Realizing that he was being dismissed, Bose again nodded faintly and looked to Summer, her golden gaze warm and tender. Reluctant to leave her but knowing it was best, he moved quietly for the door. In the archway, however, he paused, once again meeting Stephan’s brilliant green orbs.
The silent words of approval and understanding were unmistakable. Stephan had as much as voiced his approval and Ian had all but forced Edward to accept Bose’s marriage request. Slowly but surely, the du Bonne brothers were accepting him for their sister. Four years of rumors and vicious lies notwithstanding, Bose was pleased to realize that the truth had finally triumphed.
“Good eve to you, Stephan,” he said steadily. “Lance, I would suggest you retire immediately lest you provide Tate with a supreme opportunity for victory come the morrow. And Ian…,” when the largest du Bonne brother met his gaze, something of a faint smile playing upon his lips, Bose smiled in return. “I will see you on the morrow as well. The second round, I believe.”
“I shall be ready, my lord,” Ian replied as if he held no fear of the man and his talents.
Bose held his gaze a moment, a knowing smirk on his lips, when Summer suddenly moved into his line of sight. Putting her arm about Ian’s waist, she looked to Bose with an imploring expression.
“Mayhap you should consider allowing Ian to emerge triumphant on the morrow, Bose,” she said seriously, nary a stammer to her speech. “After all, had it not been for my brother, you and I would not be betrothed.”
A perfectly executed sentence. As the trio of brothers looked to their baby sister in astonishment, Bose merely smiled. “Indeed, my lady, I completely agree with the latter portion of your statement. As for the first,” he tore his gaze away from her long enough to look at Ian. “I shall have to think of another way to thank your brother for his support, considering I promised you I would win the joust.”
Summer returned his smile. “As you say, my lord.”
Before Bose could reply, Lance staggered before his sister, weaving dangerously. “Summer!” he gasped. “You… you did not stutter at all!”
She looked to him as if his notation hardly warranted consideration. “Indeed, Lance. What did you think Bose and I were d-doing in my chamber, hidden away from the world? He was helping me with my speech. I’ll become better, with practice.”
Stephan, his mouth open with incredulity, moved to stand beside his drunk, equally amazed brother. “He was helping you?” he repeated, baffled and delighted and utterly awed. “I do not understand. By what magic did he do this?”
Lingering by the door, Bose endeavored to enter the conversation. “No magic, Stephan. With a good deal of patience and encouragement, anything can happen.” Winking to Summer when she met his glittering gaze, he moved to quit the chamber. “Good sleep to you, love. I’ll see you on the morrow.”
He was gone, leaving three puzzled but delighted men and one besotted lady and all of them believing that the Gorgon, indeed, could conjure his own private magic.
*
“You have interrupted my sleep this night to rehash old rumors and hearsay that I am already well aware of?” he questioned the red-headed knight with a good deal of annoyance, his head aching and his vision swimming. “I allowed you into my chamber based on your declaration of an emergency regarding my daughter. If you consider a betrothal to Bose de Moray an emergency, then vacate my chamber at once and stop wasting my time.”
Breck and Margot stood respectfully in Edward’s lavish bower. Breck struggled not to rant or shout in the face of the drunken baron, but if he was to accomplish his goal this night, then it was essential that he remain calm. God’s Blood, his scheme was coming together with such grace and blessing that he could scarcely believe he had reached his final obstacle, ultimately able to confront Edward du Bonne and plead for his daughter’s hand. And with the support of Lady de Ville, he had little doubt that morn would see him a pledged man. But the necessity to remain calm was imperative if he wanted to achieve his intent.
“You do not seem to realize the seriousness of the situation, my lord,” he said steadily. “Bose de Moray is a murderer. Somehow, he has managed to convince your daughter and your sons of his innocence, but I can prove without a doubt that he did indeed kill his wife. Do you desire your daughter to become another victim of his murderous character?”
Edward snorted, spraying spittle from his thick lips. “She shall not become a victim. Stephan and Ian are quite convinced of de Moray’s innocence and I have complete faith in my sons’ judgment. Now, if you will excuse me….”
