Bruce looked to Edward as well, expecting an answer from the pale, overweight man. Edward, sensing that he had become the focus of attention, shifted uncomfortably in his chair and Bose was not overly astonished when Margot whispered in the man’s ear encouragingly. In truth, nothing the woman did surprised him any longer.
“My lord,” Edward cleared his throat, his gaze shifty as he struggled not to look at his disgusted, angered sons. “As I indicated upon your arrival, I was quite drunk on the night in question. Sir Bose… well, he says I gave permission. And so does my son Ian. But, quite simply, I cannot remember for certain what, in fact, happened.”
Sighs of disbelief and concern arose among the listening gallery, including a loud gasp from Summer herself. Ian, his face taut with fury, rose to his feet once more and faced his father across the dimly-lit room.
“I was there, Father,” his teeth were clenched. “You most certainly gave your permission for Bose to marry my sister.”
Edward’s expression was filled with desperation. Clearly, he felt as if he were arguing with an enemy and not a man whom he had sired. “So you say, Ian, but I was drunk that eve and… truthfully, I can recall very little. I do not know if….”
“Then you are accusing me of lying on Bose’s behalf?”
“I did not say…!”
Ian let out a sharp hiss. “For the love of God, Father, have the decency to admit that you verbally pledged Summer to Bose. For once in your life, show your daughter a measure of fatherly support and concern. Admit that you betrothed her to Sir Bose.”
Edward, breathing heavily with emotion, was genuinely distraught. “Ian… I cannot! I cannot recall…!”
Ian abruptly turned away from his father. Focusing on Lord Bruce, he endeavored to keep his manner controlled in the face of his father’s treachery.
“My lord, I fear that my father is under the influence of Sir Breck and the elderly lady seated by his side, both of whom are determined to see Sir Bose and my sister meet with ruin,” he said with control. “Upon the Holy Bible, I swear that my father sealed a verbal betrothal between Sir Bose and my sister well before his contract with Breck Kerry.”
Bruce eyed the largest du Bonne brother, inclined to believe the young man’s sincere statement. But the fact remained that Edward was apparently intent to deny he had ever give Bose verbal permission to wed his daughter. The betrayal and confusion deepened.
“Please take your seat, sir knight,” he quietly bade Ian to sit, who did so with comforting assistance from his sister. In fact, Ian seemed more disturbed than the lady at the moment and Bruce watched the two siblings comfort one another before returning his attention to Bose.
After a lengthy lull, he sighed heavily. “Sir Bose,” he began quietly. “Do you see the dilemma I am faced with? ’Tis your word and Sir Ian’s word against Baron Lulworth’s. Obviously, by the code of ethics and standards, I am forced to believe Lord Edward over the two of you because of his elevated station.”
For the first time since the trial began, Bose emitted a heartfelt sigh of despair. Edward’s denial was an element he had not expected, but one he should have been prepared for nonetheless. With Margot feeding her venom deep into the man’s soul, there was no limit to the betrayal involved. Margot must have convinced Edward to disavow any knowledge of his permission to further bolster Breck’s cause.
In spite of the unwelcome fabrication, his tone was characteristically steady. “Be that as it may, my lord, I have nonetheless married his daughter. And not even you have the power to dissolve our union regardless of the charges or circumstances against me.”
It wasn’t an arrogant declaration, simply a statement of facts. Lord Bruce was experiencing more fatigue by the moment as he removed his gaze from Bose, focusing his attention on Breck. Immediately, his manner seemed to harden.
“And you? What do you have to say to all of this?”
Breck, smug and vile, drew in a deep breath before commencing his testimony. “My statement of the situation will be simple as well, my lord. Whether or not Sir Bose has the church or witnesses to support his cause, the fact remains that I alone hold the legal documentation that gives the Lady Summer to me. A legal document that permits me to charge Sir Bose with stealing my intended bride. In short, the man is a thief and I want him properly punished.”
Bruce’s expression was critical. “And are you aware of the punishment if he is found guilty?”
