The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4)

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The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4) Page 14

by Kathryn Le Veque


  “You are coming with me,” he said softly. “Go and pack a satchel with something warm and comfortable. Bring anything you will need for the night.”

  She looked at him curiously. “I am sleeping in your tent tonight?”

  Ridge lifted a hand in a surrendering gesture. “I swear that it will be most appropriate,” he said. “But I do not trust your mother and, at some point, Renard will awaken and when he does, I do not want him trying to seek vengeance upon you. So in answer to your question, you are sleeping in my tent tonight. I will not trust your safety to anyone but me.”

  “I’m bringing my dogs, you know.”

  “Odin will be thrilled.”

  He said it without any enthusiasm whatsoever, deadpan, and she grinned. It was a light moment between them in the midst of a dark situation and he broke down into a genuine smile, touching her cheek sweetly. It was enough of an incentive for Catherine to rush to her tent and gather everything she needed, stuffing it all into a satchel. Bando and Iris were still on the pillow they’d stolen off the bed, so she picked up the dogs, and the pillow, and carried it all out to Ridge.

  He was speaking quietly to Geoffrey but when he saw her coming out with her arms full, he went to her and took the satchel and the pillow. Catherine kept the dogs, one in each hand, and with that, Ridge took her through the trees towards his encampment. The last Catherine saw, Charles and Geoffrey were kicking at Renard because the man was starting to stir.

  She tried not to shudder at the sight.

  Not strangely, Catherine felt as if some important milestone had occurred on this night. It had been a most eventful day, that was true, but more than that, she felt stronger. She’d spent her life as a victim to her mother’s bitterness, defended by brothers who were in an awkward position because they were dependent upon their parents’ good graces for their home, livelihoods, and fortunes. But Blythe had pushed Charles, in particular, past any restraint he’d ever had towards the situation.

  He was standing up for what was right, fully and completely.

  And then, there was Ridge.

  He’d come into her life so unexpectedly, and in spite of her mother’s interference, something was building between them. It was thrilling and intimidating because she was in unfamiliar territory when it came to a man wanting to court her. Blythe had never allowed that, not ever. Now, with Charles’ backing, Blythe’s resistance was stifled.

  For now.

  Catherine had long since learned to live for the moment because tomorrow could only bring uncertainty. But it was certainly a whole new world since her introduction to Ridge de Reyne.

  And she couldn’t have been happier.

  Ridge took her into his encampment, the sounds of the night all around them and a cooking fire throwing sparks into the darkened sky. All around them, the different camps had their fires going and the smells of roasting meat filled the air. Ridge took her straight into his tent, the largest one in the group, and put the pillow on the ground next to the brazier so the little dogs could get warm. Odin, stretched out near the red-hot brass furnace, lifted his head long enough to see his two nemeses being placed on the pillow next to him. When he realized who they were, he simply put his head back down again.

  Catherine stood there, watching the enormous dog drift back off to sleep.

  “It doesn’t seem to bother him that Bando and Iris are next to him,” she said. “He’s quite forgiving.”

  Ridge set her satchel down on the bed. “He is,” he said. “Or quite stupid. I have not figured out which it is.”

  Catherine grinned, bending over to pet the big, hairy dog. “He’s very sweet and docile,” she said. “I wish I could say the same for mine.”

  “They are excellent protectors,” he said, turning to face her fully. “Speaking of protectors, let me see that bite on your shoulder.”

  Catherine’s warm expression faded as she turned to him, pulling back the top of her bodice to reveal the bite. Ridge peered at it, running gentle fingers over it.

  Catherine flinched.

  “I do not believe he broke the skin,” she said. “He bit me through the top of the dress. I think the material saved me.”

  Ridge drew back his hand. “I think you’re right,” he said. “But it is already bruising. He bit you hard, the bloody animal.”

  He began hunting around for something to tend the wound with, but as Catherine watched him, she realized that he was still clad in all of the clothing and mail he’d been wearing for the entire mass competition. He had blood on his neck, a welt on his cheek, and when he removed his gloves, she could see that both hands were battered and bloodied. Not terribly considering the beating he’d put men through, but terrible enough. He’d had a day of nonstop battle and bruising, yet he was concerned with tending a small wound on her shoulder.

  That struck Catherine deeply.

  She’d never known anyone so selfless in her entire life.

  When he turned for her, he had a bowl with cold water, those muslin rags, and a couple of phials of liquid. He set everything down on a traveling table, one that could be broken down and easily transported, but before he could do anything further, Catherine put a hand on top of his, stilling him. When he looked at her curiously, she smiled warmly.

  “Not this time,” she said softly. “I do not need to be tended, but you do.”

  He shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with me.”

  “Nor me,” she said. “I have a little bruise on my shoulder. But look at your hands.”

