The Gorgon (3 page)

Genisa shook her head, her blue
eyes narrowed at the approaching group. "Stephan is riding escort,"
she murmured, attempting to decipher the beast emblazoned across the massive
standard. "I have seen the banner before. But, for the life of me, I
cannot remember who it belongs to."

"Someone great?"

Faintly, Genisa nodded.
"Someone great, I am sure. But I am not sure…."

Her words were abruptly cleaved
by a howling roar. Genisa and Summer screamed loudly with surprise and fear,
turning in the direction of the harrowing cry. The battlements were practically
devoid of soldiers; however, closing in on the ladies with malevolent intent
were two armored bodies with the mask of a dead pig where a helmed head should
have been.

As the ladies gaped with shock,
the pig-masked assailants roared again, fingers clawing at the air. Not
surprisingly, Summer and Genisa decided the battlement was no longer the ideal
place to linger and they wisely scattered. Lance and Ian had made their
appearance and the game was afoot.

Prank or not, however, there was
no real pleasure in being captured by the pig-masked fiends; once, Ian had
tickled Summer until she cried fat tears. And another time, Lance had hidden
Genisa in a room in the castle and fed Stephan clues of her whereabouts until
the enraged husband finally located his hysterical bride, sobbing and sick with
apprehension. Stephan had punched Lance so hard that the man had tumbled down a
small flight of stairs, cracking a rib.

Their father, Edward, had made
weak attempts to curb the activities of his two younger sons after that, but
their immature spirit would not be quashed. Even though they continued to
harass their sister and sister-in-law with their pig-skin masks, the punishment
should the women be captured was far less strenuous.  Thanks to Stephan's
threats, the next time Lance had entrapped Genisa, she had been released after
he had forced her to kiss the pig-mask on the nose. And the last time Summer
was captured, she had to endure three huge 'freckles' made from soot. Mere
child’s play compared to punishment their former imprisonment had entailed.

Still, the sight of the
horrifying masks was enough to wreak terror into their hearts. In spite of the
fact that they pretended to loathe the chase and subsequent capture, in truth,
there was a great deal of fun in attempting to elude their grasp. Even now,
racing across the battlements with break-neck speed, there were more giggles
than screams.

They made quite a quartet; Summer
and Genisa shrieking at the top of their lungs, racing to reach the turret
shielding the flight of stairs that would take them to the bailey, while Lance
and Ian, when they should have very well been acting the proper hosts at their
own celebration, were intent to act as a pair of pre-pubescent boys. The
grotesque pig-masks roared, the women screamed, the entire bailey could not
help but be aware of the strange chase.

Unfortunately, the turret Summer
and Genisa were striving for was  blocked by several men-at-arms arriving to
assume their watch. Rather than wait for the men to pass and thereby risk
capture, they slithered along a particularly narrow bridge that linked the
southern battlements to the western wall and proceeded to race madly for the
northeast turret.

Behind them, Lance and Ian were
growling like demons, spewing threats in a voice that would have made Lucifer
proud. Summer and Genisa dodged around several soldiers, nearly shoving one man
off the narrow walkway, but hardly bothering to stop and apologize. A shouted
pardon sufficed.

The northeast turret was
beckoning, the empty staircase inviting the tormented young ladies. As their
pursuers roared and growled, the harried, if not somewhat giggly, young women
made it to the gray-stoned turret. Descending the stairs much faster than they
should have, they could hear the pig-masked molesters descending the stairs
close on their tail.

Unfortunately, as they exited the
turret into the upper bailey, a wall of horses and men materialized in front of
them and the frenzied ladies were forced to skid to a halt. A brief moment of
indecision was abruptly cut short as another unearthly roar reverberated off
the stoned turret behind them. Summer and Genisa turned with horror to note
that Lance and Ian were standing in the ground-floor doorway, fingers scratching
the air in their general direction and preparing to close in for the capture.

Summer was so exhausted that she
was no longer truly concerned with Genisa's well-being; with Stephan to protect
her, the woman was better off than her less-defended sister-in-law. Even if she
was captured, the pig-men would simply let her go. Were they to catch Summer,
however, the penalty would be considerably more brutal. Heels to the ground,
Summer summoned the last of her strength and again took off running.  But her flight
was blocked when a massive figure suddenly appeared in her path, armored and
more enormous than anything she had ever seen. But she was moving too fast to
avoid a collision and with a grunt of real pain, she slammed against the
armored figure with a good deal of force. Stars danced before her eyes as her
forehead came into contact with a breastplate of tempered steel.

As the world rocked unsteadily,
she felt massive hands steady her. Oddly enough, Genisa's screaming had stopped
and the roaring of the two pig-faced hunters was also gone. It was strangely
silent. As Summer put a hand to her head in an attempt to halt the sickening
sway, she caught a glimmer of a broadsword.

But not just any broadsword;
'twas the largest broadsword she had ever seen, lodged within the hand of the
most enormous knight she had ever seen. Blinking her eyes as the spinning
gradually slowed, she found herself staring into the breastplate that had
assaulted her skull. Instinctively, her gaze trailed upward, moving across the
upper arm and shoulder, scrutinizing a neck that was larger in circumference
than her waist. Lodged atop the breastplate and mailed neck was the most
fearsome helm she had ever had the misfortune to envision.

And it was looking at her.

CHAPTER
TWO

The helm looked at Summer for a
moment before focusing on her brothers.  Then the broadsword came up, pointing
in their direction.

"Remove the masks," the
massive knight ordered, his voice rumbling and deep. "I would know who I
am about to punish."

"I assure you that
punishment is unnecessary," Stephan's voice penetrated Summer's dazed
mind. "At least, not at the moment. Trust that I will deal with my
brothers at the appropriate time."

