Knight's Ransom

Sighing, Cat turned her back on the castle and walked along the gravel path.

“Are you certain Gervase St. Juste didn’t insult you?” Garret grumbled as he and his brother fell into step behind her. “I’ve not seen you so angry in years.”

Too true. Clearly her initial impression of him had been in error. He might have her papa’s size and commanding presence, but Ruarke Sommerville would never have stooped to insult a woman. Obviously Sir Gervase was an arrogant lecher. He and Clarice deserved each other. Yet the few times Cat had surreptitiously glanced their way, she’d been stunned by the pang she felt at the sight of his tanned face bent close to Clarice’s pale one.

“Mayhap, Sir Gervase will be wounded in the tourney and thus God will punish him for his meanness,” Cat said with forced cheer. Determined not to let the knight ruin what was already an unpleasant visit, she continued along the path. On either side grew the flowers and herbs Princess Joan had planted here when she and the Black Prince first came to Bordeaux.

“Gamel, do you know what that one is?” she asked.

The giant swung his sword scabbard out of the way as he hunkered down beside the plant in question. His thick, scarred fingers stroked the leaf with surprising gentleness. “Horehound by the smell and these white flowers.”

“Very good.” Cat beamed at her pupil. The brothers had learned much in the two years since Henry’s treachery had made them her guardians. She’d been confined to Wilton’s grounds, then, under the guise of improving the gardens. Talking about herbs had eased the tension of having someone following her at all times. “There are few things here even I recognize. I wonder if the local herb woman—”

“Lady Catherine. Ho, Lady Catherine,” called a horribly familiar voice. Before she could bolt behind a bush, Sir Archie was upon them. He grabbed her hand in one of his slender ones and pressed his wet lips to her fingertips.

Cat repressed a shiver of revulsion. Archibald de Percy meant well, he was just so…soft. With his curly hair and big, vapid eyes he reminded her of a brown sheep. A wealthy, handsome sheep, ‘twas true, but a sheep nonetheless.

“My dearest Catherine. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that preparations for the tourney kept me on the training grounds and thus I am so late in arriving.” He pulled a linen square from inside his tunic and dabbed at the perspiration on his clean-shaven face. His short crimson tunic was the height of fashion, as were his shoes, the toes of which were so long they flopped when he walked. “I chased all over the castle looking for you. What say we sit over there?” He pointed to the arbor at the end of the garden.

Cat groaned. This must be her night for seductive males. The out-of-the way corner and its concealing trellis overgrown with grapevines was a favorite for lovers who wished to dally without being seen. “I don’t think—”

“We cannot let her out of our sight,” Garret growled, and for once Cat was glad of her father’s precautions.

Archie drew himself up to his full height of some five feet ten inches. It brought his aristocratic nose level with Garret’s breastbone; still he managed to look down on the man as he snapped, “I assure you, my intentions are most honorable.”

“That may be.” Garret stared at Archie the way a bird might a worm. “But we’ve got our orders. And unless Sir Philippe says differently, the king himself is not getting our lady off alone.”

“Of all the ridiculous, disrespectful…” Archie grumbled and complained but had to content himself with sitting in the arbor with Cat while the brothers stood at attention a few yards away, in full view of the shadow-draped interior. “I don’t see why you put up with them.” He dusted off the seat with his damp handkerchief, then swept her a low bow. “Lovely lady…”

Cat bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling. “They mean well…and they do have their orders.”

“How can Lord Ruarke expect a man to court you with those two staring over his shoulder?”

“Court?” Cat swallowed a groan. “Sir Archie, I—”

“I told you my intentions were above reproach. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything untoward till after we’re wed.”

“Wed,” she said weakly. “But we’ve only known each other for a few short weeks.” It seemed like months.

“Some couples don’t meet until their wedding day,” he reminded her. “Naturally I’d prefer to speak with your father before saying anything to you, but he was unable to see me before he left for London. And with so many eligible men prowling about for a wife, I’m afraid you’ll be snapped up before I can.”

“I’m really not in the market for a husband at the—”

“All women want to marry.” He took her hand and gazed earnestly into her eyes. “But I know a lady of your, er, prospects must guard against unscrupulous men.”

Cat braced, half expecting him to mention Henry’s name.

“I assure you ‘tis you I want, Lady Catherine,” he added. “My estate is smaller than your dear sire’s, but I would cherish you and love you all your days.”

