The king of the tournament field had, in any case.
The House of de Tuberville received no response from the crowd at all when they arrived. Blythe had decided not to attend the mass competition because she’d found it a vulgar display, so it was just Catherine attending along with her brothers, who were in fine form that morning. Dressed in their finest armor, they had their squires bring their horses as they walked with their sister, looking out over the crowds and competitors swarming the arena.
It was quite a spectacle.
The smell of damp grass and hot steel was heavy in the air once they arrived. Reaching the arena floor, they were expected to go out onto the field immediately but not wanting to leave Catherine alone in the stands, they had two soldiers assigned to her specifically to protect her. Catherine found a good seat in a box towards the center of the stands, protected by de Tuberville soldiers on each side, and watched the spectacle unfold below her.
The peasants who had come in for the games crowded the standing-room-only area that was right up against the arena floor. The knights were beginning to form ranks on either side of the arena, but some were walking up and down in front of the spectators, demanding they be cheered only to receive resounding catcalls. They would shake a balled fist and the crowd would heckle them even more. Then they would call out one another, telling the spectators how worthless their adversaries were, which caused a fist fight more than once.
It was absolutely hilarious.
Some men were seriously booed, while others were marginally cheered. Some knights spoke to the crowd and made them laugh, while others made demands and had things thrown at them. The children seemed to be making the most noise, challenging some of the knights to fight.
It was exciting and a little wild.
And then, Ridge appeared.
He was on foot, as all of them were at this point, and when the crowd saw him, they went mad again. Screaming and cheering rose up, and Catherine looked around in awe at the response the man received. Her brothers had told her that he was the reigning champion, but it didn’t really impact her until this moment.
Clearly, the crowds loved him.
And then she noticed something else.
Soldiers and ladies-in-waiting were making their way to the edge of the arena, waving handkerchief and veils and flowers. It was clear that they were trying to get someone’s attention. They managed to capture the focus of one of the field marshals, who in turn dutifully crossed the ring until he came to Ridge, who was standing there speaking to several knights Catherine recognized from the night before. The field marshal tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned, the man pointed to the group of people waving the kerchiefs and the veils and the flowers.
That’s when Catherine realized they were trying to get Ridge’s attention.
Realizing that the man was so popular was an enlightening experience. She wished her mother was there to see it because it might change her mind about allowing Ridge to court her. Before, Catherine had felt extremely fortunate that Ridge had taken such an interest in her but, now, she realized just what an honor it was. The most popular knight at the event had eyes for her.
It was a shocking realization.
But also a wonderful one.
Completely ignoring the group trying to get his attention, Ridge broke away from the men he’d been speaking with and headed towards the stands. When the crowd saw him approaching, they began to scream and cheer for him, calling his name, but he wasn’t paying particular attention to anyone. He seemed singularly focused and the field marshals opened the gate for him, pushing back the crowd and admitting him to the stands.
It took Catherine a moment to realize that he was heading straight for her.
Startled, she stood up when their eyes met because he was smiling at her. He was without his helm, but his de Reyne tunic announced to the world who he was. The dark blue, black, and white shield with the wavy lines and the sunbursts told everyone that The Black Storm had arrived.
He came up onto the box she was sitting in and, reaching out, he took Catherine’s hand.
“I wanted to bid you a good morn before the mass competition began,” he said, a smile on his lips. “I was hoping to bring those two little devils back to you myself, but your brother came and got them.”
“I know,” Catherine said, her expression glowing as she gazed upon him. “I was sorry, too. Did the dogs have a good night?”
His smile grew. “The best,” he said. “They snored so loudly that I hardly slept at all.”
She laughed softly. “I am sorry,” she said. “But Odin survived his bout with them?”
“I think they are all best friends now and plotting against me.”
She continued to laugh. “I trust that you can protect yourself should the need arise,” she said. Then she looked around, indicating the field before them. “This is all very exciting. You have quite a lot of admirers.”
He lifted her hand to his lips for a sweet kiss before letting it go. “You’re the only admirer I want.”
“And you have me.”
“Good.” He looked her over, including her beautiful dress, and emitted a sigh of satisfaction. “You honor me, my lady. I have the attention of the most beautiful woman here.”
Catherine could feel herself flushing at his flattery. “You will have it for as long as you want it,” she said. “Are you carrying my favor?”
He patted the chest of his tunic. “It is here, near my heart,” he said. There was some shouting on the field and he turned to see that the field marshals were finishing their preparations. “I must go now. I hope you enjoy the competition.”
“I am sure I will,” she said. “But, Ridge?”
“Aye?”
“Win or lose, you will always be my champion.”
A grin spread across his lips and he gave her a bold wink before coming down from the stands and heading back onto the field. The marshals had to shove people away from him, eager spectators who simply wanted to touch the greatest knight at the tournament, but they never had the chance. Ridge made it out onto the field, heading over to his men and the team he’d pulled together, and all the while, Catherine watched him as if nothing else existed.