The knight did not reply and the
broadsword did not budge. Summer, her vision clearing as the pain in her head
began to ease, craned her neck sharply to gain a better view of her savior.
Through the helm and visor, she could not see his face and, not strangely,
found herself curious about him. 

There was a long pause as the
knight pondered Stephan’s words.  When he spoke again, his voice was
considerably less hostile.

"Ian and Lance," he
said. "Forgive me. I should have recognized you in your natural
state."

The small, anxious crowd burst
into timid laughter. Even Summer managed a weak smile as the massive knight
thrust the point of his broadsword forward, piercing the flesh of Lance's mask.
With a swift up-parry, an extremely skilled move, the knight lifted the mask
from Lance's head to reveal the sheepish expression beneath.

"My lord de Moray," he
bowed slightly, slugging Ian when his brother failed to show the same respect.
"We are honored by your presence."

Behind the lowered visor, Summer
heard the knight sigh. "I have heard women refer to the two of you as
pigs," he said, his bass-toned voice muffled behind the tempered steel.
"I see that they were not wrong. And I am sure the hounded target
currently under my protection is of the same opinion."

Ian, suddenly finding his voice,
ripped off the pig mask and moved quickly to his sister, tearing the woman free
of de Moray's grip.

"This is our sister, the
Lady Summer du Bonne," he said, feeling humiliated for the chaos he and
his brother had caused. "And the other lady is Stephan's wife, Lady
Genisa."

Bose de Moray hardly heard a word
beyond the mention of Summer's name; for the first time, he was able to catch a
clear glimpse at the face of the woman he had saved and to say that the angels
had granted her the essence of supreme beauty would have been a gross
understatement. In truth, he hadn't seen her coming at the first; he had been
focused on other tasks and had not the time to spare something as common as a
scream his valuable attention.

But he regretted his decision not
to pay attention. Only when she slammed against his chest had he been aware of
her presence and even then, he was only able to sense her panic and his warrior
instincts kicked in.  The two pig-masked warriors had not been difficult to
isolate and his sword was drawn even as he grasped the frenzied woman to steady
her. Only now, as the situation came clear, was he able to comprehend the
vision of her unearthly beauty.

For a moment, he was actually
speechless. Her glorious radiance had managed to rob him of his tongue and he
swallowed, attempting to regain the power of speech. Gazing into the woman of
porcelain cheeks and unusual golden eyes, he swore the longer he stared at her,
the more his language skills threatened to dissolve completely. The words did
not exist to adequately describe her magnificence.  He could not even make the
attempt.

Nonetheless, he somehow found the
strength to recall his manners. "My lady," he sounded remarkably
composed. "'Tis indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I had no idea
my foolish comrades even had a sister."

Her flawless cheeks mottled with
a lovely blush. As a faint smile creased her lips, Bose was absolutely
enchanted.  But his haze of fascination was disturbed as Ian grasped Summer by
the arm, forcibly escorting her away.

 "If you will excuse us, my
lord, my sister is feeling... fatigued," he said, casting Summer an
expression that indicate she dare not disagree. "I will apologize for her
clumsy manners, however. I do hope your armor was not scratched."

"She would not have been
clumsy had you not been chasing her with your usual tact," Bose returned
quietly, not at all pleased that Ian was removing her. "I will forgive her
completely. But you are another matter."

With Summer clutched in his grip,
Ian paused uncertainly and was preparing a calm, mayhap more placating reply,
when Stephan laughed softly and interrupted the exchange.

"Ian fears you already, my
lord," he said. "If you threaten him any further, he shall surely
hide for the rest of the day. And I need him on my team if I am to have a
competing chance against you in the tourney."

Bose continued to stare at Ian
and his beautiful sister, gazing at the lady far more than her flushed brother.
After a moment, he bobbed his head vaguely.

"The only chance you will
have against me at the tourney is if your sister attends the games," his
voice was calm. "Surely her beauty will distract me so that a mere knave
will be able to best me."

Stephan chuckled again, passing a
glance at his pink-cheeked sister. "She shall be there, my lord. I doubt
all of the armies in England could keep her from attending her first
tournament."

Before Bose could reply, Ian
whisked Summer through the crowd and in to the keep. Bose watched her mount the
ramp into the fore building of the massive keep with a good deal of confusion,
wondering why Ian had refused to allow her to respond to his greeting. For
whatever the reason, Bose found himself unexpectedly preoccupied by the brief
vision of the lovely Lady Summer. Even when his men began dismantling the
troops in preparation for erecting their own encampment near the tournament
field, Bose was still distracted. Stephan, having other duties to attend to,
dismissed himself and his wife with an additional apology on his family's
behalf.

But Bose was barely aware of the
departure of his host. His mind was still fixated on the image of the
golden-eyed maid, so much so that he hardly heard the familiar voice at his
side.

"Farl and Adgar have
proceeded to the field to establish our perimeter," the armor-clad knight
informed his lord. "Artur went with them and took the horses."

"And Morgan?"

The warrior shook his head.
"He's still having trouble with his charger. He's taken the horse directly
to the field in an attempt to lessen the swelling of his fetlock."

Bose sighed heavily, forcing
himself to abandon thoughts of the du Bonne sister. "No wonder the steed
is lame,” he mumbled. “He is as old as Morgan is."

Turning for the portal that led
from the bailey, they headed toward the gaily decorated field below. A du Bonne
servant clad in red and white escorted them from the courtyard, a man assigned
to the de Moray party to answer any questions or service any needs. But Bose
ignored the hovering servant as he and his companion strolled down the
embankment toward the tournament arena.

"God's Beard," Bose
muttered as he neared the cluster of bright tents. "The Kerrys are
here."