“Bose is a silver-tongued devil, my lord, quite capable of persuading the most intelligent of men.” Margot entered the conversation and when Edward looked at her, she bowed her head respectfully. “I am the Lady Margot de Ville. My daughter was married to Bose de Moray, and four years ago almost to the day he took her life in a violent burst of blood and agony. If you do not want your daughter to meet with the same brutal end, then I suggest you listen to Sir Breck.”
For the first time since the arrival of his unwelcome visitors, Edward’s disinterest in the dialogue faltered. Scratching the flea bites on his neck, he focused on the frail-appearing lady with a mounting sense of morbid curiosity.
“I was told she died in childbirth,” his tone was considerably less strained.
Margot smiled thinly. “A convenient title for a mortal mistake. I saw my daughter’s body, my lord, and you will believe me when I say mere childbirth could not have wrought the scope of damage I witnessed. She was torn asunder, destroyed by a man who has little regard for the value of life. Surely you do not wish for your daughter to succumb to the same torment.”
Edward maintained as steady a focus as he was able through his alcohol-induced state, absorbing the woman’s words with increasing distress. Always particularly pliable to the suggestions and motives of others, it was natural to find himself willing to listen to her sincere reasoning. In fact, he had always found it most comforting to have others form his opinions and decisions for him. This night was no exception.
The dirty nails scratching his neck moved to his chin. “Of course I do not want my daughter to meet with her death. But she will be another man’s wife to do with as he pleases and if the death of his wife is his preference, then so be it.”
Breck’s brow furrowed slightly; even he found himself curious at the callous reference to something as fragile as a woman’s life. For a man who was supposed to have sired a particularly beautiful, if not flawed, woman, the baron certainly lacked the usual fatherly compassion. For the first time during the conversation, Breck found himself wondering if the argument presented would prove to be persuasive enough to force the man to recant his verbal betrothal with de Moray.
Margot, however, was undeterred by Edward’s attitude. Being a wise, instinctive woman, she could sense a great deal of indifference from the baron with regard to his daughter, a woman with a disturbing flaw and little marital value. But she could also sense a feeble-willed, foolish man who seemed to be easily swayed. And it was that portion of the man, the frail-minded, spineless idiot that she intended to target.
There was a small chair opposite the baron’s position. Moving forward, Margot deposited herself neatly upon the embroidered silk. Hands folded primly, she pondered her next move.
“Since you obviously care not for your daughter’s well-being at the hands of a murderous fiend, then allow me to present a different aspect to the situation,” taking a deep, delicate breath, she maintained steady, convincing eye-contact. “Suppose you allow your daughter to marry Sir Bose and she inevitably meets her end as I say she will. Have you considered how your friends and allies will look upon you, having knowingly allowed your daughter to enter into a less than desirable situation? They will not think kindly of your carelessness, my lord.”
Edward, not surprisingly, was listening to her. “They… they will believe me negligent? Foolish, even?”
Seeing the man’s interest peaked, Margot realized
she had hit upon a strong idea and she endeavored to continue before the baron had a chance to question her reasoning. “Indeed, my lord. They will whisper behind your back, speaking harshly of the senseless father who had been too blind and too witless to see beyond de Moray’s facade when all who have ever been acquainted with the man know of his sinister reputation. Without a doubt, you’ll be made the laughing stock of Dorset.”
Margot was pleased to note the deep furrowing of Edward’s bushy brow, the faint flush mottling his ears. Shifting in his chair with mounting discomfort, he opened his robe somewhat because he was beginning to sweat.
“I…I had never considered such an aspect,” he said finally, his tone weak and sincere. “My only thoughts, of course, are to marry my daughter to a wealthy and powerful knight. Certainly, I never thought I’d be rid of the girl considering her flawed speech. Mayhap… mayhap the excitement of her first true suitor has shadowed my judgment.”
Margot nodded sympathetically, her expression as cold as ice. “Of course, my lord. Your reaction was completely understandable. And your sons, too.”
“My sons?”
