Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  It was a confusion that grew and eased all at the same time when he briefly considered allowing Stephan to win the bout simply so his sister would not be disappointed. Stephan had fought admirably until the end, when he suddenly listed dangerously and Bose was forced to end the match. Had he grasped Stephan by the arm to right the man, it would have appeared extremely suspicious. Therefore, he did what was required. He shoved Stephan to the ground.

  And his sister had cheered. Even now as he turned in the direction of the lodges, he could see that she was clapping boldly for him, her exquisite face graced with a smile. When Stephan rose unsteadily to his feet, Bose was scarcely aware of the man’s words of praise.

  “Congratulations, my lord,” Stephan said amiably. “I do suppose now I am required to pay your ransom.”

  Bose continued to stare at Summer, smiling broadly underneath the red and white canopy. God help him, the longer he stared at her, the more forcefully his heart pounded. After a lengthy moment of gazing upon her beauty, he tore his eyes away from the captivating vision long enough to focus upon his opponent.

  “No ransom, du Bonne,” his baritone voice was quiet. “I would ask a favor instead.”

  Stephan raised the visor to his three-piece helm, his flushed face curious. “God’s Blood, man, by all means. What is this favor?”

  Bose felt like a fool; an immature, giddy fool. Beneath the visor, he could feel the embarrassing flush and it took far more courage than he imagined to bring forth the request.

  “Your sister…,” his voice was barely audible. “Does she have a champion this day?”

  Stephan stared at him a moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “Nay, she does not.”

  Bose swallowed. “Would you be so kind as to ask her if she would permit me to wear her favor? I would be greatly honored.”

  Stephan continued to gaze at the man, torn between the thrill of his interest and the desire to protect his baby sister. Yesterday, he had given little thought to de Moray’s flattery toward his sister when they had been unexpectedly introduced and found himself sorely regretting his lack of foresight. From the sheer tone of the knight’s voice, he should have understood the interest.

  But he had not. In truth, it had never occurred to him given de Moray’s stand-offish reputation; never once had he seen the man with one of the many women who were intent to pursue him. Which was why Bose’s expressed interest came as something of a shock; God’s Blood, how Stephan wished another man had voiced his regard for Summer, a noble knight who could be easily discouraged.

  De Moray, however, was another matter. Stephan had first heard the rumors regarding the man’s reputation shortly after the knight had joined the tournament circuit; dark, evil implications that were difficult to ignore. But Stephan had never given much thought to the vicious gossip until this moment.

  After a brief pause, Stephan shook his head slowly. “I am afraid I cannot grant your request, my lord. If you will name your ransom, I shall be more than willing to pay.”

  Beneath the visor, Bose was not shocked by Stephan’s denial. But he was extremely disappointed. Struggling to keep an even manner, he raised his visor beneath the light of the radiant sun; rivers of sweat bathed his stubbled face as black eyes focused intently upon their bright green counterparts.

  “Instead of naming my ransom, I would make an additional request that will take the place of any monetary compensation. If you will not solicit your sister on my behalf, might I know the reasons behind your decision? Is there something I have done to offend you and am unaware of the occurrence?”

  The heralds were moving toward the two men to ascertain why they were still lingering on the field. If there was a dispute, the heralds would be required to settle it. Stephan eyed the men in the red and white tunics, attempting to formulate a quick reply before there were more ears upon them.

  “You have never offended me at any time, my lord, and I consider it a great honor that you have expressed interest in my sister,” he said rapidly, quietly. “But I must again refuse to divulge the reasonings behind my decision, as they are of a private nature.”

  Bose’s raven’s wing eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “I do not understand, Stephan. Is she already pledged?”

  The heralds were nearly upon them. Stephan turned to Bose during the last brief moment of privacy, his green eyes piercing. “She shall never be pledged. I would kindly ask that you dismiss her from your thoughts and seek your attentions with another. Leave my sister alone.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and marched from the arena. The crowd cheered weakly for the loser of the melee as Bose remained on the field, waving off the urgent queries of the heralds and entirely consumed with the gist of Stephan’s reply. As a noble knight, he should have respected the man’s wishes and simply ridden from the field without another thought to the lady. But as Stephan’s words settled deep, he found he was more confused than ever.