His declaration was a balm to an old wound. Too bad she hadn’t the slightest interest in being Sir Archie’s wife. “Sir Archie, I…I am flattered by your regard, but I don’t know what to say.” How to get rid of you without hurting your feelings.

“You need only agree and tell me how to contact your father. I will do the rest.” The dozen or so rings he wore on his fingers winked in the faint light from the torches set around in the garden. Such an ostentatious display of wealth offended Cat and reminded her of how simply Gervase had been dressed. “Come. What say you?” Archie tilted his head, and Cat noticed his eyes glittered as avidly as his rings. He might say he wanted her for herself alone, but he lusted after her fortune, as well.

Still Cat couldn’t bring herself to denounce Archie. ‘Twas the way of the world. Men sought heiresses to wed. ‘Twas her misfortune to be one. “My father won’t approve the match.”

“Why? I love you,” he cried. “I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I swear it,” he said wildly.

Alarmed by his fervor, recalling where Henry’s passion had led, Cat cast a desperate glance at Gamel and Garret. They were nearby, but they’d turned away to give her a measure of privacy. Beyond them she saw other couples strolling through the gardens. If she called out, her guards would come running and pummel Archie into the ground. She didn’t want him hurt, nor, to be perfectly honest, did she want to be the center of yet another scene. Better to dent the fool’s ego than his brain.

“Sir,” she said through her teeth. “My papa would never let me marry a man who was not an earl and richer than we are.”

He flinched, his face flushing. “I had not realized you were so cruel. You led me to believe you cared for me. You let me court you when all the while you knew there was no hope.” He stood and flung down the handkerchief like a gauntlet. “Did it amuse you to have me trail after you?”

Though she knew she’d done none of these things, had in fact done her best to discourage him, Cat accepted the role in which he’d cast her. “‘Tis the way of the court, is it not?” She mimicked the brittle tone and cutting words she’d heard Clarice use to dismiss an unwanted admirer.

“I loved you,” Archie wailed.

Belatedly Cat realized he meant it…or thought he did…and wished she’d found a gentler way to do this. “Archie, I—”

“Nay!” His eyes filled with tears. “I will not stay and let you continue to flay my bleeding heart.” With a dramatic toss of his head, he stalked away.

Gamel and Garret started as Archie went past them, then turned to look at her. “About time, too,” Gamel said cheerfully. He’d never liked Archie, or any other man who’d tried to get close to her. “Will you come within now?”

Cat sighed and shook her head. “I need a moment.” Spirits drooping, she leaned back against the wooden trellis and closed her eyes.

“Resting up for the next victim?” inquired a deep voice.

Cat jerked, eyes flying open. Someone watched her from the other side of the trellis. The dim light cast a crisscross pattern of gray and black on his face, but she knew him instantly. “S-Sir Gervase, what…?”

“I was eavesdropping,” he admitted without remorse. “I wanted to see if I was right about you.”

“Right?” she asked, still dazed to find him here.

“I was. You are a spoiled little vixen.”

Cat bolted upright, generations of Sommerville pride driving out confusion and shock. “I am not. You don’t know me.”

“I see that the reason you wouldn’t walk out with me is that I’m neither wealthy nor titled.”

“You arrogant, rude…” Cat’s voice trailed off as she realized she was speaking to thin air. Gervase St. Juste had left as stealthily as he’d come. But his insults lingered on the air, tainting the sweet scent of the summer night.

Why was he spying on her? What did he want?

Chapter Two

“You have to admit she is very beautiful.”

Gervase didn’t need to ask which she Perrin meant. The besotted fool had done naught but speak of Catherine Sommerville since leaving the castle last eve. In no mood to discuss the woman whose face had haunted his dreams, he stared between his horse’s ears at the rutted road leading from the castle to the tiltyards. In order to keep up the pretext of participating in the tourney, he had to secure a mount. He had little money, and most of the horses were likely gone by now.

“Her eyes are like violets drenched in dew.”

“Next you’ll be writing verse,” Gervase snapped.

“‘Twould better serve our purpose than your approach. I do not understand why you twice insulted her instead of charming…”

“I am not charming.”

