Читать книгу Knight's Ransom - Suzanne Barclay - Страница 10

“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.

Philippe whistled through his teeth. “‘Tis a beauty.” He lifted the sword in both hands, testing its balance before looking up at Gervase. “How come you by such a sword?”

“You mean a tattered knight like me?” Gervase asked stiffly. “I didn’t steal it, if that is your meaning. It’s been in my family for generations, brought back from the Crusades.”

“I wonder you can bear to part with it.”

“I don’t mean to be for long,” Gervase replied. “I want your guarantee I may buy it back with what I win in the tourney.”

“Agreed,” Philippe said at once. “I will summon the clerk to draw up the papers. Lord Ruarke has a fondness for old weapons and would be pleased to add this sword to his collection if your plans don’t succeed. If they do, rest assured you may have it back for the price of the stallion.”

“That seems most fair,” Gervase said grudgingly. So this Philippe was honorable. That didn’t make his master so.

Just then a party of riders cantered across the field, halting a few yards away. Recognizing the woman who rode in their midst, Gervase gritted his teeth.

“What is going on here, Philippe?” Lady Cat demanded.

The knight walked over to where she sat, glaring down from her sleek brown mare. “I’ve nearly concluded selling Thor to—”

“Nay. You cannot sell Thor to him,” she cried.

Philippe frowned. “I already have, milady.”

“Well…well, unsell him.”

“Fortunately you have no say in this,” Gervase taunted.

The fire vanished from her eyes, replaced by a searing cold. “Papa said the man who bought Thor must ride him without a whip.”

“Aye,” Philippe replied, trying to gauge the undercurrents flowing between the proud knight and the volatile Cat. “Explosive as black powder,” Oscar had said of their confrontation the night before. True. But having been with the family since her birth, Philippe knew Cat better than did her bodyguard. Better, mayhap than she did herself. He’d never seen her look at a man thus, head thrown back, nostrils flared like a mare confronted by an unfamiliar stallion. Just so had her mother looked at Ruarke when she’d met and married him…all in the same day. “He controlled Thor as ably as your sire does,” he assured the fuming Cat.

She lifted her chin another notch and glared at Gervase’s worn garments. “I doubt the man has the coin to pay.”

“Better than coin.” Philippe gestured to the sword.

Cat’s eyes widened. “Where did he get it?”

Witch, Gervase thought. Spoiled, arrogant little witch. When he got her to Alleuze he’d see she worked for her food alongside his people. Aye, a fortnight of scrubbing floors should bring her down a peg. “He got it from his father,” Gervase said icily.

“Lord Ruarke would welcome such a fine piece, my lady,” Philippe said in the chilly silence that followed. “As his agent I’ve agreed to exchange Thor for the sword and hold it till after the tourney when Sir Gervase will redeem it with his winnings.”

The color rose in her cheeks and her mobile mouth thinned in frustration, but surprisingly she didn’t rail against the inevitable. “I hope he falls on his ass ere the melee starts,” she snarled. Tugging on the reins of her horse, she spun and galloped away. Her escort scrambled after her.

Despite his pique, Gervase noted they numbered some thirty or so heavily armed men, led by the pair he’d seen with her the night before. Thirty against the twenty men he’d brought with him. Clearly he must find a way to improve the odds, or get her by herself in order for his plans to succeed. And the way things stood between them, he had as much chance of getting her alone as he had of being crowned king of France.

Mayhap ‘twas time to mask his rage and see if he still remembered how to be charming to a woman.