Duncan nodded slowly “Aye, my lord.”
Dag cocked an eyebrow. “Bose called the man vile and unscrupulous. Is he?”
Again, Duncan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
Grunting in acknowledgement, Dag returned his attention to the game board just as Henry captured his second knight. Dag growled in frustration. “An unfair move, Your Grace. I was improperly distracted.”
Henry smirked. “You are improperly skilled. Cease your moaning and accept your defeat as a true man would.”
Growling again, Dag reached for his chalice of wine. Taking a healthy swallow, he moved his bishop forward with casual flair. “Then tell me, Your Grace; what is it you plan to do for my cousin? I would wager to say he is in a good deal of trouble by now and in dire need of your immediate assistance.”
Henry nodded faintly, contemplating his next course of action. “I remember when I first met your cousin, Dag. The two of you were serving Hubert de Burgh shortly before he resigned his post as Chancellor. Whereas your cousin proceeded to swear fealty to me, you took your vows before the church. Do you remember?”
“I do,” Dag replied, pretending to be more interested in the game than the conversation at hand. In faith, however, he was very much concerned with the conversation; he had spoken of nothing else for the past two days. But try as he might, he could not convince Henry of the seriousness of the situation; apparently, the king believed Bose impervious to bad judgment or the prosecution of mere mortals.
With the added support of the red-haired knight’s stories, Henry was finally coming to grasp the seriousness of the situation and Dag thanked God for the unexpected appearance of the persistent Duncan Kerry. For certain, his prayers for an advocate to his cause had been answered and he continued to stress his point as non-threateningly as he could manage.
“I also recall how quickly Bose rose within the ranks, following in Uncle Garret’s footsteps. He was Captain of the Household Guard at the tender age of twenty-eight years and you relied upon him tremendously,” a bushy black eyebrow slowly lifted. “Surely his loyalty to you during that time has earned a measure of your Divine Grace?”
Henry sighed, moving a pawn and avoiding the question put to him. “I wish he were still with me, although his successor is a brilliant replacement,” he directed his statement to the tall blond knight lingering in the shadows. “You’ve long known my feelings, Olav. Bose was a friend.”
The silent knight with the sharp blue eyes nodded faintly. “He was my friend as well, Your Grace. When he left, I would have gone with him had you not convinced me otherwise.”
“You mean had I not threatened your very life,” Henry muttered, laughing softly when Olav’s agreed. “God’s Blood, the man took my finest knights with him when he departed; Morgan, Tate, Farl, Adgar. Even old Artur. I was rather fond of the aged bastard.”
Dag made a foolish move, purposely intended to end the game. “Uncle Artur is a unique soul. Christ, he shall probably outlive us all,” eyeing the king as the man countered the move, he pretended to study the board. “And he will most definitely outlive Bose if you do not do something to help him. Soon, I would suspect.”
Henry studied the game board as well, drumming his fingertips on the table. After a moment, he looked to Duncan, slightly calmer than he had been upon first entering the stuffy chamber. “When you left, Bose was still on the run?”
Duncan nodded swiftly. “Aye, Your Grace. That was four days ago and I have no way of knowing what has happened in that time.”
Henry returned his attention to the game as Dag foolishly left his queen unguarded. “Four days is a long time,” he said, easily capturing his opponent’s primary piece. “I do suppose I should ride to Dorset and absolve Bose of these charges, which, as I would understand, are not entirely righteous.”
“They are not, Your Grace,” Duncan said quickly, feeling his first genuine surge of hope in four days. “My brother coerced the lady’s father into breaking his word to Sir Bose. She belonged to de Moray first and certainly, if there is anyone to charge with thievery, it should be my brother. He is attempting to take what does not belong to him.”
Henry scratched his head wearily, motioning for the board and table to be taken away. When hovering servants cleared the debris, the king focused on Dag’s serious face. “Although Bose may have the church on his side for his legal marriage to the lady, it would seem that his foe has the law in his support. He holds the legal betrothal contract, not your cousin, and has every right to prosecute for stolen property.”