  His black eyes sought the lodges again, pensively; the lady was still smiling at him. God help him, he should have turned that moment to retreat from the arena. But the more he stared at her distant, lovely face, the more he realized that he was unwilling to accept Stephan’s answer. She shall never be pledged. Just what in the hell did that mean?

  Bose was a very private fighter, well removed from the adoration of the crowd and the praise of his admirers. He never participated in the parade of knights that usually commenced before the tournaments, instead, leaving the pomp and circumstance to those more willing to accept public accolades. Given his pattern, it was unusual for him to turn his charger in the direction of the lodges. His own men saw him advance toward the lodges, wondering if he had suddenly gone mad from a blow to the head and had forgotten which direction to take back to their tent. Other knights saw him as well, finding it extremely odd that Bose de Moray should bother himself with a female admirer. For as long as any of them had known the man, he showed little concern for anyone other than himself or his men.

  Summer could hardly believe that Bose was moving toward the lodges, his visor raised and his black eyes focused upon her. As he drew near, she found herself studying features that had eluded her until this moment; they were not as horrible as her brother had described them to be. She could see his eyes, as sharp and as black as a moonless night, emerging from beneath ruggedly arched brows. His partially obscured face was lined with sweat, his nose straight and true, his lips full and masculine.

  He moved closer and she was able to complete her assessment of his physical features; nay, he was clearly not as unattractive as Stephan had described him. He was terribly masculine in appearance, brutally handsome in a harsh sort of way. She rather liked looking at him.

  She was so involved with her observations that she was startled when he drew alongside the raised platform, the snorts of his charger jolting her from her train of thought. Black eyes fixed upon those of dark gold and, for a moment, neither one dared to break the spell. After a moment, Summer offered a timid smile. He smiled back.

  “Did you enjoy your first melee, my lady?” he asked politely. “As I have understood, it was your first.”

  Summer rose to her feet, her smile broadening. Before she could speak, however, Edward and Genisa thrust themselves forward, intercepting Summer’s reply.

  “She was terrified at first, my lord, but she calmed when you and Stephan battled for victory,” Genisa’s shrill, squeaking tone was irritating. “Congratulations on your win, although my husband undoubtedly feels otherwise.”

  Bose looked to the woman, pretty and flashy with big teeth and a sensual smile. But, already, her high-pitched voice annoyed the hell out of him.

  “In fact, he has already congratulated me on a fine match, Lady du Bonne,” he said respectfully. “But his younger brother, I am sure, feels otherwise. I sent Ian to the ground within the first minute or so.”

  “A magnificent defeat, my lord,” Edward agreed. “We’ve not yet met, but I am Edward du Bonne. I have heard a great deal ab
out you, as my sons’ most formidable nemesis.”

  Bose bowed his head slightly in thanks, his onyx eyes fairly glittering at Summer. “Where it is my pleasure to vex your sons, most assuredly, my intentions toward your daughter are precisely the opposite,” when Summer blushed profusely, he could not help but smile. “Might I have a word in private with her, my lord?”

  Edward’s smile faded and Bose caught the nervous glance he cast to his daughter. “I… that is to say, my daughter is a proper maiden, my lord. I am uncomfortable with your term ‘private’. Mayhap it would be best if you said your farewell at this time; undoubtedly, you are tired and wish to rest after your thrilling victory.”

  Sensing that Bose was focused on the baron, the crowd began to filter from the lodges to take in a bit of the merriment intended to accompany such an event. Jugglers, men who breathed fire, and other entertainers perused the grounds, vying for attention and coinage. Since the melee was over for the day and the joust would not commence until the morrow, there were a hundred other diversions to occupy the guests until the evening feast.

  But Bose ignored the throng as they vacated the stands, still focused on the baron and his evasive answer. Feeling his annoyance mount, since he had yet to be given a valid reason as to why he must steer clear of the lady’s company, he fixed the short, fat man with a heady stare.