She nodded firmly. “Certainly they believe as you do. Never imagining that their defective sister would find a husband, they agreed upon the first man who showed a measure of interest. And they eagerly believed his lies because of their desire to see their sister wed.”
After a lengthy, contemplative pause, Edward slowly shook his head. “I cannot see that their desire to see Summer wed would override their judgment. Especially Stephan’s. The man is exceedingly intelligent and introspective.”
Margot’s gaze was even as she digested his words, coming to suspect that the baron relied heavily upon his eldest son’s discretion. From the clues delivered throughout the conversation and from the obvious weak-minded stance of the nobleman slouched before her, it was logical to conclude that the baron did not make his own decisions. Someone made them for him. At this moment, that someone would be Margot.
“I am sure he is, my lord, but even a wise man can be fooled by a clever opportunist,” she replied softly. “Bose is such a man. I assume that your daughter will come with a substantial dowry?”
Edward stared at her blankly a moment, as if he had never considered the very idea. After a pause, he nodded unsteadily. “I… I will provide her with a good dowry, of course.”
“And Bose is well aware of the fact. By selecting the imperfect daughter of a wealthy baron, he is assured of your eager response to his marital petition, thereby guaranteeing him a substantial inheritance. After your daughter falls victim to an unfortunate ‘accident’, he will simply move on to the next hapless woman and collect her dowry, too.”
Edward’s features relaxed with the naked truth of understanding, seeing the lady’s logic quite clearly. “So he seeks to obtain my wealth!”
“Indeed. And the entire province will look to you as a fool for providing it so freely.”
Beads of sweat peppered Edward’s brow, the true focus of Bose de Moray’s scheme coming to bear. Of course! Great Gods, why hadn’t he seen it earlier? For certain, there was no other reason why a man of Bose de Moray’s standing and power would pursue a flawed woman other than the fact she was directly related to a good deal of wealth. Wealth de Moray desired.
Wealth he would have the moment he married Summer. Edward found himself thinking of his sons, wondering why they had been so naive to the man’s terrible scheme. They professed to love Summer; if so, why had they been so entirely eager to marry her to a man whose true desire was to claim her sizable dowry? Even if de Moray had been able to convince him of his proper intentions, still, Edward wondered seriously why Stephan hadn’t seen through the facade.
Lost in his train of thought, Edward was nonetheless aware of Margot’s patient presence and Breck’s fidgeting silence. Drawn from his deliberation, he wiped at his moist brow and focused intently on the lady’s pale blue eyes.
“I appreciate your candor and wisdom, my lady, in helping me to see the truth of the matter,” clearing his throat, he once again shifted listlessly in his chair. “My greatest fear now is how to properly break the betrothal contract between my daughter and de Moray without incurring the involvement of the church.”
Breck, his agitated movements quelled with the encouraging response, fought the urge to sink to his knees and thank God for his mercy. Unable to keep the smile from his face, his glee and triumph was instantly quelled by a withering expression from Margot.
Restraint, young Kerry. Margot’s silent demand went properly heeded and when she was positive Breck was not going to break out in a dance of victory, she returned her attention to Edward with her customary composure.
“Allow me to see the contract, my lord. Mayhap there is a provision providing for the annulment of the contract should either party find fault or discomfort with the proposal.”
Edward shook his head. “There is no written contract. My permission was verbal, in the presence of a witness.”
Margot struggled not to smile herself with the baron’s weary, witless response. “Then the contract is not binding in the least. Unless your sanction has been put to paper, the church cannot involve itself because a verbal contract is not considered legally valid,” passing a long glance at Breck, she continued with careful consideration. “If I may suggest, my lord, in order to avoid a good deal of trouble and crisis on the part of de Moray, I would like to propose that you immediately betroth your daughter to another knight to permanently remove her from de Moray’s grasp. Surely the man cannot compare his verbal consent to a legally binding and written document.”
Edward’s gaze was distant, pensive, as he seriously considered Margot’s suggestion. As Breck loomed into view, far more sedate than he had been only moments before, Edward’s attention shifted to the pimple-faced knight and, suddenly, an expression of understanding creased his aging face.
