“I realize that,” he exhaled slowly. “But still… it happened so fast. I simply cannot understand why she would do this; Margot was vicious and mad, but she was never suicidal. Did she truly believe I would not defend my wife against her attack?”
Tate returned with the linen for Summer’s arm, confiscated from a jittery house servant. “Mayhap she had hoped you would not. You’ve always allowed her to physically demonstrate her rage without fear of discipline.”
Morgan accepted the bandages. “She has always abused you, Bose, and you’ve let her simply because you accepted the abuse as your punishment for Lora’s death. Margot was accustomed to your acceptance of her brutality. God’s Blood, had it been me, I would have done away with the bitch long ago.”
“And my acceptance of her violence led to her own death,” Bose’s bass voice was hardly audible. “She accused me of being a murderer. I suppose she was right. I murdered her.”
Summer winced as Morgan tended her arm, drawing a sympathetic kiss from her husband. “You did not murder her, Bose,” she whispered, closing her eyes to his lips against her forehead. “She was trying to k-kill me and you were merely defending your wife. It was an act of self-defense.”
He kissed her again, emitting a quaking sigh. “God’s Beard, I cannot fathom the twists and turns this day has brought. First Henry’s arrival, then Breck’s imprisonment, and finally Margot’s attack… I can scarcely believe all of it.”
“Believe it,” Henry entered the conversation, having stood by in stunned silence since the event of Margot’s violent endeavor. Looking from the crumpled body of the old woman to the injured Lord and Lady de Moray, he simply shook his head.
“Had someone relayed this story to me, I would have accused them of fabrication,” he said what they were all thinking. “The events are too shocking to comprehend, Bose.”
Bose nodded his head faintly. “Entirely, Your Grace.”
He found himself looking to Margot’s body once more, shaking his head with disbelief as he focused on the brutal woman who had been his first wife’s mother. Henry, sensing the knight’s internal conflict, was aware that Bose and his wife required a measure of peace and quiet to recover their composure.
After a moment, he placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of the man who had once been his mightiest warrior. His expression was kind as he focused on the bloodied knight and his pale-faced lady.
“It’s all over with now,” he said quietly. “We can thank God for the happening of events that have brought about this ending. I was glad to be of assistance.”
Bose nodded faintly, a weak smile on his lips. “As am I, Your Grace,” he said softly, feeling Summer’s warmth against him. Glancing to her lovely, ashen face, his smile turned genuine. “Certainly, I have everything I want. No matter if I had to dance with the Devil to gain my ends, I find that in spite of the trials I had to face, the results are well worth the effort.”
Henry acknowledged his statement with a vague smile, turning to his hovering advisors and demanding portions of food and ale to help him recover his wits and strength. As the king moved away and the observers of the trial, including Lord Bruce, found it necessary to disburse themselves in light of the final events, Bose turned to those around him with the utmost wonder and awe.
“It is truly over,” he murmured, watching Artur as the little man moved to Margot’s body and kick it as if to rouse the corpse. “God’s Beard, it seems impossible that the situation is over and we have emerged victorious.”
Stephan, with Genisa under his arm, moved forward and slapped his new brother-in-law on the back. “Indeed you have,” he said, his tone light as the delight of the emerging future took place. “You have wed my sister and acquired three very protective, very meddlesome brothers. I would hardly call the acquisition of your wife’s siblings a victory.”
Bose smile grew. “At least you’ll not have to come and live with me,” glancing toward the edge of the room where Edward continued to sit in dazed silence, he nodded his head in the direction of the muddled baron. “What of your father? What will you do with him?”
Stephan looked to the fat, pallid man, the warmth in his expression fading. “He is still the baron,” he said quietly. “I could petition Henry to become guardian of the baronetcy, but for now I believe I’ll simply bide my time and see what the future holds. My father cannot live forever.”