Perrin’s brows rose. “Not at the moment, mayhap.” Nor for many years, but Gervase could be charming and amusing. Well Perrin remembered the companion of his early youth, ever the prankster, full of mischief. All that had changed when Gervase was two and ten and the English killed his sire, Sir Denis, leaving the boy to be raised by his cold, strict grandparents. A hard blow, but not as brutal as the crime committed by Ruarke a year ago. That heinous deed had ripped Gervase’s heart to shreds and turned him into a hard, embittered man. Still…

“‘Tis hard to believe she’s the daughter of a vicious man like Ruarke Sommerville,” Perrin said thoughtfully.

“Of course she is not a murdering savage like her father. Women, even one born of his evil seed, are weak creatures, but last eve I had ample proof she is cold and heartless.”

“Just because she refused to wed Sir Archie? Be reasonable, if she accepted every man who trails after her, she’d be a bigamist twenty times over.”

“‘Twas the way she did it, wounding both his heart and his pride when a simple nay would have sufficed. She may not be a murderer of women and babes like her sire, but she’s shallow and cruel.” He’d had doubts about this plan when his uncle had proposed it. No matter what Ruarke had done, to kidnap an innocent lady went against the principles Gervase’s grandparents had literally beaten into him. But after meeting Lady Catherine, his conscience was clear. And his course of action. “That so vicious a soul is wrapped in a pretty package makes it all the worse.”

Perrin grinned. “I should think ‘twould make your task all the more pleasant. After all, she’ll be your prisoner, locked up in Alleuze with none to say you nay did you decide to—”

“I may be many things, Perrin, but I would not stoop to despoil a woman in my care.” The words came out more sharply than Gervase had intended.

“Nay, you are too honorable for that.” Too honorable for your own good sometimes, Perrin thought. He’d seen how the horrors of war, the bloodshed and senseless violence had eaten away at Gervase’s soul. But he’d also seen the way his friend looked at the vivacious Lady Cat. There’d been a heat in his gaze that had been absent when he’d looked at his poor dead wife. “I was surprised you agreed to this scheme of your uncle’s.”

“What choice do I have?” Gervase growled. “My people are starving. Alleuze is a charred ruin without even a roof to keep out the rain, and I have no coin for seed or building materials.”

“Aye. And my heart also bleeds for all we lost, but such things happen in war.”

“War. I know all about war…we’ve done little save fight for the past ten years. What Sommerville did to Alleuze went beyond war. ‘Twas barbarism of the worst sort.” Gervase’s gaze clouded over, and Perrin knew he remembered the gruesome sight that had awaited them when they’d returned home. Knew, too, that Gervase blamed himself for having been off fighting for King Charles when his family needed him. “Uncle Bernard is right,” Gervase said. “Ruarke should be made to answer for his crimes.”

“True. But Bernard’s motive in all this puzzles me, for I’ve never known the man to do aught that didn’t benefit him.”

“You are as bad as my grandparents, trying to turn me against Bernard. He came to our aid years ago when my father was killed, and lent Grandfather the troops to regain Alleuze.”

“And left straightaway when old Lord Jacques wouldn’t give him half of the estate as payment for his help.”

“So Grandfather said, but he ever hated Bernard for being a de Lauren and never let me forget I shared that blood,” Gervase said stiffly. “If you find this business abhorrent and wish to leave my service, I will understand.”

“I’d never leave you,” Perrin exclaimed. “You are more than my overlord and cousin. We’ve been friends since birth.” He cursed the upbringing that made Gervase hold everything inside. “You are right, our situation is perilous. We must do whatever is necessary. I—I just hate to see Lady Cat hurt by—”

“Hurt! I have no intention of harming a hair on her vain, foolish little head. The worst that will happen is she’ll spend a few uncomfortable weeks at Alleuze deprived of the luxuries to which she’s addicted. Why, she’ll likely return home more appreciative of her considerable wealth.”

“Aye, she is a great heiress. If you wed her, her dowry would buy food and stone enough to keep us—”

“Wed her! Perrin, have you lost your wits? If I planned to marry again, which I don’t, I could not overlook the fact she’s the daughter of the man who murdered my Marie and little Eva.”

“I know, but—”

“I’d speak of it no more,” Gervase snapped. Bad enough his sleep had been ruined by thoughts of Lady Catherine, he’d not have his daylight hours consumed by her, as well. Ahead he spotted the tents of the nobles and merchants arranged around the field where the tourney would be held four days hence. “I need a horse to ride in the joust, and I’d have your advice on the matter.”

