Fathers and Sons

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Margot’s expression held steady. “Instead of exhibiting your rude behavior, you should be thanking me for saving your life. I more than anyone is aware of Bose de Moray’s murderous capabilities and it is by the grace of God that Breck intercepted your husband before he could seal you within Ravendark’s impenetrable halls.”

  Summer stared at her, looking beyond the wrinkled, polished exterior, attempting to read the motives beneath. After a moment, she shook her head in a slow, puzzled gesture.

  “Why are you d-doing this?” she whispered, experiencing a genuine need to know. “Why are you involving yourself in affairs that do not concern you? I am well aware of the rumors regarding Bose and I am well aware that they are fabrications. If I choose to marry this man, then it should be of little difference to you w-whether I live or die at his hands. It is my choice, lady; certainly not yours.”

  Margot rose from her chair. “It may not be my choice, but Bose de Moray had always been my concern. When you involved yourself with him, you became my affair as well.”

  “I do not want you involved. I want you to leave us alone.”

  “’Tis not your choice to make,” Margot cast a glance at Edward. “Your father knows what is best for you and he has given his decision. As a respectful daughter, you should have obeyed his wishes.”

  “As your respectful daughter always obeyed you?”

  It was an intentional jab to unsteady her confident manner. Margot looked to Summer once again, her thin lips pressing into a tight flat line. “My daughter was the pinnacle of female strengths and perfection, Lady Summer. Unflawed, as you are.”

  Summer could see the pure venom in the woman’s eyes. But she could also see that her mention of Lora had struck a chord deep within the embittered woman’s heart and she sought to pursue the subject.

  She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Tell me, my lady; did your d-daughter love Bose?”

  Margot’s eyes narrowed, struggling not to appear too off-guard by the question. “That is none of your affair.”

  “When Bose became my husband, his relationship with his dead wife indeed became my affair. Now answer me; did she love him?”

  Margot stiffened, drawing in a deep, steadying breath; all eyes were upon her and she was well aware that her calm conduct was necessary.

  Her answer, when it came moments later, was quiet. “She did.”

  Summer cocked an eyebrow, feeling as if she were gaining headway somehow. She intended to make a point.

  “T-Then would it be fair to ask that if she was indeed as perfect in mind and deeds as you profess, would she have approved of your hostile attitude toward her beloved husband?”

  Margot struggled to remain collected, but with every successive moment her composure successively cracked. Stephan watched, Ian watched, Breck and Edward watched intently as the elderly woman downed a small chalice of wine before calmly answering.

  “She would applaud my efforts to vindicate her death.”

  Summer watched the lady pour another swallow of wine into the glass goblet. “At the expense of the man she loved?”

  Margot dropped the chalice half-way to her lips; the burgundy liquid erupted onto the wall, the floor, as the pewter bounced along the stone. Laboring to control her emotion, Margot faced her son-in-law’s new wife.

  “You know nothing of the situation,” she hissed. “Certainly you see the circumstance as Bose has explained it, not how it truly exists. And your foolish questions allude to your naive understanding of the situation.”

  Summer refused to back down, not when the lady was growing increasingly agitated. If she were going to accomplish anything, she had to strive onward.

  “V-Very well, then,” Summer was in control. “Allow me to accept your explanation of events, assuming for a moment that Bose did indeed murder your daughter. Can you tell me, exactly, how he accomplished this task?”

  Margot ceased to breathe for a moment, off-balanced by the calm question. Summer lifted her eyebrows questioningly when there was no immediate response.

  “How, my lady? How did she die? D-Did he strangle her, stab her?”

  “Nay.”

  “Did he beat her?”

  “Nay.”

  Summer observed the woman closely, her thin lips pale and dry as she struggled to maintain her bold, aggressive gaze.

  “Of course he did not,” her voice was suddenly quiet-toned. “He loved her. He loved her enough to give her a son, which she died attempting to bring into this world. B-Bose did not murder Lora for profit or thrill. He was an innocent victim of her death, just as she and the son she carried were also hapless casualties. But you, unable to understand the will of God, found the need to fault him simply because there was no one else to blame. And in your grief, you attempted to destroy him. Just as Lora’s death destroyed you.”

