The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  And that, quite simply, was the dark little secret the House of de Tuberville harbored.

  A mother who couldn’t wait to be rid of her daughter.

  It was the lisp that Blythe considered a flaw, that sweetheart little lisp that Catherine had. It didn’t matter that her daughter was stunningly beautiful and accomplished in a great many things. All that mattered was that when she spoke, and she spoke quite intelligently, that lisping speech and soft tone gave the impression of a simpleton. A sweetheart, pretty simpleton.

  Catherine knew that but it did not trouble her like it had when she’d been young. The men she knew these days didn’t think such things about her, things that her mother had beat into her since she’d first learn to speak. It had stopped bothering her years ago, something she’d forced herself to harden to before it sucked her soul dry. A mother’s love had never been part of her life and she’d learned to live without it. Therefore, the sight of her mother’s carriage did nothing to her.

  She had better things to look at.

  Opening the carriage door, Catherine scooped up Bando and Iris, carrying them off towards the grassy patches near the river so they could relieve themselves after the long journey. When she was quite sure the dogs were away from the bustle of the men and horses, she carefully set them down, following them as they sniffed around. They were both nosy creatures, interested in their surroundings, and Catherine trailed the pair as they wandered along the grass, further and further from the de Tuberville campsite.

  In fact, when she wasn’t watching the dogs, Catherine was inspecting the dozens and dozens of tents as they filled up the encampment. She could see them through the trees, spread out nearly as far as she could see. The colors were so bright and gay, standards snapping in the breeze. There were red and white tents, yellow and red tents, black and green tents, and everything in between. There were men everywhere, working around the tents or polishing weapons.

  It was a busy, bustling city unto itself.

  As she continued to walk, she could see some men practicing with swords against each other, practicing for the coming games. Clusters of horses stood lazily in makeshift corrals, munching on the green grass at their feed that was quickly depleting. And somewhere, she could hear music playing. Living such a rural life, it was rare when Catherine was around so many people at one time.

  It was all quite exciting.

  Bark! Bark!

  Abruptly, Bando and Iris took off, barking furiously. Startled, Catherine looked over to see her dogs heading towards an enormous Irish wolfhound who was simply sitting at the edge of a cluster of tents near the river. The poor dog wasn’t doing a thing, but Bando and Iris clearly thought he was enough of a threat to charge.

  Catherine began to run.

  All she could see were her dogs being eaten by the giant beast who was calmly sitting. Surely a dog like that would make mincemeat out of her little pets and she began to call after her dogs, calling their names and whistling to gain their attention.

  But it was all to no avail.

  Bando and Iris were singularly focused.

  The dogs came off the grass, charging across a mashed area that was being used as a road. Their prey was on the other side of the mashed area. The big dog finally turned to see the two white devils coming after him. The dog laid his ears back, stood up, and turned tail, running into the camp with the blue and black tents.

  Bando and Iris went in pursuit.

  So did Catherine.

  Before she could reach the blue and black tents, however, a massive silver body appeared. It took her a moment to realize that there was now a horse between her and her dogs, but she was running with such momentum that she couldn’t prevent herself from crashing into the beast.

  As Catherine bounced backwards and stumbled onto her bum, the horse let out something that sounded like a yell and reared up. All Catherine could see were hooves as big as her head, so she scrambled backwards across the mashed grass, trying to get away. She managed to put distance between her and the horse, and as she climbed to her feet, hands were reaching out to steady her.

  “My lady?” came the deep, concerned voice. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Catherine was back on her feet now, pushing her hair from her eyes and seeing the most enormous man she’d ever seen, clad in armor and mail and a great helm.

  It was the most terrifying vision she’d ever beheld.

  “Nay,” she said, moving away from him and away from the horse in his grasp that was still snorting and dancing. “I am uninjured.”

  She ran around him before he could say another word, hearing her dogs barking somewhere in the distance, feeling increasingly fearful because she didn’t see them.