  “When I used the word ‘private’, I simply meant to infer having a confidential conversation with my lady, not to whisk her into a darkened tent and have my way with her,” as Genisa gasped with the shock of his bold words, Bose drew in a deep breath and attempted to calm his irritation. “I assure you, my lord, I have no intention of vexing or molesting your daughter. A brief word is all I ask. You may stand where you are and observe the entire happenstance. In fact, I would encourage you to do so for your own peace of mind.”

  Edward’s gaze was unusually hard and unusually soft at the same time. He knew little of Bose de Moray other than what his sons had seen notable to mention, nearly all of their tales revolving around the man’s uncanny strength and knightly ability. Still, he was unsure and reluctant.

  “As well I appreciate your noble offer, I find I must decline yet again,” he said quietly. “We thank you for your query, sir knight, but my daughter is not interested.”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “N-Nay, he….”

  Summer’s budding reply was abruptly cut short by Genisa’s grating voice, overshadowing her sister-in-law’s attempt at speech.

  “I am afraid this day has been most taxing on Summer and myself,” she said quickly, grasping her sister-in-law firmly by the arm and practically dragging her toward the exit. “If you will excuse us, sir knight. My lord baron.”

  Bose watched, his black eyes glittering, as Genisa literally yanked Summer down the small flight of stairs leading from the lodges. Onyx-black orbs locked with those of dark gold and he could literally read the pain and sorrow within her shimmering eyes. Her expression, so recently lined with warmth and excitement at the sight of him, was drawn and taut and, he thought, bordering on tears.

  He watched her retreat until she disappeared from sight. When Summer had faded from view amongst the vendors and crowd, he returned his attention to the rotund baron. From soft black one moment to blazing embers the next, his gaze was anything but tolerant upon his host.

  “My lord,” he began, his baritone voice as steady as he could manage for the fury and confusion building in his heart. “I realize you do not know me; therefore, I do not fault your protectiveness where your daughter is concerned. But I am a noble knight with an established reputation, and believe me when I tell you that my intentions toward your daughter are entirely chivalrous.”

  Edward, normally weak-willed and fairly pliable to the desires of others, met his gaze with wavering courage. “You must understand, my lord, that I find no fault with you at all. In fact, your interest pleases me greatly. But Summer is… courting her is out of the question. I sincerely wish I could elaborate, but I cannot. ’Tis a private matter I prefer not to discuss with a stranger. Please obey my wishes and end your pursuit.”

  Bose emitted a harsh sigh, leaning forward on his saddle in a gesture of exhaustion and disbelief. “God’s Beard, I did not say anything about courting her. I merely wanted to speak with her.”

  “But why?”

  He looked at the man a moment before averting his gaze, staring off toward the rapidly approaching sunset. After a moment of deliberation, he waved his hand in a careless gesture. “I am without a lady to champion for this tournament. I merely wished to ask her for a favor.”

  Edward stared at the knight, shaking his head after a moment. “I am sorry,” he said softly, moving away from the dais and down the stairs before Bose could say another word.

  Bose remained before the empty lodges for quite some time afterward, wondering why on earth the House of du Bonne had refused to allow him to speak with the fair Lady Summer. First Stephan and now the father. Both of them reacting strangely toward the request, as if Bose had somehow demanded the maiden be allowed to bear him a son out of wedlock.

  The problem, however, was clear; he simply wasn’t good enough for her. She was far too beautiful for him, an aged widower with nothing by way of bloodlines or family ties to offer her. Of course that was the true reason; she was well beyond his grasp.

  With a heavy sigh, he turned his charger toward the edge of the field where his men were already collecting ransom from their humble prisoners. Once a ransom was paid, the man was free to go and prepare for the coming joust. Though the thought of money to be had usually pleased him, he realized that there was nothing to be pleased with this day.

  Victory or not, he shouldn’t have even come.

  *

  “Stop dragging me about, Genisa!” Summer snapped when the lodges were well out of sight. Yanking her arm free, she glared irritably at her sister-in-law. “Let go of me!”

