The Gorgon (49 page)

"My sons have turned against
me, Your Grace. As much as I am ashamed to admit the fact, they would most
likely say or do anything to support Sir Bose's cause."

"Then you are saying, in
essence, that your own son has conspired with Sir Bose in an attempt to
convince you that in your drunken state, you pledged your daughter in marriage
to de Moray?"

Edward shrugged uncomfortably,
torn between Margot's silent insistence and his sons' angry expressions.
"I am suggesting nothing, Your Grace. But the possibilities are
obvious."

Henry sighed with disgust,
knowing the laws of ethics and standards would demand the baron's word be
considered over the views of two lesser-stationed knights. If Bose said the man
had verbally sanctioned a betrothal contract between the mighty knight and his
only daughter then, in fact, Henry believed his former captain without
question. But the truth remained that Edward, by station, would expect to have
the consensus of belief over a mere knight.

A slow burn of irritation began
to take flight, fed by the king's exhaustion. Looking to Edward, he could
hardly keep the contempt from his voice.

"Are you lying to me?"

Edward swallowed hard, feeling
Margot's hand on his arm in a supportive, demanding gesture. "Nay, Your
Grace. It was never... but I simply cannot remember giving the knight my verbal
approval."

Henry's thin jaw ticked.
"And you fully realize that the court is obligated to believe you over the
testimony of two lesser knights."

Edward nodded unsteadily, his
jowls quivering like great loaves of fat. "Indeed... it is expected, Your
Grace."

The king stared at the rotund man
a moment longer before emitting a heavy sigh. "You realize what you are
endeavoring to create, do you not? You are preparing to sentence an innocent
man to his doom with your less than truthful reply."

Edward averted his gaze, lacking
the words to form a proper response. As he stammered for a reply, Henry's
irritation seemed to cool. Regardless of the baron's fabrication, he was
cognizant of what needed to be done. Even if Lord du Bonne was intent to play
him for a simpleton with his evasive replies, Henry refused to concede the
game. He knew how to win. Extending the unrolled missive to Olav, he cast the
man a single directive.

"Burn it."

Edward's expression slackened as
Breck's eyes threatened to spring from their very sockets.

"You cannot!" Breck’s
face was red with emotion. "The missive is my property and I'll not...!"

The crowd was distended, rumbling
with tension as Henry moved toward the irate knight, surrounded by his
household protectors. They were seasoned men who had little tolerance for those
who would defame their king. Henry openly studied the challenger of his royal
honor.

"Do you disagree with my
actions, Sir Breck?" he asked, a red eyebrow cocked questioningly.
"Pray, are they as unjust and unscrupulous as your own?"

Breck's lips worked, spittle
forming on the edges. "The... the church has endorsed the betrothal, Your
Grace," he hissed, struggling to recover his last vanishing remnants of
control. "You cannot simply burn it as if it never existed. There are those
who have...."

"Witnessed it?" Henry's
tone was patronizing. "As Sir Ian witnessed Lord Edward's verbal sanction?
As we have all seen, Lord Edward has denied making any such commitment. And
because he is of ranking nobility, it is expressly understood that his word be
believed above the testimony of two honorable knights. And I say that if I burn
this ill-gotten betrothal, it has never existed. And, being king, I retain the
right to be believed above the testimony of all."

No one dared say a word. Olav and
several other household knights watched the betrothal missive burn to ash as
Henry maintained a steady gaze on the three individuals who had been driven to
destroy his former captain. His rage and vengeance was ripe.

"These charges against de
Moray were foolish from the onset," his soft-pitched voice was a growl.
"I was forced to set aside my royal duties and travel two days in the
saddle to vindicate my former captain from a trio of vipers I would just as
soon quash. My patience is severely stretched by your conniving scheme and I
will hear no more of these plots. If I ever again catch word of betrayal or
spite against de Moray, my wrath shall be swift and painful. Do I make myself
clear?"