  He did. Even through the gauntlets he wore, his knuckles were chewed up. It was a testament to the force of his blows. He tried to brush it off, but she wouldn’t let him. She tugged him towards the bed.

  “Come,” she said. “Let me tend the man who saved my life tonight.”

  Ridge didn’t want her to bother with tending him, but her hands on him undid him. Suddenly, he become incredibly pliable, as if he had no mind of his own, as she directed him near the bed.

  “Let’s get your protection off,” she said, moving to unbuckle the belt around his waist, the one that held his scabbard. “I will help you.”

  Ridge had squires for that. In fact, he had two boys, sons of farmers, whom he had conscripted to squire for him because well-bred boys wanted nothing to do with a knight who didn’t have a position. Therefore, he’d secured the farm boys, brothers, and they worked harder than any squires he’d ever seen. They were quite efficient and bright, and he’d not only been training them in the arts of warfare and everything that pertained to that, but he’d also taught them to read, write, and do basic mathematics. He knew the pair was right outside the tent, waiting for him to call, but he couldn’t manage to do it. He was certain he’d undress much faster with their help, but Catherine wanted to help him, so he let her.

  Like a sappy fool, he let her.

  The belt and scabbard came off, followed by the de Reyne tunic, which Catherine carefully hung on the wooden frame meant for such things. Next came the mail coat, which was heavy and awkward, and she ended up nearly falling on her bum when she tried to help him pull it off. Unfortunately, it became stuck, and Ridge started laughing so hard that he couldn’t move. With Ridge laughing, Catherine started laughing and, soon, they were both ineffective at pulling off the chainmail, so Ridge was forced to call to the squires who were hovering near his tent.

  Walter and Oswyn came running.

  Catherine knew when she was licked, so she stood back as the two young men, about fourteen and twelve years of age and with hair that stuck out like straw, went to work on Ridge. They managed to get him out of the chainmail and the two tunics underneath it, including a heavily padded tunic that was lined with leather for protection against anything sharp. Ridge had them take it all away to be cleaned before the bouts tomorrow, leaving him naked from the waist up.

  With a maiden in his tent.

  He knew how questionable it looked. A half-naked man and a woman who had presumably never even been kissed in a romant
ic way. It was a scandalous situation to begin with, made worse when he undressed. When the two boys cleared out of the tent, he eyed Catherine.

  “If your brother finds you here with me and I am only half-dressed, he is liable to take my head off,” he said.

  But Catherine waved him off. “After what happened today, I seriously doubt that,” she said. “Sit down on the bed so I can look at those hands.”

  Ridge did as he was told, sitting down on the bed and looking at his hands.

  “They’ve been much worse than this,” he said. “You really do not have to bother.”

  Catherine was already soaking the muslin rag in the water and wringing it out. “Aye, I do,” she said. “You are much more battered than I am and it is ridiculous for you to tend my little wound while your entire body has seen a thrashing.”

  He frowned, looking down at himself. “Do I look as if I have been thrashed?”

  She turned to him. “Nay,” she said. “But I watched you all day, Ridge. I saw what you did and who you did it to. Your hands must be very battered, indeed.”

  He couldn’t argue with that logic. He fought off a grin as he held his hands up to her so she could clean them and inspect the wounds. She was paying particular attention to his left hand, since he was left-handed and could deliver a terrible blow with that fist, when he suddenly grabbed the hand that was tending him and kissed it. When she looked at him, feigning outrage, he leaned over and kissed the hand again. She tried to pull back, but he grabbed her and kissed her wrists and her arms, even through the blue fabric.

  Suddenly, it was far less playful and much more enticing as his kisses slowed and she stopped resisting. She was pulled up against his naked chest, feeling his heat against her body, as his mouth made it up to the bite on her shoulder. Very gently, he kissed it, and Catherine’s knees turned to water.

  “There,” he whispered. “That should take the pain away. Does it feel better now?”

  Catherine could hardly breathe. “Much.”

  “Good,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. “You truly do not have to tend me, sweetheart. I am well enough.”

  He was close; too close. Catherine’s heart was pounding against her ribs as she gazed into his dusky eyes. “But… but I want to.”

  Ridge started to say something but he couldn’t seem to speak. He could feel her trembling in his arms and it fed the lust in his veins like nothing he’d ever known before. Before he realized it, his mouth was slanting over hers, kissing her deeply as he held her, crushed against him.

  Catherine had never been kissed by a man before that wasn’t a relative, and certainly never like this. It was hypnotic. She could feel herself go limp in his arms at first, a boneless state because his touch was overwhelming. Everything about the man was overwhelming. She’d seen servants and soldiers kiss, always on the sly, and when she saw them, she felt as if she were looking at something intimate and private that she shouldn’t have been privy to.