“You, Kerry?” It was a question as well as a declaration. “You’ve shown a good deal of interest in my daughter. Would you be willing to marry her were I to provide her with a tremendously attractive dowry?”
A faint smirk played upon Breck’s lips; he simply could not help himself. For all of the pain and humiliation, planning and strategies were finally coming to a positive conclusion and he could hardly believe his fortune. There was more than one way to defeat a Gorgon.
“’Twould be my pleasure to accept your daughter’s hand, my lord,” Breck hoped his quaking voice did not bely his excitement and disbelief. “In fact, the sooner we are wed, the better for all concern. The sooner de Moray will lose interest.”
“Indeed,” Edward rose unsteadily from his chair, weaving dangerously as he stumbled to the chamber door. Opening the panel, he ordered one of his soldiers to summon a lesser steward. Summer, of course, was his chief steward, taking care of the affairs of his estate and handling scribing duties since Kermit’s death. Edward was positive, however, this was one scribing duty she would most definitely reject.
When the soldier fled down the hall, Edward closed the door and staggered heavily toward a crystal carafe filled with wine. Pouring himself a healthy draught, he swallowed half the goblet before returning his attention to the two successful conspirators.
“I shall have the contracts drawn up tonight and witnessed,” he said, his voice hoarse with fatigue and emotion. Taking another swallow, he smacked his lips loudly and fixed Margot in the eye. “I’ll not allow Bose de Moray to murder my daughter and make me the laughing stock. You were most gracious to supply your reasoning this night. And I thank you as well, Sir Breck, for being most clear-headed and persistent in your opinion.”
Neither Margot nor Breck replied to Edward’s heart-felt thanks, repressing the urge to look to each other in triumph and glee. It was as good as they had hoped for and better. By tomorrow, Breck would be legally bound to Lady Summer and Bose, disheartened and spurned, would be forced to return to Ravendark empty-handed and defeated. Returning to Lora’s memory where he belonged
.
Edward lost himself in his wine. Without asking or without invitation, Margot confiscated a second pewter chalice to match the baron’s and joined him in his liquor as Breck stood silently by, contemplating his unbelievably good fortune.
Once and for all, the Gorgon would be vanquished.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bose was not afforded the opportunity of escorting Summer to the lists the next morning. Rain, mists, damp winds and all, she and Genisa were planted in the assigned du Bonne box just after sunrise, eagerly awaiting the commencement of the joust. The three du Bonne brothers had escorted the anxious ladies to the field, convinced the women would proceed without them or not.
Therefore, dressing hurriedly and with varied degrees of alcohol-induced aching heads, Stephan, Ian and an ill-looking Lance were the first contenders to arrive at the lists. Even the heralds, immaculately dressed in du Bonne red and white, were tardy as compared with their liege’s sons.
In spite of the excitement surrounding the last phase of the jousting competition, the dawning day had emerged dank and stormy. A nasty squall had blown in over the course of the night, wreaking havoc on the tents converged near the lists and raining muck and misery on the unfortunate occupants. Several knights, with their tents collapsed by the harsh winds, had found refuge in the grand hall of Chaldon.
Summer did not care about the weather. She did not care that the lodges had been somewhat damaged by the bitter winds or that even as she sat upon her sturdy chair clad in amber silk and brown rabbit, the ensuing winds hurling off the stark Dorset coast were enough to set her teeth to chattering. All that mattered on this glorious day was that Bose would win the joust, and she, as his betrothed, would be permitted to publicly reward his victory.
A victory that would come at the price of her three brothers; Summer tried not to linger on that single most disturbing fact. Even as Stephan and Ian and Lance set to a round of early practice against several sturdy dummies secured to the joust barrier, Summer applauded loudly for them as if she were truly supportive of their endeavor. Stephan bowed gratefully to her praise, Ian staunchly ignored her, while Lance tried to yell at her but found the action far too painful with his aching head. Grumbling and cursing, he simply shook his fist at her.
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