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himself recollecting her
radiant vision. 
    "Did you know the du Bonne
brothers have a sister?" he asked casually, stroking Antony's fur when the
animal scampered down his arm.
    Rising from the collapsible
chair, Morgan grunted as he stretched his tautly-muscled body. "Nay, I had
no such knowledge," he cast a glance as he twisted from side to side.
"What about her?"
    Bose shrugged, laboring to appear
blasé in manner. "Nothing, I suppose,” he said. “I met her today when we
entered the gates. Lance and Ian were chasing her about with pig-masks over
their faces, creating a deplorable spectacle. Were I Edward du Bonne, I would
lock the lads in the vault for a week or so. That would do enough to age their
juvenile spirits."
    Morgan snorted at the mental
vision of Lance and Ian du Bonne with pig-masks over their faces. "Good
Lord, what an exhibition. Were those two not such excellent fighters, I would
consider them most useless."
    "Useless indeed.”
    Since Morgan had no helpful
knowledge regarding the enigmatic Summer du Bonne, Bose let the subject rest
for the moment. Moreover, the melee was rapidly approaching and he needed his
focus to prepare for the rough and glorious event. Not strangely, however, it
was difficult to force her from his mind as he went about the necessary tasks.
It seemed that with every subsequent recollection, it became more and more
difficult to rid himself of her consuming memory. God's Beard, he had scarcely
met the woman and already he was unable to forget her. But forget he must if he
was going to be of any use in the melee and subsequent joust… until he
remembered she would be in attendance.
    Oddly enough, his words to
Stephan came back to haunt him. The only chance you will have against me at
the tourney is if your sister attends the games. Surely her beauty will
distract me so terribly that a mere knave will be able to best me.
    He realized it was the truth.
     
     

 
     
    CHAPTER
THREE                                                   
     
    "Come along, Summer,"
Genisa's squeaky voice was crisp. "The du Bonne men will not wait for our
feminine truancy. If we are late, they shall simply leave us behind."
    Hovering before a long mirror
made of rare polished glass, Summer stroked her silken honey-blond hair with a
heavy horse-bristle brush. Using her hands, she curved the lengthy ends into
fat curls, knowing the waves would not remain so entirely tame throughout the
day's activities and wondering why she was attempting to make the well-groomed
effort.
    But it was a joyful effort
nonetheless, considering the event of her very first tournament was less than
an hour away. Her excitement was thrilling and debilitating at the same time,
and she fought to contain both nerves and nausea.
    "Summer, what are you
staring at? We are going to be late!" Frustrated that her pleas were going
ignored, Genisa endeavored to relay the seriousness of the situation. Clad in a
gown of ice-blue with her pale blond hair properly secured in a bejeweled net,
she looked ravishing. "Certainly, if you brush your hair any more, you are
going to pull yourself bald. Put the brush aside. We are expected."
    The brush stopped in mid-stroke as
Summer continued to gaze at herself, half-listening to her Genisa's demands and
half-ignoring them. Tardy or no, what mattered most at the moment was her
outward appearance and she would not proceed before properly and precisely
prepared. As Genisa prodded and pleaded, a soft knock echoed against the
chamber door.
    "You see?" Genisa
raised her hands in the air in a beseeching gesture as she moved for the oak
panel. "That is Stephan and he shall blister our hides for this
delay."
    True to her prediction, Stephan
was indeed lodged in the open doorway. Although his handsome features were
somewhat perturbed, he nonetheless tapped his wife affectionately on the chin
as he entered the feminine chamber.
    "We are waiting to escort
you to the