Breck nodded confidently. “Death, my lord.”
Between Stephan and Ian, Summer whimpered softly as the tears she had been struggling to control suddenly spilled forth. Immediately, her brothers turned to comfort her, sensing the trial was heading for the worst possible verdict. The three brothers were praying feverishly for the appearance of Duncan Kerry, bearing a missive of absolution from Henry himself. For certain, it seemed as if the arrival of the youngest Kerry brother was their only surviving hope and they clung to their faith desperately.
Bruce was well aware of the emotional turmoil within the du Bonne encampment but his gaze remained focused on Breck. For lack of support toward de Moray’s claim, he truly had no other choice but to agree with Breck’s assessment of the situation; according to the law, Bose had indeed stolen what did not belong to him and by all accounts had to be punished. But Bruce would not make that final decision before he had viewed the very document upon which a man’s very life hinged.
“Show me this contract,” he muttered. “I would see it for myself before we continue.”
Breck immediately gestured to a Kerry servant, who fled the hall. Meanwhile, the trial was on hold and Bose turned to Summer; lodged between her protective brothers and surrounded by his own knights, she seemed terribly vulnerable and amply shielded all at the same time. Without asking permission, he went to his wife.
Artur was holding her hand as he approached, attempting to calm her fears. But the comfort of seven men and her sympathetic sister-in-law could not compare to the loving arms of her husband and Summer threw herself against Bose, weeping uncontrollably into his soft linen tunic. Massive, warm arms calmed and weakened her at the same time.
“Calm yourself, love,” he crooned, his voice hoarse. “’Tis merely argument at this point. Nothing has been proven or decided.”
She sobbed against his chest. “B-But m-my father s-says he… h-h-he did not….”
He shushed her gently, kissing the top of her head and glancing to the faithful men surrounding them; grim, emotional, torn expressions met with his even gaze and he found himself growing more despondent by the moment. He could not stand seeing his defeat in their eyes.
“I am sorry about my father, Bose,” Ian’s voice was faint with emotion. “I truly had no idea he would deny all recollection of his sanction.”
Bose shrugged faintly, cradling his hysterical wife. “It matters not in the overall scheme. But I certainly wish Duncan would return from London soon; it would appear that time is becoming of the essence.”
Wiping at her eyes, Summer looked up to her husband’s rugged, scarred face. “H-He shall be here. He promised S-Stephan he would return with Henry’s absolution.”
Bose smiled encouragingly. “And he shall, love, he shall. But he had better hurry or I fear we shall be on the run once again.”
Genisa, in tears beside her husband, touched his arm gently. “Should it come to that, you can steal away on one of my father’s merchant vessels. They travel all over the world and Breck could never find you.”
She had meant the suggestion seriously and Bose smiled warmly at her. “I thank you, my lady. Your offer shall be seriously considered if Duncan Kerry doesn’t come through that door within the next few minutes.”
A strong hand gripped his arm and he turned to Morgan’s grim face. “We are all with you, Bose, wherever you go. You know that.”
Bose’s smile faded. “Aye, Morgan, I know that,” his gaze was steady upon the man who had taken a severe beating on his lord’s behalf. “Ever my loyal friends through
good times and through bad, though it seems as of late we are mostly meeting with bad.”
“You’re cursed,” Farl’s bushy mustache twitched with humor, sending the small group into light laughter, including Summer.
As the mood lightened somewhat, Tate suddenly caught movement from the massive doorway leading into the grand hall and he nudged Morgan, who diverted his attention to see what was happening. As his expression slackened, the entire group turned to the commotion going on in the massive foyer beyond the gallery entrance.
No one was more riveted to the activity than Bose. His black eyes were sharp, his expression steady, when suddenly his features appeared to slacken. Blinking with disbelief, he released his wife and took a step in the direction of his focus as if hardly believing what he was seeing.
“God’s Beard… Olav? Olav Swenholm?” he could not stop himself from pointing to the cluster of vaguely familiar knights populating the wide entry hall. “Morgan, do you see him? Isn’t that Olav?”