  “Bando?” she cried. “Iris?”

  There were men milling about in this encampment, but the ones she came across seemed rather confused. They seemed to be looking at something near the river.

  “My dogs,” she said to them, her voice trembling. “Forgive me, my lords, but have you seen my dogs?”

  The men looked at her while one of them pointed. “Little white dogs?” he said. “Over there.”

  She followed his finger to see that Bando and Iris had chased the wolfhound onto a tree stump. The big dog was perched on top of it, terrified, as her little dogs prowled around the bottom, barking menacingly. Catherine ran up and grabbed them both.

  “You naughty little creatures,” she scolded. “Just wait until I get you back to the carriage. I’ll tie you up and you’ll never run free again!”

  Bando and Iris ignored her, still barking at the poor wolfhound. Since her own dogs were safe, Catherine felt rather sorry for the big dog, turning to see that the men from the blue and black encampment had followed her. Someone whistled and the wolfhound came off of the stump, gratefully running back to men who would protect him. Catherine turned to see men standing a few feet away, including the enormous man in the armor and great helm. When the wolfhound ran up to him and whined, he petted the beast on his head affectionately.

  It didn’t take a great intellect to realize the dog belonged to him.

  Her heart sank.

  “My apologies, my lord,” she said. “I am very sorry that my dogs harassed your wolfhound. I promise it will not happen again. You see, they’ve been cooped up all day in the carriage with me and I fear that has made them a little wild.”

  She could see that the men standing around were grinning at the giant dog terrified of tiny little dogs. The man in the armor removed his helm, revealing a handsome face with dark eyes and a head of cropped, black hair.

  Those dark eyes were fixed on her.

  “No harm done, my lady,” he said. “I think he will survive. I may have to get him drunk, though.”

  As the men around him snorted, Catherine cocked her head. “You would give a dog drink?”

  He flashed a lopsided smile, still patting the dog’s head. “It was a jest,” he said. “Odin might look like a fearsome beast, but the truth is that he is afraid of his own shadow. You, however, have a pair of fierce fighters on your hands. I envy you.”

  Catherine smiled reluctantly, looking at the silly mutts in her arms. “It is unfortunate but true, my lord,” she said. “They will chase anything. The bigger, the better. I fear that someday they will come to harm because of it.”

  “Nay,” the man said, looking at the white dogs. “Fortune favors the foolish. I am certain they will live long and healthy lives while the rest of us live in fear of them.”

  Catherine broke down into soft giggles. “I have brought them to compete in the games, you know.”

  The man smiled broadly, a devilishly handsome smile of big, white teeth. “Is that so?” he said. “Then I am forewarned, my lady. Under what house will they fight?”

  “De Tuberville, my lord.”

  “Then I shall know them and be prepared,” he said. A slightly awkward silence followed before he spoke again. “Although I realize you already have your bodyguards with you, may I escort
you back to your encampment, my lady?”

  Catherine shook her head, nodding off towards the south. “It would be too much trouble, my lord,” she said. “Our encampment is only over there, on the other side of those trees. I am quite able to make it back safely.”

  The man handed his helm off to one of the other men, who grasped the wolfhound by the collar and pulled him away. Meanwhile, the enormous man began walking towards the trees, motioning to Catherine as he went.

  “I would not dream of letting you return unattended,” he said. “Will you give me that honor?”

  Catherine wasn’t sure she had a choice, so she simply nodded. “Of course,” she said. “If you are certain I am not keeping you from something more important.”

  “You are not.” They began to walk and he eyed her, perhaps trying not to stare at her. “I fear there is no one to make the proper introductions, so may I be bold and ask your name?”

  Catherine didn’t see any harm in it. “I am Catherine de Tuberville,” she said. “My brothers have come to compete in the games.”

  “I see,” he said, walking a proper distance away from her as they crossed into the trees. “How many brothers do you have?”