“A destrier?” At Gervase’s nod, Perrin lifted his visor. He and Gervase both had the St. Juste swarthy complexions and black hair, but Perrin’s eyes were brown, clouded now with concern. “How will you pay for such an expensive beast?”

“I’ll trade my father’s sword for it, with the understanding I’ll buy it back with the prize money I win in the tourney.”

Perrin grinned. “Certain of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Aye. Desperation can lead a man to greatness.” But they both knew ‘twas no idle boast. Gervase was unequaled with a sword and lance. Had he not been needed to protect his lands, he might have made his way as a mercenary or fighting in tourneys.

“If you earn enough, you’ll not need to kidnap Lady Cat.”

“Perrin,” Gervase warned. “‘Twould be difficult to win what Bernard says we can get for her.”

“The prospect of bashing a few English heads tempts you.”

Gervase grinned with a hint of his former humor. “Ah, you’ve caught me out. That and the fact that we’ll need coin to feed our people till the Sommerville ransom is realized.”

“But if you should win more than you expect, will you still go through with this mad scheme?” Perrin asked.

“Mad? Aye, I suppose I must be, but the chance to punish Lord Ruarke is too good to pass up. Now that Uncle Bernard has put that notion in my head, I cannot shake it.”

“Hmm,” Perrin said. What he couldn’t shake was the notion this was wrong, but he owed Gervase his life and his loyalty. “As to the horses, I understand the best beasts were those bred by Lord Ruarke and most of them have been sold.”

“I’d not buy from him if he had the last horse available.”

As it turned out, that is exactly what he did have. After visiting every horse trader, Gervase ended up at Sommerville’s.

“Aye, we’ve a stallion for sale,” said the groom. That his tunic, emblazoned with the Sommerville crest, was newer and finer than those Gervase and Perrin wore did not escape the fellow’s notice. “But ye’ll not be able to afford him.”

Gervase had had a bellyful of Sommerville arrogance. “I’ll be the judge of that. Who is in charge here?” he demanded, one hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

The groom scowled, then turned to the youth lurking in his shadow. “Run fetch Sir Philippe, lad.”

The boy ran off between the tents, great silken tents finer than the hovels where Gervase’s people were forced to live, returning moments later accompanied by a mailed knight. Obviously the man had been training, for his helmet was tucked under his left arm and sweat slicked the hair to his head. He looked young to be in charge of Sommerville’s men. Likely he was some flunky sent to see what these impoverished interlopers wanted, Gervase thought, and his temper soared.

“George?” Sir Philippe inquired, one brow cocked.

“They’ve come to buy a war-horse,” the groom growled.

“Ah.” The knight looked at Gervase, brown eyes cool and neutral. “We’ve only one left. Thor is his name, and he’s a big brute, but you’ve the size to handle him.”

“If not the skills?” Gervase added softly.

Sir Philippe smiled. “You would know that better than I, sir knight. You hail from the south.”

It was a statement, not a question. Gervase cursed silently. “I speak both Norman French and that of the south.”

“As do I. I’m originally from these parts,” Sir Philippe said lightly, “so I hear nuances in speech others miss. Have I the honor of addressing Gervase St. Juste, the man who quarreled with my lord’s daughter?”

“How did you know?”

“I came late to the festivities at the castle yestereve, but soon heard what had transpired between you and Lady Cat.”

“I’m certain the lady was quick to complain about me.”

Sir Philippe frowned and shook his head. “She’d be the last one to do so. ‘Twas Oscar, leader of her bodyguards, who said the two of you had argued.”

Bodyguards? Damn. Those two great brutes he’d seen last night were her bodyguards. Another impediment to surmount. “With so many brigands about, you are wise to see your lady well watched,” Gervase replied with feigned casualness. Beside him, he felt Perrin shift and knew the news would elicit another round of complaints the moment they were private.

“Lord Ruarke is determined to see no harm befalls his eldest daughter.” Philippe scowled. “What did you say to offend her?”

So the lady had not told her guardians of his clumsy attempt at seduction. Interesting. “She is English, I am French. Our countries have been warring for years.” Gervase shrugged as though that said it all. “If you’d rather not sell one of your war-horses to the enemy…”

“It makes no difference,” Philippe said quickly. “We are at peace now, and many French knights have bought milord’s horses.”