The games were about to begin.
*
“Did you see that?”
The question had come from Martin. Standing on the edge of the field, Martin and Fulke and Renard had watched Ridge go into the stands to kiss the hand of a blonde-haired goddess in a dark blue gown. In all of the tournaments they’d ever attended with Ridge de Reyne present, they’d never seen him do that.
Ever.
“I did,” Renard said, his focus on the blonde. “That is the de Tuberville daughter. I recognize that hair from last night. Who else could it be?”
Martin and Fulke shook their heads. “He must be carrying her favor,” Martin said. “Why else would he go into the stands like that?”
Renard knew that. It also gave him an idea.
“I wonder just how effective de Reyne is going to be if he sees me in the stands with his lady?” he said, though it wasn’t really a question as much as it was a statement. “I was not able to meet her last night, but now, he’s on the field and she is all alone. I think you should introduce me to her, Martin.”
“But I do not know her, either.”
“Then introduce yourself and proceed to introduce me,” he said snappishly. “And make sure you mention that I know her mother. That should work.”
Martin shrugged. “As you wish, my lord.”
Leaving Fulke on the edge of the field, Renard and Martin made their way through the crowd and into the stands. The two opposing teams were sizing one another up at this point and the head marshal was announcing the competitors. They pushed past vendors selling little meat pies or wooden cups of watered ale, making their way up to the seats where the nobility was sitting.
There were quite a few ladies in the stands, mothers and fathers with young women who were ve
ry excited to be present. The stands were set up in boxes, each box containing several stools, though some had chairs with backs on them for women who grew weary easily. Renard followed Martin up to the box that the lady was sitting in, but a de Tuberville soldier stopped them from getting any closer.
“State your business,” the soldier said gruffly.
Martin gestured to Catherine. “My lord is a friend of the lady’s mother,” he said. “He wishes to bid the lady a good morn and answer any questions she may have about the coming game.”
The soldier was older, seasoned. He wasn’t naïve of the games men played. He turned to Catherine, who hadn’t yet noticed the bold men next to her box.
“My lady?” he said. “This man says he is a friend of your mother’s. Do you know him?”
Catherine turned to look then. She saw a short, dark-haired man in an expensive tunic and another taller man standing in front of him. Neither men were anything noteworthy, or recognizable, and she shook her head.
“I do not,” she said, but she addressed the men and not the soldier. “What is your name?”
The man in the front spoke. “My lady, this is Renard de Luzie,” he said, introducing the man standing behind him. “He has made your mother’s acquaintance and wishes to make yours.”
The pleasant expression vanished from Catherine’s features. She stared at Renard, seeing a little man with a smarmy expression and little else. Her heart started to pound, looking at the man her brothers and Ridge had warned her against, a brute of a warrior with no sense of right or wrong.
If you see him, run away.
She couldn’t very well run. But she could get rid of him.
“That is not possible,” she said stiffly. “I am sorry you have wasted your time, but I have no desire to become acquainted with Sir Renard. Please respect my wishes and leave.”
That wasn’t the answer Renard had hoped for. Now that he saw the lady up close, he could see that she was positively exquisite. She had a catch in her speech, a lazy tongue that young children often had, but it didn’t deter from her beauty. In fact, it was rather charming.
He could see, instantly, what had de Reyne so interested.
“My lady, your mother and I spent some time last evening in discussions about you,” he said, pushing Martin aside so he could get to the edge of the box. “She assured me that she would introduce us, but I do not see her here today. Is she ill?”
Catherine eyed him unhappily. “She is not ill.”
“I see,” Renard said, sensing that she had no desire to elaborate. “Then I hope to see her very soon. I promise you that I’ve not come to annoy you in any fashion, but I thought you might like someone to explain the rules of the game to you. It can be complex. I would be more than happy to guide you through it.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“Truly, my lady, I have nothing more to do today. It would be an honor to explain the rules of the mass competition.”
She looked at him, then, pointedly. “You are not competing because the field marshals banned you for your dirty tactics in yesterday’s exhibition,” she said, watching his features stiffen. “I know all about you, Sir Renard. You needn’t try to convince me otherwise. Please leave me in peace.”
Renard took a deep breath. “I do not know who has told you such lies, my lady, but…”
“More than one man told me such things. Are you telling me they are all lying?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I am saying that you have only heard one side of the story,” he said. “Every story has two sides, my lady. It would be gracious of you to listen to my side. A man’s enemies can create all sorts of misinformation.”
Catherine wasn’t going to argue with him. The more he spoke, the more she disliked him. He had an oily way about him, something dirty and unpleasant. She couldn’t put her finger on what was so distasteful, but more that it was simply everything about him.
“I do not think it was misinformation considering multiple men told me the same thing,” she said. “I think it was the truth, which is why I left my mother’s table last night to deliberately avoid you. I have no wish to speak with you, meet you, or otherwise, Sir Renard. Please respect my wishes and leave.”