  “Three.”

  “So three brothers and the two dogs will compete?”

  She laughed softly. “I may have exaggerated about the dogs,” she said. “But my brothers are very excited to compete. We do not have much chance to attend such exciting happenings where we are from.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Keswick Castle, in Cumbria.”

  He nodded in understanding. “I do not think I have heard of Keswick,” he said. “Where in Cumbria?”

  “It is a few miles west of Penrith,” she said. “We are in the dales of Cumbria.”

  They had come out of the trees with the de Tuberville tents directly ahead, but his gaze was on her. “That is beautiful land.”

  She shrugged. “It is boring land,” she said. “It is so rare that we have the opportunity for something exciting like this. Do you attend these tournaments often?”

  “Often enough.”

  They were nearing the tents but she paused, finding the conversation interesting and perhaps not wanting it to end so quickly. “My brothers have not attended in quite some time, but I probably should not tell you that,” she said. “If you happen to face them, you will know that they’ve not had much practice recently.”

  He chuckled. “Nay, you should not have told me that,” he said. “You have just given them away and now I shall beat them down if given the chance.”

  Her eyes widened and her smile vanished. “Truly?”

  His dark eyes glimmered with mirth. “Nay,” he said. “I am jesting. For you, I will go easy on them.”

  Catherine fought off a smile. “You do not have to do that,” she said. “They could take a little beating now and again. Especially George. He has visions of grandeur.”

  “He does, does he?”

  She nodded. “In fact, he was just speaking of someone named de Reyne,” she said. “Only just now. He said he would like nothing better than to topple the man. God’s Bones, there I go again. I should not have said that. You do not know de Reyne, do you?”

  The man shrugged vaguely. “A little,” he said. “But your secret is safe with me.”

  Her smile returned. “Thank you,” she said. A brief but not entirely uneasy silence followed as Catherine glanced at the yellow and white de Tuberville tents. “I am returned now, my lord. Thank you for taking the time to return me home and I am terribly sorry that my dogs frightened your dog. I do hope he recovers.”

  The man smiled, dimples carving into each cheek. “He will, I assure you,” he said. “And thank you very much for allowing me to escort you home, Lady Catherine. It has been the most pleasurable part of my day.”

  Catherine grinned bashfully in gratitude, watching him as he gave her a lingering look before turning around and heading back the way he’d come. Catherine simply stood there, watching him go, as Charles came up beside her.

  “What was that all about?” he asked suspiciously. “What happened?”

  Catherine nodded. “The dogs ran off,” she said. “He simply escorted me back to our encampment so no harm would befall me. Was that not chivalrous of him?”

  Charles sighed sharply. “It was calculated,” he muttered. “Do you know who that is?”

  She looked at him blankly. “Nay,” she said. “I forgot to ask his name.”

  Charles looked at her then. “That was Ridge de Reyne,” he said. “The very same knight we were speaking of. He did not introduce himself?”

  Catherine looked at him, stricken, immediately thinking of all of those things she’d told de Reyne about her brothers and their rusty joust skills. “N-Nay,” she stammered. “Oh, Charles… that is really de Reyne?”

  “The Black Storm in the flesh.”

  He turned away, back to undoubtedly tell his brothers about de Reyne’s appearance, as Catherine returned her attention to the knight she could barely see through the trees now. In the distance, she could see his blue and black tents. She could hardly believe how foolish she had been, spouting off about her brothers to the very man they would soon be competing against. She supposed time would tell if he took her silly conversation seriously.

  Whether or not her brothers survived the tournament would tell the tale.

  With a heavy sigh, she took her naughty dogs and headed back to her carriage.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You do not normally attend these feasts,” Payne said. “Why this one?”

  Ridge knew that Payne was eyeing him suspiciously. He could feel the man’s gaze on his back as he moved around his sleeping dog, digging through a trunk for a clean tunic. “Because we’ve not been to Durham in a couple of years,” he said steadily. “I would like to acquaint myself with the knights I’ll be competing against in the coming days. Besides, I want to see the knights of Northwood.”