  Genisa appeared properly contrite in the face of her husband’s angry sister. “I do apologize, Summer, but you are fully aware that I only have your best interests at heart. We had to leave before….”

  “B-Before I embarrassed everyone with my stammering speech,” Summer supplied harshly, humiliated and furious. Sighing heavily, she turned away and allowed her pouting gaze to rove the grounds. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to laugh as other maidens laugh, to encounter the thrill of her first beau, and to know all else that noble maidens usually experience. The fact that Genisa and her father had chased Sir Bose away as if she carried the plague cut a path of anguish deep into her heart; more than ever, the true reason behind their shielding actions was obvious and Summer found herself wanting to be away from her overbearing sister-in-law.

  Her voice was quiet but firm as she eyed her apprehensive sister-in-law. “Go away, Genisa. Please go away and leave me alone.”

  Genisa’s expression washed with genuine remorse. “Summer, I am truly sorry. But you know as well as I that… we must make sure you are kept silent and protected.”

  “Protected? Ha!” Summer snorted. “You mean properly hidden.”

  “Hidden?” Genisa repeated, sincerely confused. “Not hidden, Summer. Protected.”

  “Call it what you will, Genisa. Regardless of the term used, it means the same thing. Isolating me from the world.”

  “Not by choice,” Genisa’s voice was quiet. “There are those who simply do not understand your flaw.”

  Although Genisa had meant to describe her affliction and nothing more, Summer interpreted her statement as an insult. Cheeks flushing with shame, she whirled on her sister-in-law in a vicious billow of golden satin. “My flaw is that I cannot speak a sentence without f-faltering at times. Your flaw is that you talk too much and your voice grates upon my ears like the b-bray of an injured goat. Now tell me; whose flaw is greater?”

  Genisa gasped, her mouth opening with outrage. “How cruel you are. I was merely trying to protect you, Summer!”

  “Do not pr
otect me!” Summer practically screamed, oblivious to the curious glances upon the two shouting ladies. “I do not want your protection! In fact, I do not want you near me at all!”

  Genisa’s mouth gaped further, her cheeks mottling a hot red. “You ungrateful wench. How dare you spurn my concern!”

  Summer let out a strangled groan. “Concern for what others will think of your reputation with a sister-in-law who stutters,” when Genisa attempted to lodge a stern protest, Summer simply turned on her heel and marched in the opposite direction. “Go b-back to Stephan, Genisa. I do not need, nor do I want any more of your p-protection.”

  Genisa called to her and attempted to follow, but Summer gathered her skirts and dashed off as if the Devil himself were nipping at her heels. In and out of vendor shacks she ran, renting a wild path through the cluster of visitors in an attempt to elude her sister-in-law. She wanted to be free of the woman, if for no other reason than to compose her thoughts.

  By the time she entered the perimeter of tents housing opposing knights, Genisa’s shouts had faded and Summer slowed her pace, wiping the steady stream of tears from her cheeks. The day was waning as the sun set steadily in the western sky and high above, seagulls called loudly in their search for food.

  Summer ignored the gulls, the cooling sea breeze, and the distant roar of the crowd populating the vendor stalls and surrounding area. In spite of the clusters of unfamiliar tents, she knew the area well and realized, eventually, she would emerge onto the road leading to Chaldon. So she wandered, staring at the ground and going out of her way to avoid a knight or squire or servant within the field of the tightly clustered shelters.

  She did not want to speak with anyone. Nor did she particularly want to see anyone, given the fact that the only man she possessed a desire to see was probably lodged within the warm comfort of his tent, congratulating himself on a fine victory and putting her out of his mind.

  Toying with the ends of her hair absently, her expression molded into that of a permanent pout, she wandered to the base of a gnarled old oak and deposited herself at the roots. The pungent smells of roasting meat filled the air as the evening meal drew close, but Summer wasn’t hungry in the least. There wasn’t a food or drink in the world that could ease the ache she was experiencing at the moment. It was an ache that only intensified when she caught sight of the striking black and white tent in the near distance.