Dag knew this, nodding in agreement to the king’s assessment. “But if the situation is as Sir Duncan presents it, Breck Kerry isn’t interested in Summer personally. Simply the opportunity to gain vengeance against Bose by threatening what is most precious to him; his lady wife,” with a sigh, he scratched his stubbled scalp. “Mayhap an agreement could be reached between the two men; monetary compensation for the dissolution of all charges. Or land compensation of some sort for the loss of a promised bride.”
“Breck doesn’t want money or land, my lord,” Duncan interrupted softly. “He wants to destroy Bose by using the lady against him. He even told me that once he marries the lady, he shall simply do away with her because he has no real use for her. The only matter of import to my brother is defeating de Moray any way his is able. Since he cannot beat him upon the tournament field, he seeks to emotionally ruin him.”
Henry stared at him, his droopy eye a distracting element to his overall commanding aura. “Why would he do this? What crime has Bose committed against this man that would cause him to seek such horrific revenge?”
Duncan shrugged faintly. “In truth, I believe it to be nothing more than professional jealousy. Breck considered himself the best knight upon the tournament circuit until the appearance of Bose de Moray. Now, he is lucky to run a close second. Third, even. And he cannot stomach the constant humiliation.”
Henry pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking to Dag with equal seriousness. “’Twould seem that this situation deepens by the moment. Certainly your nagging requests that I ride to Bose’s aid did nothing to fully convey the seriousness of the circumstance.”
Dag cocked an eyebrow. “Fine, fine, so I nag like an old fishwife,” he grumbled, causing Henry to smile. “And you ignored me quite soundly. The more you disregarded my prattle, the more I was forced to nag.”
Henry snickered, moving to rise from his overstuffed chair. Duncan watched the king intently, a young man of twenty-eight years but wise beyond his age. Assuming the throne of England at the tender age of nine had the distinct ability to mature one too rapidly and Henry bore the characteristics of his premature development. His movements, his manners, were of an older, more experienced man.
“Although I can hardly spare the time to make the journey to Dorset, I shall endeavor to do so for Bose’s sake,” glancing to Olav still lodged against the wall, he issued his orders with the confidence of a man who had been giving commands for most of his life. “Prepare an escort immediately. I want a full complement of knights and soldiers assembled in the bailey within the hour.”
“Shall I prepare a royal coach, Your Grace?”
Henry shook his head. “I shall ride. Ready my steed.”
Olav bowed swiftly and was gone, leaving Dag and Duncan to sigh with relief. Two men who had never met until this moment, both in support of the same cause, were about to see the results of their determination and the thanks upon their weary lips ran far too deep for words. When Henry turned away from the two men and began to converse quietly with one of his advisors, Dag rose from his chair and faced an exhausted, but hopeful, Duncan.
Duncan openly studied the massive man, noting his ecclesiastical robes for the first time. He gestured toward the coarse woolen garment.
“Forgive me, Father. I did not know you were of the cloth and have addressed you improperly during the course of our conversation.”
Dag shrugged faintly. “Do you think I shave my head in this fa
shion because I like it?” When Duncan grinned, Dag took a moment to scrutinize the knight more closely. “So you are Asa Kerry’s youngest son? I knew your father once, very well.”
Duncan nodded briefly. “As I have understood. My father was very proud of his service to de Burgh.”
Dag smiled in remembrance. “We were all proud to have served the mighty chancellor to three kings. My calling, however, eventually took me to a higher court,” he cocked an eyebrow at the younger Kerry brother, studying the man who resembled his strawberry-haired sire a great deal. “So tell me, Duncan Kerry; did you come of your own accord to seek Henry’s help for my cousin or did someone send you?”
“The lady’s brother, Sir Stephan du Bonne, asked that I come,” Duncan replied steadily. “But I was more than willing, considering my brother has caused this chaos.”