  By the time Summer finished speaking, Margot’s face was as pallid as new snow. Her mouth worked a moment as if struggling to bring forth a rebuttal but the words sought refused to be heard.

  “You do not know what you are saying,” she managed to rasp.

  Faintly, Summer nodded. “Aye, I know m-more than you would believe,” she said evenly. “I know that you have spread vicious rumors in an attempt to punish your son-in-law for loving your daughter enough to bless her with a child. I k-know that you hate him and depend on him at the same time. And I know that you must be terribly jealous of me, as the second wife of your daughter’s husband. P-Please tell me if I am wrong.”

  Control splintering, Margot labored to maintain her defenses. “You… you are wrong!” she spat, kicking aside the chalice on the floor as she advanced. “He killed her, murdering her with his massive child!”

  “B-But it was not an intentional deed.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Margot shrieked; as she moved swiftly toward Summer, Stephan and Ian tensed, preparing to defend their sister against the raging old shrew. But Summer stopped them, holding up a quelling hand as the furious woman drew near. “Whether or not my Lora’s death was intentional, Bose was responsible. He accepted that responsibility the day he married her.”

  Summer, not strangely, was quite calm. Confidence in her argument made her so. “I-I am sure if Bose had been able to foresee the future, the situation might have been different. Or mayhap it would not have changed. Regardless of his association to your daughter’s death, what do you believe Lora would have done had she been foretold of the possibility of succumbing in childbirth? Do you truly believe she would have given up the opportunity to have a child simply because there was a chance that she would not survive the endeavor?”

  Margot was visibly shaken, her thin face taut with rage and emotion. Blue eyes that were razor-sharp abruptly softened with uncertainty as she pondered Summer’s logic. But years of belief in Bose’s guilt were difficult to dissolve and she turned away, uncertain with the turn of the conversation and subject. Ever-aware of her audience, however, she knew she had to relay the fact that her duties and motives were correct regardless of Summer’s reasonable words. Even if the flawed young woman had somehow succeeding in breaking down her wall of defense, it was imperative that Margot maintain her staunch beliefs.

  “For Bose, she would have done anything. Just as you will,” from quivering one moment to steady the next, Margot was shockingly in control once more. “He should have known that his child would have killed her for pure size alone. But his desire for an heir convinced Lora to jeopardize her life and she paid the ultimate price. He is without conscience, I say, as your abduction from the walls of Chaldon clearly support.”

  Summer stared at the back of the woman’s well-coiffed head, seeing that she was unwilling to alter her ideas. If reason and calm logic had failed to convince her, then Summer doubted anything would. The Lady Margot would continue to exist, embittered and malevolent, until the day she died.

  “I-I am sorry you feel that way, for certainly, you are wrong,” she uttered softly, turning from the old woman and focusing on her father on
ce again. “I would like to see my husband, Father. If Stephan and Ian escort me, would this be possible?”

  Edward lowered his gaze, mulling over her request for the hundredth time and truly seeing no further reason why he should deny her. If anything, it might ease his sons’ anger toward him and he was eager to lighten their disgust and fury. Coming to understand Margot’s shaded occurrence of events as he had over the past few minutes, he seriously came to wonder if his disregard of Bose de Moray’s petition was provided with any firm basis. He had been wrong.

  Unfortunately, the situation was out of his hands. Bose had committed a crime by abducting Summer and as events were progressing, the circumstances were beyond his control. But there were some things he was still able to control.

  “I would allow it, if Sir Breck is agreeable,” he said weakly.

  When Breck, collapsed exhaustedly against the wall several feet away, suddenly came to life at the mention of his name, Stephan and Ian cast the man menacing glares that would have made God himself unwilling to deny Summer’s request. Breck met the challenging stares, although frankly too fatigued to summon the necessary energy to maintain the fight. It was of little consequence if Summer saw her husband, for certainly, she could do nothing to aid him beyond sweet words and tender promises. De Moray was a prisoner, Breck’s prisoner, and the eldest Kerry brother found himself pleased with the control within his grasp.