Edward, as pasty as tallow,
managed to nod faintly. "I... I was merely attempting to protect my
daughter, Your Grace. Sir Bose is known to have killed his wife and...."

"Did you take this woman's
clouded word over the truth of the circumstance?" Henry would not allow
him to finish his sentence, gesturing toward Margot; although visibly demurred,
Margot met the king's gaze with her usual haughty resolve and Henry smiled, a
thin and hateful gesture. "Bose de Moray's wife died in childbirth, pure
and simple. And as a result, he left my service in order to flee the memories
associated with his position. Is that clear enough?"

 Edward had heard that
explanation before, many a time, but he had allowed Margot's venom to cloud his
mind until her truth was the only reality he was able to comprehend. Hearing
the recount of facts from the king's own mouth, however, brought the subject to
bear and he sighed heavily, turning unsteadily from the young monarch. The
verity of the truthful circumstance somehow drained his strength until he could
scarcely support himself.

Settling heavily in the nearest
chair, Edward du Bonne, Baron Lulworth, was left to ponder what course his
feeble mind and weak will had brought about. He had ruined the honor and trust
of his own family. He had destroyed his life.  The du Bonne honor he had been
so zealous in protecting was now in ruins.

Henry's attention was drawn from
the dejected baron as Breck loomed before him, his lanky body twitching with fury.
The smoke from the cindered betrothal contract was strong upon the stale air,
reminding the occupants of the room with every breath of the swift justice
occurred. And none more so that Breck as he endeavored, one last time, to
summon his confidence.

"The Church will have
something to say about this, your grace," he said in a low, hazardous
tone. "You are attempting to play God by interfering in the church's
business. And it must not be tolerated."

Henry cocked an eyebrow.
"God's Blood, you truly are a fool. Your statement sounds very much like a
threat."

"It was indeed a threat, My
King," Olav was suddenly between the two men, his massive hands gripping
Breck by the arms. "All who threatened the king are immediately imprisoned
and sentenced for treason. Is this not so, Bose?"

Until this moment, Bose had
refrained from direct involvement in the dialogue as much as he was able; in truth,
he was still reeling from the swiftness of the king's decisive deed and could
do nothing more than hold Summer against him, struggling to absorb the truth
his monarch's actions. But gazing to Breck Kerry within Olav's mighty grasp, he
knew well the advantage of ridding himself of a man who had been a mere hair's
breadth away from destroying him. If only to protect Summer from the man's evil
once and for all, Bose knew he had to be rid of him.

"Indeed," his baritone
voice was commanding. "All who threaten our good King Henry must meet with
the unavoidable consequences."

Roughly grasped by several
household guards, Breck struggled furiously. "I never... I did not
threaten him! I am innocent!"

"Just as Bose was innocent
of thievery?" Henry pressed. "How terrible it is to be wrongly
accused. I suspect you do not appreciate it, either."

Kicking and fighting furiously,
Breck was wrestled across the floor by several armed men as the audience in the
hall gasped and whispered. "I did not threaten the king!" he shouted.
"I swear to you... de Moray, do you hear me? You will stop this or I swear
I will...!"

His words were cleaved when
someone slapped an armored gauntlet over his mouth; clearly, Henry and Bose
weren't the only men weary of the pimpled knight's blather. Bose continued to
watch as Breck was carried from the hall by a host of warriors intent to do
their former captain a favor. Bose could hardly bring himself to comprehend the
extraordinary turn of events.

The room went sharply silent of
the sounds of struggle faded. Bose remained frozen to the spot, in awe of the
events and endeavoring to bring forth the words of thanks. In the midst of his
shock, he caught sight of Duncan from the corner of his eye, appearing somewhat
morose in spite of the justifiable circumstances. When Duncan noticed de Moray
staring at him, he labored to mask his remorse. Weakly, he shrugged.

"He deserves the king's
judgment and more," he offered, his voice faint with sentiment.
"Still, he is my brother and for the sake of our family relations, I am
nonetheless saddened to see him meet with an unpleasant ending."