Morgan looked equally stunned, but his shock did not prevent a shadow of a smile from creasing his lips, growing bolder by the moment.
“Aye, I see him, and several others I recognize,” turning to Bose, he suddenly erupted with triumphant laughter. “I believe our prayers have been answered, Bose, and none too soon. Duncan has returned and he’s brought the entire company of Household Guards with him. God’s Blood, man, you are saved!”
Saved wasn’t the term Bose had in mind to describe the younger Kerry brother’s timely, if not astonishingly accurate, appearance. Miracle would have better served the situation. The man sent to seek royal aid had apparently arrived.
And the armies of Heaven were with him.
Chapter Twenty
From despair one moment to joy the next, the entire group of de Moray and du Bonne knights were awash with smiles of relief as several knights clad in the crimson and gold of the royal house poured into the grand hall. The noise of their armor pierced the air as the presence of powerful men filled the musty room.
“Are those truly Henry’s men?” Summer was still clinging to her husband’s massive arm, her eyes wide with amazement.
Bose made eye-contact with Olav and, once again, a rare smile crossed his face. “Indeed they are, my love,” he gripped her hand tightly as the room filled with warriors in gleaming protection and well-clad royal men-at-arms.
Olav passed before Lord Bruce with nary a glance to the astonished magistrate; the knight’s attention was focused on his former captain. Immediately, he extended a gauntleted hand in greeting.
“My lord de Moray,” he said with true warmth. “We came as soon as we were able. A crazy priest, claiming relation to you, came spouting tales of your criminal activities and we thought it wise to heed his wild stories. Was he wrong?”
Bose maintained his smile, returning the man’s affable greeting. As the gist of Olav’s declaration sank deep, he slowly shook his head.
“Dag,” he muttered as if the revelation did not overly astound him. “So my cousin rode to London, did he? I wondered why he did not see my wife and me off from Salisbury.”
“Most likely because he was determined to save your life,” Olav was grinning. “He spent two days in London pleading your case to Henry before our king grew weary of the man’s ramblings and agreed to intervene if only to shut him up. We could not convince Dag to come to Dorset, though. His priestly duties forced him to return to Salisbury, but he demanded we inform him of the outcome of your trial. In fact, I would assume that is the situation at hand?”
Bose nodded. “You’ve arrived just in time. Another hour and you might have found me in pieces.”
“You came,” Summer could not keep the awe from her voice as she spoke to the knight she had not yet been introduced to. “You truly came!”
Olav directed his smile to her, bowing in a graceful gesture. “For Sir Bose, there is nothing we would not do,” he continued to scrutinize her closely, politely. “The Lady de Moray, I am to assume?”
“Astute as always, my friend,” Bose muttered drolly, clutching Summer’s hand tightly. “The very reason I am facing the block.”
Olav cocked an eyebrow, his eyes lingering on Summer in an appraising manner a moment longer. “Well worth the gamble, my lord,” behind the lady, familiar faces caught his attention and he found himself gazing into the pleasant expressions of men he had known very well, long ago. His eyes glittered with warmth. “God’s Blood, is that motley crew still hanging about? Morgan, I thought you would be dead by now.”
Morgan grinned. “I shall live to dance on your grave, Olav.”
Olav snorted, preparing to insult his former squire, Tate, when more commotion at the entrance to the hall captured his attention. Small and wiry amongst the large armored knights surrounding him, Henry III entered the room in his usual aloof manner, ignoring the vassals and servants who immediately dropped to their knees before him in startled reverence.
Bose’s eyes glittered as he studied the man intently. “God’s Beard,” he breathed, his surprise evident. “He came.”
Olav watched the king emerge into the smoky chamber. “You were his favorite knight, Bose. Do you truly believe he would stay away during this time of crisis?”
Bose shook his head feebly, unsure how to answer, when Olav gestured the man forward. “Come along,” he said quietly. “Our king has ridden all the way from London and is anxious to see you.”