  “I would agree,” he said finally, turning away and picking at his nose. “But only for a few minutes. And I would have my guards present during the meeting.”

  Stephan attempted to refute the last command but Summer hushed him, terrified that Breck would reconsider if the terms were challenged. Without another word to her father, the half-drunk woman in the corner or the repugnant knight pulling the mucus from his nose, she swept from the room with her mighty brothers in tow.

  She was gone, leaving Margot and Edward and Breck bathed in an uneasy silence. As the soft hiss of the sea breeze infiltrated the lancet windows, Margot’s thin voice pierced the air.

  “She is wrong, Edward,” she said softly. “Her reasoning is shaded with Bose’s version of events. For certain, she is wrong and our cause is as strong as ever. Have no fear.”

  Edward, his expression dull, looked to the thin woman. “I do not fear. But I do question.”

  “Do not,” she snapped, her confident composure making a customary return. “There is no need. We will not fail in our quest to be rid of Sir Bose. I promise you that.”

  Against the opposite wall, Breck looked to the lady curiously. “You have more information against him? Another strategy, mayhap?”

  Faintly, Margot shrugged. Faded blue eyes met with those of small, questioning blue. “Indeed. As long as Lord Edward maintains his faith and truth, the results will be favorable.”

  Breck cocked an eyebrow. “What you mean to say is that as long as Baron Lulworth does as he’s told, we shall emerge victorious.”

  Margot laughed softly, casting Edward a nearly affectionate glance. “He shall do as he’s told. And I believe I have the final answer that will weaken any strength of Sir Bose’s case.”

  “You do?” Breck moved away from the wall, toward her. “Do tell.”

  Margot merely smiled, a sly gesture. “An inebriated man usually cannot remember what has occurred during the course of his drunken state, can he?”

  Jolted from his sluggish ignorance, Edward turned to the smug woman. “Make sense, Lady Margot. My memory has never failed me, wine or no.”

  Reaching out frail, boney fingers, Margot touched Edward’s sallow hand. “It is about to, my lord,” she whispered confidently. “It is about to.”

  *

  The peach-colored silk reflected the sun’s rays beautifully as Summer and her brothers emerged into the dust-filled bailey en route to the vault. Her urgency and excitement growing by the moment, Summer kept a rapid pace toward the entrance to the underground dungeon just as a rider bearing du Bonne colors passed beneath the raised portcullis and thundered into the courtyard.

  Stephan caught sight of the man, pausing in his pursuit of his eager sister. Ian paused too, causing Summer to rein her excitement for a moment as both brothers seemed focused on the red and white messenger. As the man was met by a few servants intent on collecting his frothing steed, he dismounted the weary beast and immediately made haste for his liege’s eldest son.

  Stephan waited with growing apprehension as the young rider approached, greeting him formally. “My lord Stephan,” the youthful soldier was clearly out of breath. “I have ridden from Poole this day with a message from Lord Bruce Eggardon. Shall I deliver it to you now or within the presence of your father?”

  Summer and Ian were suddenly beside their eldest sibling, their faces wide with anxiety. Stephan did not keep them waiting. “Tell me now.”

  The soldier nodded swiftly, attempting to catch his breath before he delved into his missive. “Lord Bruce has been feeling poorly as of late and will be unable to travel for several days. Expect him in six days, no less, and be prepared to begin the hearings immediately. He shall not have time to waste.”

  Stephan nodded faintly, dismissing the soldier as he turned to his brother and teary-eyed sister. When he saw Summer’s composure crumbling at the thought of her husband languishing within the vault for the next week, he grasped her hands firmly and held them against his chest.

  “No tears, sweetheart,” he pleaded softly. “’Tis wonderful news, truly, and I will tell you why.”

  But Summer refused to allow him to continue, sobbing softly as Ian put a comforting arm about her shoulders. “Six d-days in the v-vault is n-not wonderful, Stephan,” she wept. “He shall d-die in that place!”