Bose's expression was steady.
"I understand your dilemma, Duncan. But your actions on my behalf were
brave and commendable, and I thank you deeply. I owe you a great deal."

Again, Duncan shrugged, his
cheeks mottling a faint pink when he met Summer's golden gaze. "'Twas the
least I could do, considering my brother was the cause of your misery,"
glancing to the three appreciative du Bonne brothers, it was obvious his
purpose had been served and the time had come to take his leave. Bowing a brisk
farewell to the collective group, his charming smile made a weak return.
"I shall return to Crestwood with a clear conscience, good lords and
ladies. And with somewhat astonishing memories of Lance du Bonne's
tournament."

"Do not be a stranger,
Duncan," Stephan said. "You will always be welcome at Chaldon."

"And at Ravendark,"
Bose said firmly. "We shall see you at the next tournament, I hope."

Duncan's smiled broadened.
"In Banbury, I believe, come October," he suddenly cast Bose a long
glance. "Does your appreciation encompass allowing me the opportunity to
win the joust for a change?"

Bose cocked an eyebrow. "I
fear my days as tournament champion are at an end. You must take your place in
line of all the men I plan to allow victory in display of my thanks."

Relieved laughter followed Duncan
as he quit the hall, lighter of spirit than the young knight had been in many
years. Summer watched the warrior fade into the foyer beyond the grand hall,
emitting a sigh of relief for the timely appearance of her husband's angel of
grace.

"B-Breck can never hurt us
again," she murmured. "How wonderful of Henry to do this for
you."

Bose touched her cheek,
exhilaration taking hold where there had once been astonishment. Then he turned
to the king.

"Your Grace," his tone
was strained with emotion. "I cannot adequately express my gratitude for
what you have done this day. To simply declare my thanks seems terribly
deficient."

Henry's pale eyes were warm. "There
is no need, Bose. Consider this small intervention my own payment of gratitude
for years of devoted service on your behalf."

Bose smiled faintly, his gaze
locked onto the young king he had known very well, once. In fact, his attention
was so diverted that he failed to notice Margot's movements on the outskirts of
the crowd; pale-faced and maddened with the turn of events, Bose's former
mother-in-law began fumbling in her skirts as if searching for something. For
her, the situation was not over. She had one final trick up her sleeve.

Bose was speaking quietly with
the king as Margot skulked through the crowd of advisors and knights just
outside of his peripheral vision, her focus lingering on the beautiful woman by
his side. Bose's own knights were speaking between themselves or listening to
the conversation between Bose and Henry. Even Stephan's wife, the silly whore,
was listening politely to Morgan's conversation. But all sounds, all commotion,
seemed to fade as Margot drew close, the rustling of her skirts coming to a
disarrayed halt as she drew forth the object of her quest.

Margot carefully, politely,
pushed between two of the king's men-at-arms, a path suddenly clear between
herself and the new Lady de Moray. As Bose continued to chat with the king,
Margot gripped the hilt of the small bejeweled dirk as she made way toward the
golden-eyed lady. And then, there was only madness.

Bose hardly remembered how it
happened. First he heard a shout, and then a scream as Summer fell against him.
Suddenly Margot was gripping his wife by the hair, a bloodied dagger raised
high in her wrinkled palm. With a surge of panic, Bose reached out, blocking
the dagger Margot had aimed for Summer's neck. His own hand impaled by the
small jeweled blade, Bose lashed out with his uninjured hand and grasped Margot
around the throat, feeling the frail bones snap within his iron grip. As if the
elderly woman was no more than a rag doll, the silk-clad figure was hurled
across the room, crashing to the floor in a heap of blood and bone and dead,
ancient flesh.

Bose stared at the twisted body,
hardly grasping what he had been forced to do. As difficult as it was for him
to comprehend, Margot was dead and he himself had killed her. But even more
pressing than his mother-in-law's lifeless body, Summer was weeping
hysterically against him and ignoring his own pain and shock, he turned to her
with an uncharacteristic display of panic.