Exhausted and nearly ill with the events of the day, Summer leaned heavily on her equally pummeled husband. “T-Thank God for that,” she murmured, feeling wicked for anticipating her father’s demise. But for all that he had put her through, she could hardly forgive him. Turning to her husband, she met his gaze. “I wish to go home, husband. To Ravendark. I have had enough of Chaldon for this day.”
Bose smiled faintly. “As you wish, my lady. I am eager to introduce you to your new residence.”
She returned his smile, weary though it might be. “As I am eager to see it,” abruptly, she looked concerned. “And we must not forget to collect Antony before we go. He’d never forgive us for leaving him behind a second time.”
Bose’s eyebrow rose in feigned horror. “God be merciful. We most certainly must not forget the very beast that brought us together.”
“Even if I plan to share our bed with him?”
“We’ve already had this discussion and I have made my demands quite clear. I have shared one wife with him but I’ll not share the other.”
“I-I realize your feelings on the matter, darling. Now tell me; where would you prefer him, at the head or at the foot?”
He sighed. “The foot.”
Bose’s knights were already in action, moving to quit the hall and intending to prepare for their liege’s departure. Lance and Ian kissed their sister in turn, bidding her a particularly meaningful farewell with the promise for a future visit to her new home. Only Stephan lingered, his wife cradled against him, gazing at his sister as if he were seeing an entirely different woman.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked her gently. “With everything that has happened, are you well?”
Summer removed herself from Bose’s arms long enough to embrace her beloved eldest brother. Aside from Antony’s aid, the man without whose assistance her relationship with Bose could not have occurred.
“I am f-fine, Stephan,” she murmured, embracing Genisa tightly before returning to her husband’s massive arms. “Thanks to both of you for your aid and encouragement. Bose and I are ever grateful.”
The sun was nearly set upon the Dorset coast as the House of du Bonne and the House of de Moray parted company. As a soft sea wind stirred the cooling night air, the mood settling upon the Dorset and Wiltshire populace alike was one of hope, of joy, of a positive destiny.
No stronger faith and joy was felt than within the tight group of the Gorgon and his loyal men. Upon their arrival to Chaldon less than ten days ago, there was not one person among them that could have predicted the course of the next week and a half. The jaunt to Lance du Bonne’s tournament had been a most successful endeavor for all concerned, and a most victorious venture for one.
The Gorgon, indeed, had triumphed.
Epilogue
Early March, Year of Our Lord 1236
“Do we tell him now or wait until he discovers for himself?”
Tate and Morgan stood at the entrance to Ravendark’s massive keep, eyeing their liege as the man rode in beneath the raised portcullis. The bailey was awash with activity, man and servant alike greeting their returned lord from his three day visit to Chaldon Castle following Edward du Bonne’s death. The new Baron Lulworth, Stephan du Bonne, had been most grateful for his brother-in-law’s wisdom and presence in a time of change.
It was a calming presence that nearly made up for the absence of the new baron’s very pregnant sister. Even though she had three weeks yet to go, as Stephan’s very own wife had another two long months, Lady de Moray’s husband had forbade her to travel, even to her father’s funeral. In
her stead, Bose had attended the mass and mourned as he properly should. But his heart wasn’t supportive of his actions. Simply his duty, as required of a good husband.
Not that Lady de Moray was particularly eager to attend her father’s funeral. The past nine months had seen little progress in mending the father-daughter relationship that had been so damaged by the episode with Breck Kerry. Summer doubted that she could ever forgive her father for his treacherous actions. But for the sake of family harmony, she had tried. She was still trying.
But it was a new life she sought, a new life far away from her father and the horror of his doings. The memories of the first few days of her marriage had mercifully faded as Summer rapidly settled into her new role as Lady de Moray with delight. Bose, too had settled in to being a husband again, incredibly at peace with his beloved second wife. But his peace was short-lived; shortly after they had set up house in Ravendark, Summer announced her pregnancy.