  “He will not,” Stephan said firmly, lowering his voice so that his explanation would not be overheard. “I refrained from telling you about my hopeful prospects for Bose’s freedom simply because you were entirely overwhelmed by the situation and I had no desire to baffle you further. But you must know now of the hope I have for Bose’s release. And six days’ postponement is the best possible news we could have hoped for.”

  She looked to him, sad and dubious. “W-Why do you say this?”

  Stephan’s expression seemed to glow with the knowledge of his clever scheme. “Before we rode in pursuit of Breck’s trail yesterday morn, I sent a messenger to King Henry pleading for the king’s Divine Grace in absolving Bose of the thievery charges. And my messenger was none other than Duncan Kerry himself. If anyone can convince the king of Breck’s evil intentions, Duncan can. But it will take time, time that has apparently come as a gift from God in the form of six days’ delay. Do you understand what I am saying, sweetheart? Eggardon’s lag is very good news indeed.”

  She understood. Miraculously, the tears seemed to vanish and her expression took on the same warm glow that colored Stephan’s features.

  “D-Duncan went to s-seek the king’s intervention?” she repeated with awe. “Good Lord, Stephan… d-do you suppose Henry will actually dissolve the charges?”

  Stephan’s lazy smile was nothing short of smug. “Breck and Father and Lady Margot believe they have the advantage. But they do not suspect that I would send Duncan to plead for Henry’s intercession. We have the advantage, I say.”

  Summer’s mouth was open in surprise. “Then Breck does not know of his brother’s defection to aid our cause?”

  Stephan shook his head. “He has apparently assumed Duncan to have returned to Crestwood. He’s not made mention of the man nor asked for him.”

  A soft, warm body suddenly flew at him, all silk and hair. Summer giggled happily, hugging her brother tightly enough to strangle him. “Oh, Stephan!” she gasped, kissing his cheek loudly. “Y-You are wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!”

  He hugged her tightly, his cheeks mottled with a tender blush. “I realize that, of course,” he said with feigned arrogance, snorting with humor when she slapped him playfully. “Now, let’s go and see your husband. I’ll wager
he can use a bit of good news, too.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “You made mention of Bose de Moray. Deliver your message and be done.”

  Duncan swallowed hard; nearly two days of a blistering pace had brought him to the halls of Windsor with the most difficult battle yet to come. It had taken another two days to seek audience with the king, pleading to anyone who would listen, demanding to speak to Henry on Bose de Moray’s behalf. Scarcely anyone paid him heed, one soldier going so far as to kick him in the arse, until a small steward bearing food for the king’s chamber crossed Duncan’s path. Immediately, Duncan saw his chance to speak with Henry.

  Not a wise choice, to be sure. Knocking the man on the head, he proceeded to steal clothes that were far too small for his large frame and, looking rather foolish in his confiscated clothing, made way to the king’s chambers with tray in hand. The household guards, men who had once been under Bose’s command, knew immediately that the tall attendant was far too well-bred for servitude and accused him of being an assassin. Looking down the end of a massive broadsword, Duncan began to frantically recite his purpose in coming. And the nearly-screamed mention of Bose’s name had been enough to spare him.

  As Duncan quickly discovered, the name of de Moray’s bore a good deal of weight within the halls of Windsor and in little time he was waiting within a small private chamber, critically watched over by two suspicious knights. One man, tall and blond with piercing blue eyes, seemed particularly interested in his presence but Duncan ignored him nervously, wondering if he would indeed be provided the chance to relay his message to a king’s advisor or if he were simply waiting for his own death.

  After several hours of an uneasy wait, the blond knight escorted him into a lavish solar populated by a few men quite disinterested in the wide-eyed visitor. Urged on by the knightly escort, Duncan had made his way to the opposite end of the room where two men sat before diamond-paned glass windows. A game of chess sat between them, one man small and red-haired, the other man massive with a great shorn skull. As Duncan stood by with panting nervousness, the smaller man spoke without looking at him.