Blythe nodded, relieved as she regained her seat. “I am certain you can,” she said. “Meanwhile, sit down and let us discuss your father and your family. I am most interested to hear more about them.”
Because having Blythe on his side was essential for his conquest of Catherine, Renard sat down and accepted her cheap wine and sweets while Blythe sent a soldier for her daughter. Three hours later and she still hadn’t made an appearance, so Renard retreated to Catherine’s tent at Blythe’s suggestion to wait. Of course, he promised that he would behave appropriately and she believed him.
That would be her mistake.
Now, the hunter had set a trap.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The mass competition was like nothing Catherine had expected.
There were twenty-four knights on each side and there were only two sides. That was forty-eight men going head-to-head when the field marshals announced the start. Forty-eight men clashing in an explosion of mail and metal. The moment the yellow flag was dropped, signifying the start, the crowd went wild.
Catherine visibly jumped at the sound, but she passed it off with a nervous giggle as she looked at the soldiers guarding her. One was a young man, as interested in the competition as she was, but the other man, the one who had prevented de Luzie from getting too close, was much older and seasoned. He fought off a grin at his jumpy charge, grinning when she bolted to her feet because the crowd did. Everyone was standing at this point and she wanted very much to see the action, so she was forced to her feet to watch the excitement below.
Catherine’s focus never left Ridge. It was clear from the outset that even though there were two teams, each team had many different factions within it, all of whom separated into groups within the first few moments of the battle. Ridge had a team of about ten men with him, including the three de Tuberville brothers, and after some hand signals, the men formed a tight group and began to move as one.
First, they turned on the men on their own side, moving through the smaller groups by clubbing men and sending them to their knees. When the men on their side began to see this, they fought back and, quickly, it became a nasty brawl. Clubs and fists were flying and, at one point, Catherine watched as George was launched into the air to land squarely on top of a group of men.
Down they all went.
Catherine laughed at the sight of George beating up on men he’d literally been thrown on top of. The Northwood knights had been the ones doing the throwing and when George knocked them down, the Northwood men swarmed. She turned to the older soldier standing just behind her.
“Will they now ransom those men they’ve knocked to the ground?”
The old soldier nodded. “Aye, my lady,” he said. “See how they are already moving them to the side of the field?”
She could see that. In fact, George was doing the moving, shouting at the men who had been knocked down and indicating for them to sit and wait. He was doing it quite gleefully until someone from the opposite side hit him on the back of the head and knocked him over. That brought Charles and Geoffrey and even Ridge running and, soon, there was a massive brawl between a team as large as the one Ridge had pulled together.
The fists were flying.
But it was all wildly exciting.
“Do they fight like that to the last man?” Catherine asked. “They’re beating each other!”
The old soldier came down a step so he could stand next to her and answer her questions. “To the very last team, aye,” he said. “They’ll fight until no man is left standing, quite literally. I’ve seen them use horses in these mass competitions and if a man is knocked off, he loses his horse.”
“God’s Bones,” Catherine said, surprised. “That sounds excessive, doesn’t it?”
“Not really, my lady,” the old soldier said. “You see, every tournament has different rules for the most part. There are a few things that are standard, but usually, he who stages the tournament makes the rules. They’re not all the same.”
“How interesting,” Catherine said. “What rules remain the same?”
“Usually the rules of the mass competition remain the same,” he said. “For example, ransoms are allowed everywhere, but the means by which to subdue men can vary. It is mostly accepted that you cannot use something sharp, like a pike or a spear, but you can use a club or something with a dull edge. See what de Reyne is using?”
Catherine craned her neck to see. “It looks like a steel club of some kind.”
The old soldier pointed at Ridge as he used the weapon to club some hapless knight in the head with it. “That is a specially designed club, my lady,” he said. “Both ends are a little broader, with a flat tip. He can both club and push with it. It’s quite brilliant.”
Entranced, Catherine watched Ridge to see what the old soldier was speaking of. The man moved with such precision and power that it was easy to see why he was heads above most of the men around him, including her brothers. Charles, Geoffrey, and George were excellent warriors, but they weren’t on Ridge’s level by any means. The only exceptions to that rule were the knights from Northwood – all four of them, particularly de Wolfe, moved like Ridge did, and between Ridge and de Wolfe, they had fourteen hostages in little time and the number was growing.
That went on into the morning.
What started out as a push and shove and slam romp turned into a bloody bash as the day progressed. The ground beneath them, which had been grass, was now ripped up and muddied, and men were walking around sporting split scalps, broken fingers, and other injuries. Catherine had watched in shock and awe as Ridge went airborne more than once, launching a flying kick into someone’s head or back. For such a large man, he moved with astonishing agility. Unfortunately, George’s few moments of glory didn’t last and he found himself a prisoner of a rival faction. Catherine could see him sitting with the other prisoners on the far side of the arena. She knew he must have been extremely unhappy about it. But out of Ridge’s group, he was the only one to be captured.
So far.