A bit more informed as to the young knight’s appearance, Dag cast a long glance at the king. “I never thought he would go to Bose personally. I knew he would send a missive granting the man absolution, but I never truly believed he would personally ride to my cousin’s assistance.”
Duncan had always been in awe of the dark and mysterious Bose de Moray. But knowing that he had royal power at his command somehow validated the myth of the legendary Gorgon.
“The king obviously thinks a good deal of Sir Bose,” Duncan said, scratching his arm where the too-small uniform chaffed him. “I had no idea de Moray held such power. I am positive my brother was unaware as well, for surely, he would not have moved against him as he has done.”
Dag looked to the young knight once again, his black eyes appraising. “I do not even know your brother and already I am made aware of his foolishness. Pray that he has not harmed my cousin in our absence, for certainly, Henry’s wrath shall be swift.”
Duncan sighed heavily, watching as a roomful of men and counselors suddenly moved about with a sense of purpose as the king’s travel plans were announced. “He deserves whatever Henry delivers, Father,” he said softly. “I hold no pity for him.”
Dag stared at the youthful knight. “Nor do I, lad,” he rumbled slowly. “Nor do I.”
*
The grand hall of Chaldon was eerily silent considering the crowd of nervous people sitting in residence. The sun was preparing to set on the sixth day of Bose’s confinement, the soft tendrils of orange light caressing the stone walls as the last rays of illumination faded into night.
Lord Bruce Eggardon sat on the dais usually occupied by the mighty du Bonne family, his chin resting wearily in his large hand. Once a proud warrior, years of declining health had taken their toll on the once-powerful man. His blond hair was yellowed with age, his faded green eyes lined with fatigue as his sharp gaze raked the room and surroundings. And most interesting surroundings they were.
The du Bonne party sat on the right side of the room; three brothers, the eldest brother’s wife, and the very reason for the proceedings seated in the center of the group clad in a lovely pink surcoat. A beautiful girl, the Lady Summer, as Bruce had noted upon his arrival not an hour earlier. Being Edward du Bonne’s liege, he’d never known the man had a daughter and as the details of the situation were again relayed to refresh his memory, he could recall thinking that Bose de Moray wasn’t such a fool after all. In his opinion, the lady was well worth the risk.
Opinion or not, however, the fact remained that Breck Kerry was intent to bring very serious charges against Sir Bose. De Moray’s men sat with the du Bonne siblings, massive men with grim faces who seemed as protective of the young lady as her brothers. And the Kerry Clan, joined oddly enough by Edward du Bonne, sat to the extreme left of the room. As if an invisible barrier divided the two opposing sides with razor-sharp intensity, Bruce was eager to be done with the unpleasantness.
Tearing his gaze away from the du Bonne and de Moray party, the Marquis of Cerne looked to his vassal, Baron Lulworth, and motioned the man forward with a flick of his wrist.
“Are we prepared to begin?” he demanded quietly. “I made it clear that I would not tolerate any delays. If you want the man tried, let’s get on with it.”
Edward nodded quickly. “He’s being brought from the vault as we speak, my lord. We are quite prepared to commence.”
Bruce nodded impatiently, accepting a chalice offered to him by his manservant. Smacking his lips as he swallowed the fortifying ale, his attention was diverted by the sounds of armor and distant voices. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lady de Moray rising to her feet and Bruce was aware the appearance of her husband was at hand.
Among the approaching red and white clad soldiers, a massive black-haired prisoner came into view dressed in simple breeches and tunic. Forbidden access to his armor, the enormous warrior appeared uncomfortable without it.
Nonetheless, the prisoner assumed his place respectfully before the Marquis of Cerne, his black eyes focused on the man who would preside over his trial. Breck Kerry stood several feet from the man accused of stealing his betrothed, his pimpled face taut with emotion as Bruce faced the two opposing factions with veiled impatience. In spite of his fatigue and failing health, the Marquess’ voice was steady.
“Announce yourselves to me.”
Breck was the first to speak. “Sir Breck Kerry, Lord of Crestwood. This man is accused of stealing my bride.”