It had been the longest eight months of Bose’s life. His greatest fear had become reality and for the first few weeks of Summer’s pregnancy, he was literally beside himself with panic. He knew his wife was aware of his terror, a terror that kept him awake at night, watching her sleep with tears in his eyes. But he kept his apprehension well-hidden, instead, finding delight in the kicking movements of his child or lending sympathy to a wife who seemed to cry with the change of the hour. All of this kept him distracted from the true panic that lay ahead; the birth of his first child.
A panic his knights refrained from mentioning because Bose was far more easily disturbed these days and they struggled to maintain a calm, even atmosphere in his presence. The subject of childbirth was off-limits in conversation, although it was difficult not to broach the subject naturally when Lady de Moray began to speak of her plans for the child.
A child that was apparently unwilling to wait for his designated time to be born. On this day as Morgan and Tate watched Bose casually dismount his charcoal steed, they began to nudge each other encouragingly.
“Go ahead, Morgan. You’ve known him longer than any of us. ’Tis your duty to tell him.”
Morgan jabbed the younger knight with his armored elbow. “You can run faster than I can. Tell him quickly and run for your life.”
A bushy red mustache joined the conversation; Farl strolled up beside the two twitching knights, having been on the battlements when his lord arrived home. His faded green eyes focused on the distant warrior. “Well? Morgan, we’ve agreed that you would tell him. You’d better do it before some fool inadvertently spills the truth.”
Morgan sighed, watching his liege approach. The closer the man loomed, the more anxious the knights became.
“I do not know why we are acting as if something terrible has happened,” he grumbled, though he knew very well the reason. “The child is fine, as is the mother. Moreover, it was Lady de Moray’s demand that we not send word of the birth for fear that Bose would kill himself in his desperate attempt to reach home. Look at him,” he gestured to his unconcerned liege as the man lifted his visor, his black eyes glittering at the three huddled knights. “He looks entirely calm. Pity I am going to have to destroy his state.”
Farl cleared his throat loudly, turning to leave. “I have duties, gentle knights. Good day to you.”
“If you leave, McCorkle, I’ll tell Bose it was your idea to withhold sending word of his child’s arrival,” Morgan did not look to the knight as the man stopped in his tracks, groaning softly in protest. But he obeyed nonetheless, resuming his stance beside Tate. As Bose drew closer, the knights seemed to visibly shrink.
“I see that three days has seen nothing changed within my fortress,” Bose said, removing his helm and scratching at his sweating scalp. “Is there anything to report?”
Farl coughed loudly, Tate pretended not to understand the question, while only Morgan seemed able to maintain his composure. But it was a desperately fought battle.
“Welcome home, my lord,” he said. “How went the funeral?”
“Smoothly enough. As soon as Edward was buried, the man was forgotten,” he fumbled to remove his gauntlets. “Stephan is finally in control of Chaldon and there is a good deal of gladness with his assumption of power. The new baron aside, however, I had the pleasure of meeting Ian’s new wife for the first time. A pretty woman. Looks a great deal like Genisa, in fact.”
Morgan nodded faintly, struggling for courage to bring forth what he knew he must when the opportunity was right. “Your wife was disappointed that she was unable to attend the wedding. In Banbury, wasn’t it?”
Bose snorted. “As if I would allow her to travel over miles of territory in her condition. I thought she was going to knock my teeth out when I denied her.”
“She is only now speaking to you.”
He snorted again. “That will change soon enough when I tell her that Ian’s wife is expecting, also.”
Tate, having recovered from his bout with stupidity, leapt into the conversation. “But they were only married three weeks ago!”
Bose cast him an obvious look, sending Farl and Morgan in to snickers of realization. “Dare I say that he had to marry the woman, Tate. Already her belly is rounding.”
Speaking of rounded bellies, Morgan thought. No better time than the present to broach the subject. Summoning the courage, he opened his mouth to reply just as Artur came shuffling from the keep with more speed than the old man had exhibited in years.
“Congratulations!” he shouted happily. “Your son is magnificent, Bose! Why are ye standing out here gabbing at these three? Yer wife’s waiting for ye!”