Gervase nodded. “I’m in need of a destrier. My own was injured en route here and had to be put down.” A stretch of the truth. The battle had been years ago, but the pain of having to slit Damien’s throat was fresher. He’d raised the stallion from a colt and had hopes of siring a string of bay war-horses.

“Come look at Thor, and we’ll see if you two are suited.” Sir Philippe motioned for Gervase to follow him. The knight was either a courtier or had time to burn, for he’d not mentioned the horse’s price or asked if Gervase could pay it.

A log fence enclosed the grazing horses, each of which was chained to a huge boulder. The paddock itself was more closely guarded than the town of Bordeaux, ringed by no less than twenty pikeman. Tents flying the Sommerville banner formed a second outer ring. The area bustled with activity, squires cleaning armor and weapons, men-at-arms training with sword and ax.

Sir Philippe stopped at the rail of the fence and called to a man inside. “Fetch Thor for me, Sim.” He spoke firmly but not harshly, still the man raced off to do his bidding.

“This knight seems a goodly sort,” Perrin murmured. “Not at all what I’d expected from one who serves a monster.”

“His lord is not here,” Gervase growled. “And with so many important people come for the tourney, they are doubtless on their best behavior.”

“This is Thor,” Sir Philippe said.

Gervase looked around and fell instantly in love. The stallion was magnificent…sixteen hands high, heavy muscles rippling beneath sleek gray hide. He held his head up, alert but not tugging on the stout lead rope. The instantaneous attraction to Sommerville’s horse angered Gervase even more than had the dangerous lure of his too-beautiful daughter. “He seems docile to be effective in battle,” Gervase sneered.

“You think so?” Philippe grinned and nodded to the groom, who led Thor nearer to the rail. “Touch him if you can, Sir Gervase,” the knight taunted.

Gervase extended his hand. The stallion’s nostrils flared as he scented a stranger. In the blink of an eye, he was transformed from a thing of beauty into a wild beast. Screaming a challenge, the stallion lashed out with both front feet. A steel-shod hoof crashed into the fence, splintering the wood. Thick yellow teeth snapped at Gervase’s hand.

“Bloody hell,” Perrin exclaimed, tugging Gervase to safety. “That thing’s a menace. He should be put down.”

“He requires a strong hand on the reins, I’ll grant,” Sir Philippe said, still grinning as the groom and six helpers worked to calm the irate horse. “But you’ll find no better mount in battle. He’s bred to it, you see. He’ll carry you till he drops, stand over you and chase off all comers if you fall.”

“Saddle him,” Gervase said, his gaze pinned to the stallion, who now stood still. Thor’s rolling eyes and heaving sides were the only indication of the earlier outburst.

Philippe laid a cautionary hand on Gervase’s arm. “There is one proviso, sir. No whips. If you cannot control him without, I cannot sell him to you.”

“I’ve never beaten a horse, nor would I own one I couldn’t manage,” Gervase said tautly.

Philippe nodded. “Let us see how you manage, then.”

Gervase had a moment of trepidation when he swung up into the saddle and felt the horse tense to repel him. “Nay, you do not.” He tightened his knees. Thor screamed and ducked his head, ready to buck. Gervase shouted a curse of his own and drew back sharply on the reins. The battle was joined. Thor pranced and jumped and twice tried to scrape the unfamiliar presence from his back. With the skill of long experience, Gervase countered every move with one of his own till finally the horse admitted defeat and stood still in the center of the ring.

Hot and exhausted but triumphant, Gervase gingerly walked Thor over to the string of onlookers lining the fence. “He’s magnificent,” Gervase said. “I will take him.”

Philippe grinned and named a price twice what Gervase had expected to pay.

“I…I do not have the coin.”

“Ah, too bad. I am afraid I cannot sell you the horse for a promised share of your booty in the coming tourney.”

“Nor would I expect you to.” Even the strongest knight with a string of victories to his credit could be unseated or killed in the fierce fighting. “I would offer something more certain. Perrin, would you take the sword from my pack?”

From his vantage point on Thor’s back, he watched his friend uncover the sword. Sunlight flowed like fire along the tempered-steel blade, struck sparks off the jewels embedded in the hilt. A gasp of wonderment swept through the Sommerville retainers.