Bose’s reply was even. “I am Sir Bose de Moray, my lord. The lady I married was betrothed to me before her contract to Kerry was established.”
Bruce’s gaze moved between the two men; he had met Breck upon his arrival to Chaldon, a high-strung knight with an unruly mouth. But he had yet to meet de Moray, the accused, and his first impression of the man was one of calm and control. His interest was directed towards the prisoner.
“You are de Moray?” he asked.
“Aye, my lord.”
“The one they call the Gorgon?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Why do they call you this?”
“Because I fly the Gorgon banner.”
“I will again ask why.”
Bose sighed faintly, although no one could hear him. Still, there was some hesitance in his manner. “Because the Gorgon is a fearsome female demon from mythology,” he said. “To me, it represents my former mother in law. You see, my lord, the time when I was beginning my career on the tournament circuit was a particularly vicious period in my association with the woman. My wife had just died in childbirth and Margot blamed me for her death. So I commissioned the Gorgon banner to represent her, as the one who made every attempt to ruin my life. She is still trying. The banner was meant as an insult but it has become my symbol.”
“You draw inspiration from such a thing?”
“It reminds me daily to defeat the obstacles that have been given me.”
In just those few sentences, Eggardon could see that the prisoner was sane and strong. Oddly, he was impressed by the man. After a moment, he gestured weakly.
“I will hear your side of this, Sir Bose.” It was a polite command.
In spite of having spent the past six days in the dungeon, Bose was remarkably groomed and composed. Thanks to his new brothers-in-law, one of whom had remained constantly by his side as he awaited trial within the bowels of Chaldon, he had been provided with a good deal of comfort and luxuries – clean clothes, a fine bed, and his wife’s constant presence. The only reason Bose hadn’t asked for Summer’s permanent company was because he could hardly stand to see her within the moss-ridden walls as it was. Every time she left him, her sneezes threatened to overcome her and his guilt was great for forcing her to endure his terrible conditions.
During this time, Bose had been informed of the entire circumstance regarding Margot’s influence on Edward’s change of heart and in truth, he wasn’t surprised. There wasn’t anything his mother-in-law would not do to wreak havoc upon him and he did not even find it remarkable that, somehow, she had aligned herself with Breck Kerry. A good deal became clear regarding the motives behind Edward’s change
of mind as Bose came to realize Margot’s involvement.
But that did not matter to him anymore. Nothing mattered any longer but the love of his new wife. Facing Lord Bruce, he found that he was eager to be done with the idiocy at hand.
“’Tis very simple, my lord,” his baritone voice was even. “I was given verbal permission to marry the lady in the presence of a witness. Before I was able to put the betrothal to paper, Breck Kerry used lies and coercion to convince Lord Edward to change his mind. Even though Breck possesses a written betrothal, it is invalid because the lady was already betrothed to me at the time. Claiming my right, I proceeded to marry her.”
Bruce sighed faintly, mulling over the concise explanation. “You are saying, in fact, that Breck’s written permission was given after your verbal sanction?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And you have a witness that will attest to this?”
“Aye, my lord. Sir Ian du Bonne will testify on my behalf.”
Seated beside Summer, Ian immediately rose in support of Bose’s claim but Lord Bruce gestured him to remain seated for the moment. Currently, he was involved in the meat of the prisoner’s deposition and continued to focus on the massive knight.
“Even if this is true, Sir Bose, you realize that a written contract is far more binding than a verbal pledge.”
Bose’s expression did not waiver. “Lord Edward gave his word. I consider that as valid as any written pledge.”
Bruce pondered the steady answer. “But if you did not have your witness, it would simply be your word against Lord Edward if he denies having given permission. Who is to say that the tale of a verbal sanction wasn’t something you and your alleged witness invented simply to support your claim to an illegal marriage?”
The thought had never occurred to Bose. For the first time, he tore his gaze away from the Marquis and focused on Edward, seated next to Margot on an overstuffed chair. “Has the baron, in fact, denied giving me his sanction, my lord?”
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