Bose did not release Summer as he followed the knight who held his former position. Pulled toward the small man lingering in the center of the room, Summer could scarcely believe her eyes; not only had Duncan returned, but he had returned with the king himself and she fought to control her shock as Bose guided her close to the king.
A king who was focused on Bose as if witnessing the return of an old, dear friend. His young face creased with a genuine smile as the massive knight and his lady fair bowed respectfully before him.
“Stand and face me, Bose,” he said benevolently, his eyes reacquainting himself with the man who had once been his friend and Household Captain. “I see that we have arrived just in time to prevent your untimely demise.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” Bose’s baritone voice was warm. “I did not expect to be fortunate enough to warrant your appearance.”
A reddish-blond eyebrow rose. “And why not? You seem to have involved yourself in a serious situation and I am apparently the only person capable of saving you,” tearing his gaze away from Bose, he focused on the red-cheeked lady by his side. “Your wife, I presume?”
Bose nodded, presenting Summer to the king. “The Lady Summer du Bonne de Moray, Your Grace.”
Summer bowed again, her knees shaking so terribly that she was afraid she would collapse. But she managed to right herself somewhat steadily, keeping her eyes properly lowered in the presence of young Henry.
He studied her carefully for a moment. “Very fine, Bose,” turning away, he seemed distracted and fatigued by the circumstance and was eager to move forward. “All pleasantries aside, tell me who is presiding over your trial?”
Bose gestured toward Lord Bruce. “The Marquis of Cerne, Your Grace, the Lord Bruce Eggardon. He has been impartial so far.”
Henry moved purposefully to Lord Bruce who, caught completely off-guard by the king’s unexpected appearance, folded himself in a proper bow. When the marquis met the king’s intense gaze, the older man’s upper lip was slick with perspiration.
“Your Grace, we are… honored by your presence,” he stammered.
Henry regarded him silently, once again turning to Bose. “And who is this man that would accuse you of stealing his bride?”
Bose tilted his head in Breck’s direction. “That man. Sir Breck Kerry.”
Summer had never seen anything but arrogance and determination on Breck’s ugly features. At this moment, however, he looked terrified as the King of England brought him to focus. Pale and agitated, he bowed swiftly for the monarch’s benefit.
Henry�
��s expression was hard on the red-haired knight. “Approach me.”
Like an obedient dog, Breck did as he was told. Standing before the king, he could feel the angry stares of the silent household knights surrounding them. He kept his gaze lowered as the king spoke.
“You have brought charges against the former captain of my Household Guard,” Henry’s voice was controlled. “By what right do you make these slanderous claims?”
Breck swallowed, his usually cocky demeanor vanished. “His wife is betrothed to me, Your Grace,” he said hoarsely. “She was to be mine before….”
“She was pledged to Bose before you convinced her father to break his word and betroth her to you,” Henry motioned to a group of men standing off to his right. A few of the royal advisors shifted, moved aside, to reveal a tall young man with golden red hair within their midst.
Breck’s eyes widened at the sight of his brother. “Duncan!”
The youngest Kerry brother nodded coolly. “I have told him everything, Breck,” he said quietly. “He knows of your evil plans. He knows the only reason you solicited a betrothal for the lady was to seek vengeance on Sir Bose, and he further knows that the only reason you are going forward with this foolish trial is to see de Moray completely destroyed.”
Breck’s jaw went slack with astonishment, his composure completely destroyed with the realization of his brother’s apparent treachery. “You… you are my brother, for God’s sake. How could you turn against me like this?”
“Because you are wrong,” Duncan said, no longer fearing his brother’s retribution. “The Kerry name used to stand for strength and respect years ago, before you received your spurs and began to destroy the family reputation. Father and grandfather spent their lives establishing a powerful honor which you have endeavored to shatter. I am ashamed of you and I’ll not tolerate your corruption any longer. For the sake of our heritage, I cannot.”
Breck stared at him. “So you would betray me simply because you do not agree with my ideals?”
Medieval Romantic Legends Page 34
