Knight's Ransom. Suzanne Barclay
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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?
“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