Progressively, the number of men standing grew less and less. Geoffrey slipped in the mud and went down, and even though he hadn’t been brought down by an enemy club, the marshals made him leave the arena. Unhappy, and exhausted, he came into the stands to sit with his sister. Seeing how completely discouraged he was, Catherine sent the younger soldier to procure them some food and the man returned with custard pies and some of the strong cider from the night before. Catherine had half her pie and only half her wine, graciously turning the rest of it over to Geoffrey, who scarfed it all down.
Between the pies and the cider, he felt better, but he was still quite unhappy about being eliminated from the games. It didn’t matter much, however, because Ridge’s team was dominating and they were down to Ridge, Charles, the knights from Northwood, and a couple of other de Reyne knights against four men from the opposite side. They may have had more men, but the four left were very big men and quite aggressive, so the crowd screamed in delight as Ridge, de Wolfe, and Hage went fist-to-fist with those knights, trying to beat them into submission.
It was just a matter of time.
“My lady?”
Catherine heard those words twice more before she realized they were meant for her. Turning, she could see a de Tuberville soldier, one who had been left behind to guard the encampment. Geoffrey saw him, too, and he was the one who answered.
“What do you want?” he asked. “Why aren’t you back in camp?”
The soldier was looking at Catherine. “Because Lady Thornewaite has asked for her daughter,” he said. “I have been asked to bring her.”
“What for?”
The soldier shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “But a man came into the camp to speak with her. They require Lady Catherine’s company.”
Geoffrey frowned. “What man?” he demanded. “Who is asking for her company?”
The soldier continued to shake his head. “This I would not know, my lord,” he said. �
��I have only been asked to fetch her.”
Geoffrey looked at his sister. “Do you know what this is about?”
Catherine was baffled. “Nay,” she said. “I do not know of any man who would… wait… God’s Bones, mayhap I do.”
She trailed off, looking rather shocked, and Geoffrey pushed. “Who?” he asked.
Catherine looked at him, trying not to appear sickened. “Renard de Luzie was here earlier,” she said. “He wanted to sit with me, but I told him to go away. I am afraid I was not very kind about it. He kept saying he knew Mother and that she wanted to introduce us, but I do not want to know the man.”
“And you told him so?”
“I did.”
Geoffrey cocked an eyebrow. “Then mayhap he ran straight to Mother to condemn you.”
Catherine nodded fearfully. “That would be my guess.”
Geoffrey sighed sharply. “My instinct is to send the soldier back to Mother and tell her that he cannot find you,” he said. “We had hoped Renard would become weary with chasing after you and find his entertainment elsewhere.”
“Mayhap he is not easily discouraged,” she said regretfully.
Geoffrey nodded. He didn’t want to make any decisions for his sister alone; it wasn’t his right. It was Charles’ right, as the eldest, and now with Ridge involved, Geoffrey felt a certain amount of consideration for him, as well. He looked at his sister, seeing the anxiety in her eyes, and he forced a smile.
“Not to worry, Moppet,” he said. “The mass competition is almost over and we shall tell Charles about Mother’s summons. Let’s see what he wants to do.”
Catherine simply nodded as she returned her focus to the field and Geoffrey quietly told the soldier to remain with them until the competition was over. The soldiers followed the brothers far more than either Lord or Lady Thornewaite, so the young soldier gladly remained. More prodding from Geoffrey, however, didn’t turn up any definite clues as to who the man with his mother was, but he was still going on the assumption that it was Renard.
He was the only man he hadn’t seen all day.
Unwilling to leave his sister alone in her box, even with the two soldiers, Geoffrey remained with her for the rest of the event. Ridge and his team won what had been an excessively exhausting and bloody mass competition, but when all was said and done, they had twenty-two hostages, and not all of them were from the other side. They’d managed to take five hostages from their own side, so the rest of the day was spent settling ransom accounts. Ridge and his team split a good deal of money when all was said and done, and it was nearing sunset by the time everything was finished and the hostages were allowed to return to their respective lords.
By that time, most of the boxes had cleared out, but there were still a lot of spectators down around the arena. When Ridge and the others came off of the arena floor, Geoffrey and Catherine were there to greet them.
In fact, Catherine was very happy to see Ridge. She’d just spent the better part of eight hours watching him pummel men and then collect the ransoms in what was a glorious exhibition of his talents. De Wolfe and the knights of Northwood came off the field, waving wearily to their comrades and to Catherine as they headed back to their tents, declaring they would see them in the morning. There would be no feast that night, as that was usually a first-day and last-night event, so every group was left to their own for an evening meal.
The smell of cooking fires was already heavy in the air at sundown.
“Congratulations, my lords,” Catherine said to Ridge, his men, and her brothers. “Another day, another victory. You are to be commended.”
Ridge smiled at her, as happy to see her as she was to see him, when a woman suddenly appeared beside him. Catherine smelled the perfume before she ever saw the woman, but she was caught in the face by the lady’s veils as they hung from cap on her head.
“My lord,” the woman said, looking to the men around Ridge but failing to acknowledge Catherine, whose face was covered in veils whipping from the woman’s head covering. “We’ve not yet had the chance to meet and I realize this is quite forward of me, but I am Olive de Girsby. My father is the Earl of Darlington. He sends you his most enthusiastic congratulations on your victory this day and invites you and your men to dine with us tonight. In about an hour, shall we say?”