With that, she turned her back on him, her attention returning to the field. It was clear the conversation was over. Embarrassed and enraged, Renard simply turned away, heading out of the stands with Martin close behind. He filtered out of the stands, past the crowds of people clustered around the wooden arena barrier, until they found Fulke still standing where they’d left him. Fulke looked at them curiously as Renard emitted a frustrated hiss.
“Bitch,” he snarled. “How dare she insult me. In front of witnesses, no less. Everyone around her heard what she said.”
“What did she say?” Fulke asked.
Martin shook his head, trying to silently warn the man off, but Renard was livid. “She said that several men told her about my performance in yesterday’s exhibition,” he said. “She said she knew why I wasn’t in the mass competition today, the little chit. She knows absolutely nothing.”
Fulke got the message. The de Tuberville daughter wanted nothing to do with him, which wasn’t surprising. That happened frequently with the more well-placed young women.
But Renard wasn’t going to give up yet.
His anger began to cool.
“Her mother is not here,” he said thoughtfully. “She must be back in the encampment, for there is no other place to go. The lady’s brothers are all in the mass competition, which means there isn’t anyone to stand in my way.”
“What way?” Martin asked hesitantly. “What do you intend to do?
Renard’s gaze was on the field as the knights began to put on their helms and gather their clubs in anticipation of the start of the mass competition.
“Mayhap I shall find the lady’s mother and tell her how rude her daughter was to me,” he said. “I will demand an apology and she will undoubtedly send for her daughter, which will bring her back to the encampment where her mother will scold her and she will undoubtedly wish to make amends to me. Meanwhile, de Reyne will be distracted because he will not see her in her box. Hopefully, that distraction will knock him out of the competition.”
Martin and Fulke exchanged uncertain glances. “And it will also bring an enraged de Reyne to your doorstep,” Martin said. “Possibly the de Tuberville brothers, as well. Do you truly wish to provoke the man? There are so many other women here, my lord. Women who would be glad for your company.”
Renard looked at him. Then, he laughed. With no more of a reply than that, he headed in the direction of the competitors’ encampment while Martin and Fulke reluctantly followed.
They could already see that big trouble was on the horizon.
CHAPTER TEN
“It was most humiliating,” Renard said. “Such bad behavior from a young woman is unseemly and an embarrassment to her family. Is this how your daughter was brought up? To behave so poorly?”
Blythe, who had been disturbed from sewing when Renard had appeared in the de Tuberville encampment just a few minutes earlier, stared at the man with wide eyes.
“Of course not,” she said defensively. “But I do not understand. What, exactly, did she say?”
Renard was huffing. “She said that many men told that I was an immoral and brutal man,” she said. “Is it possible your sons told her that? It is slander, my lady, and vicious gossip that should not be tolerated. Do your sons always go around slandering men they do not know?”
Blythe was forced to put her sewing aside and stand up. De Luzie was genuinely angry for an offense she knew nothing about. She certainly did not want to look poorly in front of the son of a count.
“My sons seemed to have a negative opinion of you, that is true, but I’ve not heard that they were telling those opinions to others, my lord,” she said steadily.
Renard waved his arms around. “But they spoke of it to their sister, clearly.”
“They did, my lord,” she said. “I do not know what was said, but I will send for my daughter and have her explain to me what she said and why. I am sure it was simply a misunderstanding.”
Renard’s eyes narrowed. “There was no misunderstanding,” he said. “I heard her clearly and so did my men.”
“Then what do you wish for me to do?”
“Bring her here and have her explain herself,” he demanded. “Punish her.”
“How?”
“Make it so that she cannot attend any more of the games while she is here.”
Blythe sighed faintly. “She is here to support her brothers in their endeavors,” she said. “I do not wish to deprive my sons of their only support, but I will send for her and demand she clarify her remarks.”
Renard wasn’t happy with that. Jaw ticking, he folded his arms across his chest. “And then what?” he said. “Will you berate her? Or will you simply listen to her reasons and send her on her way? Because I can tell you for a fact that the woman has listened to slanderous lies. Worse still, she believes them. I’ve not had the opportunity to tell her my side of things and I’ll quite possibly never have that chance. This is all grossly unfair. My father shall hear about it.”
He’d spoken the magic words.
My father shall hear about this.
Blythe wanted a high social position. She certainly didn’t want to alienate what she saw as her chance.
“Would it please you to speak with her directly?” she asked. “When she returns, you may retire to her tent and speak to her privately. Would that be satisfactory? Then, mayhap, we can settle the situation and not involve your father.”
Now, Renard had exactly what he wanted. A private moment with the lovely and elusive Catherine de Tuberville. He pretended to still be outraged, but not unreasonable.
“I suppose so,” he said. “If I can only have a few moments of her time, without everyone trying to speak terribly about me, then I am sure I can change her mind.”
The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4) Page 11