Time came to a screeching halt. Bose stared at the old man as if he hadn’t understood a word; the blank expression on his face was indicative of the level of shock. Morgan, Tate and Farl scrutinized the man closely for signs of collapse or fury, waiting with anticipation as news of the birth of his son sank deep.
“Bose?” Morgan muttered timidly. “Are you well? Can you speak, man?”
Bose swallowed, his black eyes still riveted to his ancient uncle. Artur drew close to the group, waving his good arm in agitation and unaware that he had blurted the news to his unsuspecting nephew.
“Why do ye stand there like a fool?” he demanded. “Summer knows yer here. Better go and see the lass before she comes down here. And she shall come, too, looking for ye.”
As the old man chattered like a magpie, Bose suddenly emitted a harsh gasp that sounded more like a cry for help. His knights continued to watch him apprehensively, Morgan going so far as to reach out and steady his arm.
“You have a son, Bose,” he said softly, a twinkle of mirth appearing in his eye as the expression on his liege’s face provoked a sense of humor. “A strong healthy boy was born to you yesterday morn. And Summer came through without incident.”
“I…,” Bose tore his gaze away from the old man, looking to Morgan with a degree of shock never before witnessed. When his friend smiled encouragingly, the startled father seemed to snap out of his trance and he grabbed the older knight by the arms, hard enough to break bones. “I have a son? Summer has given me a son?”
Soft laughter could be heard from Tate and Farl, convinced that Bose was not going to tear them all to pieces for failing to relay the news in a more timely fashion. Morgan merely smiled into the ashen face.
“A fat little lad with your dark hair,” he replied. “He eats constantly and screams loud enough to rupture my eardrums. He shall be a mighty warrior someday.”
Bose’s eyebrows rose as his shock wore thin, a faint mottle of color reappearing on his pale cheeks. “God’s Beard,” he mumbled, turning to look at a beaming Artur. “I had no… for God’s sake, it’s not time yet. The babe is not due to arrive for three more weeks.”
“He is here nonetheless,” Artur said over the knights’ laughter. “Summer forbade us to send word of her birth, knowing how panicked and irrational you would become. She was afraid you’d kill yourself riding day and night to return home.”
<
br /> Bose took a deep breath, running a gauntleted hand through his wet hair. His eyes moved from the men surrounding him to the keep beyond. An unmistakable longing pulled at him, tightening his throat and squeezing his heart until he could hardly breathe. He could not stop the well of tears filling his eyes.
“I must see them,” he muttered, pushing past the men in a blind rush to reach the keep. “Summer… you say she is fine?”
Artur was close behind, as were the other three knights. “As healthy and whole as the day ye left her,” the old man replied steadily. “She began having pains on the night ye departed for Chaldon and by dawn she was holding yer squalling son in her arms. We hardly had time to work up a substantial worry.”
“And my son is well?”
“Well, Bose. Well.”
Bose did not know whether to laugh or cry. All that mattered was the fact that his son had been born, healthy and strong, and by the grace of God his wife had survived unscathed. God’s Beard, he was desperate to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her and to thank her for her most gracious gift of a son.
Into the massive keep, even the servants were smiling broadly as their rushed lord mounted the stairs, followed closely by his knights. The closer he came to his wife and new child, the more tears and emotion threatened to overwhelm him.
As Bose entered the familiar second floor where the bedchambers were situated, he realized he could hardly breathe through the force of his feelings. Closer and closer he drew until finally he burst through the master chamber door. What he saw nearly sent him to his knees.
Summer was sitting up in bed, holding a swaddled bundle and smiling radiantly at her pale-faced husband. When the man seemed unable to move his feet in a forward direction, she held out a hand to him.
“Welcome home, my darling,” she said softly. “Come and m-meet your new son.”
Bose let out a ragged sigh as Artur gave him a shove, pushing him into the warm, sweet-smelling chamber.
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