Ridge looked at the woman with as much politeness as he could muster. She was brash and obvious, covered in finery that would cost a normal man a year’s wages. He noticed that Catherine was brushing the veils from her face and he reached out to help her, pulling her to him as he did so.
The move was obvious.
“My lady, please thank your father for me,” he said with strained patience, taking Catherine’s hand and tucking it into his mailed, sweaty elbow. “You are very gracious, but I am afraid that I have other plans.”
Lady Olive had seen Catherine all along, but she was hoping her flash and name-dropping might invite de Reyne’s interest. But he wasn’t interested at all and she looked at Catherine in shock and disdain.
“You do not seem to understand, my lord,” she said, returning her attention to Ridge. “My father wishes you to dine with us.”
Ridge could see a demanding, spoiled woman before him and his patience fled. “Nay, my lady, you do not understand,” he said. “I am occupied this evening and that does not include you or your father. I will bid you a pleasant night.”
With that, he took Catherine by the arm and pulled her with him, followed by the rest of the knights and leaving Lady Olive to stew. Catherine had to bite her lip to keep from grinning because she could hear Olive screeching angrily to the servant who had accompanied her.
“God’s Bones,” she muttered. “She is quite unhappy with your refusal.”
“That is her misfortune,” he said. “Unless you’d rather I dine with her.”
“I think you would throttle a woman like that before the evening was finished.”
Ridge broke down into soft laughter. “Already, you know me,” he said. Charles picked that moment to walk up on his sister’s other side and Ridge looked over at him. “Well, de Tuberville, how is your youngest brother faring after his submission?”
Charles fought off a smile. “Ashamed and angry,” he said. “He tells me the entire situation was unfair.”
“It was!” George shouted, bringing up the rear. “I was unfairly set upon!”
Geoffrey, Payne, Tavis, and Osbert demanded he shut his mouth and man up, all at the same time, which set Catherine into gales of laughter at George’s expense. It was a joyful walk back to the encampment for the event’s victors, while the men who had failed were settling in for the night. They made quite a parade. All of that laughter, on Ridge’s arm no less, had Catherine momentarily forgetting about the messenger summoning her to her mother, but the moment they set foot in the vast encampment, she suddenly came to a halt.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said, facing Ridge and Charles. “Mother sent for me earlier today while I was sitting in the box. The soldier that bore the message said that a man was with her and I think it is Renard de Luzie. I did not answer the summons because of it.”
Ridge grew serious. “How do you know?”
She shrugged. “I do not, not for certain,” she said. “It is just a guess. But Renard came to me when I was watching the mass competition and wanted to introduce himself, but I sent him away. Rudely, I might add. I suspect he may have gone back to my mother and complained.”
Charles grunted and rolled his eyes as Ridge looked off towards the de Tuberville tents. “I would be willing to believe he did exactly that,” Charles said. “He ran to Mother and told her how horrible you were to him. So, naturally, she summoned you.”
Catherine nodded. “Those were my thoughts,” she said. “That was several hours ago and I have not yet returned, so it might be better if Ridge does not escort me back to camp. I do not want Mother focusing her venom on him.”
Ridge looked at her. “If you think for one mome
nt that I am going to leave you alone with de Luzie and your mother, then you are mistaken,” he said, glancing to Charles. “No offense to you, of course, but this is turning into my battle and I prefer to fight it myself.”
Charles knew that. He could see the top of their tents from where they stood and he clapped Ridge on the shoulder. “Come along, then,” he said. “At least we know what we may be facing. Even if de Luzie isn’t there, I want my mother to see you again. We will all sit down and have a nice little conversation with her about my sister’s future.”
Ridge lifted his eyebrows, a hopeful gesture, as they continued walking into the camp. Ridge sent his men back to their encampment while he went on with the de Tuberville siblings and soldiers. As they drew near the de Tuberville encampment, they could see that a great cooking fire had been started and a half a pig was being turned over a spit. Their house cook from Keswick hadn’t come, but the army’s cook had, meaning food was simple but plentiful. The smell of roasting pig filled the air around them.
Charles took the lead once they entered their camp. He headed straight for their mother’s tent with Catherine, Ridge, Geoffrey, and George in tow. They could see a light emitting from the interior as Charles went to the flap and entered first.
Blythe was sitting quite alone, working on an embroidery piece, but she looked up when she saw her eldest son enter. She opened her mouth to greet him when she saw Catherine enter.
Then her mood immediately changed.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, tossing the sewing aside as she focused on her errant daughter. “I sent for you hours ago. Where were you?”
Catherine had long learned not to be afraid of her mother’s rage. “At the arena,” she said ambivalently. “I have been watching the mass competition.”
Blythe was furious. “Where is the soldier I sent for you?”
Catherine shrugged. “I do not know,” she said. “But I am here now. What do you want?”
Blythe’s features tightened. “I want to know what happened with Renard de Luzie,” she said. “What did you say to him to anger him so?”
The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4) Page 12