no part of her bid to put distance between them; reaching out, he snatched Summer by the arm and pulled her down onto the mattress beside him. Onyx
-black eyes met with wide golden orbs.

  “I am completely correct in my assessment and well you know it,” his bass-toned voice was a growl. “You are conditioned to believe it is expected of you. But animals, like Antony, cannot judge you by your speech and you are completely relaxed when you speak to them. Consequently, you do not stutter.”

  She sighed with reluctance, watching his lips as he spoke. “B-But I always stammer,” she said feebly. “Habit or no, I cannot help it.”

  “Aye, you can and you will,” he said firmly, with quiet authority. “I do not want to hear you stumble over my name any longer. Look me in the eye, Summer. Look at me and repeat my words: Bose loves me, therefore, I will not stammer any longer in his presence.”

  Her brow relaxed with the astonishment. A lovely smile creased her face, a gesture of joy and fulfillment. Her soft hands moved to his face, touching his scarred, stubbled flesh, hardly believing of the words he had uttered with such nonchalance.

  “B-Bose….”

  “Repeat the words, Summer.”

  “B-But you said you loved me and….”

  It was difficult not to become swept up in the light of adoration shining from her eyes, but Bose did his best to ignore her for the moment. He was attempted to accomplish something this night and would not be distracted. There would be enough time later to succumb to their emotions later. He shushed her softly. “Say the words, Summer. Say them to me and I will not hear you falter.”

  “B-But I do not want….”

  He shook her gently, cleaving her plea. “Say them.”

  Ever obedient, Summer forced away her joy for the moment; Bose was demanding she speak flawlessly and she struggled to complete his bidding.

  “B-Bose loves me…”

  “Again without the stammer. Bose loves me, therefore….”

  She nodded faintly, swallowing as she labored to concentrate on his order. “Bose loves me, therefore, I w-will no….”

  “Look into my eyes, Summer, not at my mouth when you speak. Look into my eyes and repeat the words flawlessly.”

  Her eyes came up to his piercing black orbs, feeling the magnetism and power draw her deep. Her body relaxed, her mind calmed as the magic of his gaze enveloped her. Summer’s smile returned and she curled against his mighty torso, pressing close. Gazing deeply into eyes the color of a moonless night, her gentle hand continued to toy with his cheek.