  Payne lifted his eyebrows, not particularly believing his explanation, before moving over to a three-legged stool and planting himself upon it. “They were at the exhibition this afternoon,” he said. “You could have seen them then. De Wolfe, de Norville, Hage, and de Bocage.”

  “Were they any good?”

  Payne cocked his head. “De Wolfe destroyed his competition,” he said, pointing a finger at Ridge. “He will be the one to watch. Hage and de Bocage were successful, also, but de Norville took an illegal hit to the neck.”

  Ridge paused for a moment before looking up from the trunk. “Let me guess,” he said. “De Luzie?”

  Payne nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said. “The field marshals disqualified him from competing in the mass competition tomorrow. He is appealing the decision.”

  Ridge grunted as he turned back to the trunk. “Of course he is,” he said sarcastically. “The man tries to kill people and he’s indignant when he is punished. How is de Norville?”

  “Well and angry.”

  “Did you send them my compliments earlier today, as I asked of you?”

  “I did,” Payne said. “It was probably your warning that saved de Norville’s life. From what I saw, he seemed to be prepared for any tricks, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from being unseated.”

  Ridge finally pulled forth a dark blue tunic that had gold embroidery around the neck. It was made of very fine material. He held it up, shaking it out as he took a good look at it.

  “Well,” he said after a moment, his eyes still on the tunic. “I will introduce myself to the Northwood knights tonight. I will have a conversation with them about just how ruthless de Luzie can be.”

  Payne shrugged. “Mayhap we can collude against him,” he said. “They can unseat him in the joust and I can make sure my horse tramples him while he’s down. I will… oh, damn… I apologize, Ridge. I did not mean to bring that up.”

  Ridge turned for his bed, still holding up the tunic. “Bring what up?”

  “The trampli
ng.”

  Ridge lay the tunic on the bed. “It is done and over with,” he said evenly. “Although I do wish it had been de Luzie on the ground and not Pocklington.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  Ridge smiled, though it was without humor. “I think it’s best if we do something about de Luzie this time,” he said. “I do not want to go through the rest of my life being on my guard against a petty, wicked bastard who jousts for bloodlust, not for the love of the sport.”

  Payne stood up. “You know we are with you,” he said, almost eagerly. “You know that everyone on the circuit will be with you if you truly wish to cut de Luzie down. If there ever was justice served, ridding us of that bastard would be a prime example.”

  Ridge held up a hand to ease Payne’s seeming excitement. “I must think about it,” he said. “Do not mention it to Tavis and Osbert, however. Those two would take matters into their own hands if they thought I was considering such a thing. They would take it as a directive.”

  Payne chuckled just as the very knights they were speaking of entered the tent. Tavis du Lac was tall, with curly blond hair and a brooding demeanor, while Osbert de Warrick was only slightly less brooding and a far sight meaner. A big man with shaggy brown hair and a beard that had been known to house mice looking for a warm place to hide, Osbert entered the tent with a pike in his hand, handing it over to Payne.

  “The marshals won’t let us use the pike,” he said grimly. “It must be blunted.”

  Ridge looked up from the tunic on the bed that he was trying to smooth out. “It is blunted,” he said. “Look at the damn thing – it has a rounded end.”

  As Osbert shook his head, Tavis spoke up. “Not rounded enough,” he said. “We cannot use it in the mass competition as it is. I’ll have the smithy work through the night and turn it into a club.”

  Payne took a final look at the head and handed it back to Osbert. “One to use on Renard de Luzie’s head,” he muttered. “We were just speaking on him, in fact.”

  Osbert flashed his teeth. “I wish the marshals hadn’t banished him from the mass competition,” he said. “It is much easier to target a man when there is such chaos going on. One swift blow to the skull and our worries are over.”