Knight's Ransom. Suzanne Barclay
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off with a man…a horse trainer,” she added in a horrified whisper. “Some nobody named Henry Norville. Her parents hushed up the disgraceful business as best they could. The duke knew of it, apparently, and swore his people to secrecy, but since all was revealed last night…”
“I still think ‘tis mean to condemn her for one mistake.”
“A costly error, that,” her father interjected. “With her bloodlines and dowry, Lord Ruarke could have made an excellent match for her. But now…no honorable man will want her.” He cleared his throat and scowled. “Wed a woman who’ll spread her thighs for anyone and no telling who’ll sire your children.”
“Too true,” his wife said.
Gervase slammed down his cup and quit the table before he did something stupid, like defend a woman he didn’t even like. ‘Twas the principle of the thing, he told himself as he threaded his way through the tables. But then the English were known to be petty and narrow-minded. Sickened by the stench of so many English bodies, offended by the way their tongues twisted the Norman French, he made for the garden.
“Well, you wanted her isolated,” Perrin said, the moment they stepped outside. “Now she’s even deprived of Margery’s comfort.”
“Don’t you have anything to do besides hound me?”
“Not at present.”
“Then ride out to camp and check on Thor,” Gervase growled. “So handsome a piece of horseflesh may attract thieves. And take with you some meat and wine for Vallis and the others. They are as needful of a good meal as we.”
“Why not come with me?”
Gervase shook his head. “I have promised to speak with Lord Etienne de Vigne after supper, and then I must decide which of the French parties we will align ourselves with for the melee.”
“I thought you had settled on Henri Gaston. He’s the strongest and, if we fight in his group, we will be able to concentrate on capturing the richest prizes.”
“True.” Gervase glanced about. Dark had fallen and the torches cast golden circles over the beds of flowers, but beyond their reach the shadows were thick, concealing. He lowered his voice. “Lord Henri’s methods are not to my liking. Any man who orders his troops to hamstring fallen knights to prevent their escape or cut the horses from beneath them…”
“English knights and English mounts,” Perrin said.
“If we were speaking of war, such deplorable actions might be necessary, but this is a game, a means to fortune and glory, not a matter of life and death. Lord Etienne’s forces may be smaller, but he is a man of honor.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, weary of plotting and calculating. “Go and make certain all is well at camp. I’ve heard tell there are those about who would like to improve their own chances in the tourney by disabling their opponents’ mounts and men beforehand.”
“All the more reason not to have you riding back to camp late at night and alone.”
“Since the feasting is like to stretch far into the night, and I don’t know when I will be able to speak with Etienne, I will remain here tonight. Expect me early on the morrow.” There would be last-minute preparations for the tourney to oversee.
“Where will you sleep?”
“In the stables if there is room. If not, under some convenient bush as we did when we were campaigning.”
Perrin grinned. “Lady Clarice would doubtless be happy to help you find…accommodations.”
“I’d have to be blind drunk to bed an Englishwoman,” ” Gervase snarled. “Think of all the English have cost me.”
“I know, I know.” Perrin clasped Gervase’s shoulder and squeezed. “But you have endured and will yet triumph. Shall I leave Armand with you?”
“Nay, take him.” The castle was no place for his young, impressionable squire. “That way I’ll have only myself to see to.” For a time after Perrin left him, Gervase wandered aimlessly in the garden. The sweet scent of rosemary took him back to his mother’s garden and home. Set high on the side of a lush valley, Alleuze had not the grandeur of larger keeps, but its sun-washed rooms had been filled with love and laughter. Now it was a hollow shell, a place of blackened walls and shattered dreams. With his family dead, had he the will to restore it? And for whom?
The crunch of footfalls and the murmur of voices warned his privacy was about to be breached. Having no wish for company, he ducked behind a towering yew and watched to see who came.
“We think you should return home,” said an unfamiliar male voice. “Come morn, I’ll assemble thirty men and escort—”
“Nay, I’d not cheat them of their chance to ride in a tourney they’ve been preparing for these two months,” replied one he had no trouble recognizing. Lady Catherine Sommerville.
Gervase withdrew farther into the shadows as they came abreast of him and stopped.
“But…but this is intolerable.” The speaker was Oscar. Behind him, their broad faces echoing the smaller man’s concern, hovered Gamel and Garret. “At least let me send for milord.”
Catherine’s back was to Gervase, but he saw her shoulders move, heard her sigh. “Nay. What could Papa do save fret? And he has enough on his mind with the prince so gravely ill.”
“He could run the lot of them through,” Gamel growled.
Her laugh was low, tinged with sadness. “No doubt he’d want to…Papa has ever tried to vanquish whatever foes beset me, but I fear his sword would not restore my tarnished honor.”
“Do not speak so,” Garret cried. “Ye are the most virtuous of ladies. ‘Tis these…these bastards who have no honor. To shun ye and besmirch yer name so with their whispers and lies.”
“But we know they are not lies.” Her voice was so soft Gervase barely heard the words over the rustle of wind through the trees, yet he felt her pain.
“‘Tis not right ye should still continue to suffer for a single mistake in judgment,” Oscar said gruffly.
“Aye, Henry was surely that, but I fear my error will haunt me all my life.” She turned and lifted her face to the breeze, exposing the pure lines of her profile to the torchlight, high cheekbones, straight nose and a pointed chin that wobbled a bit before she firmed it. “The air smells good after the stuffiness of the hall. What I wouldn’t give for a good gallop.”
“Don’t even suggest it,” Oscar muttered. “I’d give ye anything else ye ask for, milady, but Lord Ruarke was most specific about not allowing ye to tear around the countryside.”
“Even with an escort.” She smiled sadly. “I know. And he is right, the woods are full of brigands, still…”
Gervase felt her sigh all the way to his soul, and damned himself for it. Why her? Of all the women he’d met—including his poor dead wife—why did this one woman stir him so?
“Ah, there you are, Lady Catherine. I saw you leave the hall and thought you might like some company,” Sir Archie drawled as he slid into the light. Like the snake he was, Gervase thought, his hackles rising as the man kissed Catherine’s hand.
“Sir Archie,” Catherine said coolly.
The knight smiled, then flicked a dismissive glance at her escort. “Kindly remain here. I’d walk a pace with your mistress.”
Oscar bristled. “She goes nowhere without us.”
“A wise precaution, but I mean her no harm. I but thought she might like to sit a few moments on yon bench, away from the prying eyes of friends and foes alike.”
A kindly offer, given all Catherine had been through these past two days, yet it struck Gervase wrong. So while her three guards remained on the path, he crept through