  But this…

  Now, she knew what the fuss was all about.

  From her moments of limp indecision and wonder came a reaction she hadn’t expected. Her arms came up, winding around his neck and squeezing his head so tightly that he could hardly move. Catherine held the man against her, responding to his kisses as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she’d been doing it all her life. He was dirty and grimy, even his face, but that didn’t matter to her. She’d gotten her first taste of him and now she wanted more.

  “Ridge?”

  The voice came from outside the tent and Ridge tore his mouth away from her, hoping he wasn’t about to sound as breathless as he felt.

  “What is it?”

  “Food and hot water.”

  Ridge looked at Catherine, a smirk on his face as he released her. But she wobbled and he was forced to reach out and steady her, both of them chuckling as he did so. As Catherine went over to check on the dogs, Ridge pulled back the tent flap.

  Payne entered along with one of the squires, Walter. Walter’s hands were full with an enormous tray bearing food and drink as well as a bowl of steaming water. He moved quickly to the only table in the tent, setting the food down. He took everything off the tray, including the bowl of steaming water, before retreating from the tent.

  But Payne remained. Ridge looked at the man, silently commanding him to leave, but he wouldn’t. It was then that Ridge realized he had a rather odd look on his face.

  “What is it?” Ridge asked.

  Payne was reluctant; that was clear. But he motioned Ridge to him and as Ridge obliged, he pulled the man all the way out of the tent. Once outside, Payne pointed towards the de Tuberville tents.

  “There has been a lot of activity,” he said quietly. “I swear to you that I can hear de Luzie bellowing.”

  Ridge listened closely. He could hear distant voices and he could see some movement, illuminated by the torches all around. He sighed heavily.

  “Go over to the camp and see what is happening,” he said. “I can only imagine that de Luzie is causing trouble. De Tuberville should not have to face it alone.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just… go and see what is happening.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Hurry back when you have something to tell me.”

  Payne nodded, heading off through the trees, as Ridge went back into the tent. Catherine was standing patiently with the rag in her hand, tilting her head in the direction of the bed as silent instruction to him to sit down. He did, dutifully, and held up his hands so she could look them over again.

  Very carefully, she began to clean them.

  Ridge watched her face as she concentrated, biting her tongue between her teeth as she focused on a particularly nasty scrape. She was very delicate in her cleaning, something he was utterly unused to, and he fought off a grin at the gentle way she was treating him.

  “I will not break, you know,” he said, teasing her softly. “You can clean harder than that.”

  “But I do not want to cause you more pain,” she said.

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Did you see the blows I was delivering earlier?”

  “I did.”

  “Then you know I can take any additional pain. Besides… you couldn’t hurt me if you tried. Go ahead and try.”

  Making a face at his taunt, Catherine reached out and pinched his nose, rather hard, and he put a hand to his face as if she’d just punched him. He started to laugh, she started to laugh, and Catherine finished cleaning up his hands with the two of them laughing at each other.

  Laughter was something that seemed to come quite easily to them.

  Somehow, it underscored the joy they were coming to discover in each other in spite of the circumstances that seemed to hound them. Had Renard de Luzie gone to find interest with another woman, they would not have to deal with his interference, but the fact remained that he seemed to be determined to distract Catherine and, worse still, treat her poorly. That had been established when he’d grabbed her in her tent.

  But in spite of everything, Catherine and Ridge were developing a relationship whether or not Renard wanted them to, and a moment like this was so very precious to them both. It was an awakening, a discovery. Catherine had never experienced anything like it and Ridge, for all of his years and experience, never thought he would experience anything like it.

  It was delight he’d never known.

  Finished with his hands, Catherine moved to the scrape on his cheek and the bump on his head, tending those as carefully as she had his hands. All the while, Ridge simply watched her, enjoying her closeness and her touch. The woman had the ability to make his heart race like no other. When she finished with the bump, he thanked her with a kiss to the forehead, fearful of what would happen if he kissed her on the lips again. They had virtually no privacy and if he kissed her again like he’d kissed her before, he wouldn’t want to stop.

  He restrained himself, though it was extremely difficult.

/>   “Thank you, my lady,” he said. “I have never before been tended so sweetly or so happily.”

  Catherine smiled bashfully. “To tell you the truth, you are the first person I have ever tended,” she said. “I hope I did well.”

  “You did perfectly.”

  “Good.”

  She rinsed the rag out and laid it out to dry as Ridge went over to his bags and pulled forth another rag and a bar of lumpy, white soap with flecks of rosemary in it. Taking the bowl of hot water still on the table, which was lukewarm by now, he put the rag in it, and the soap, and proceeded to wash himself from the waist up. When he was finished, he dumped the soapy water on his head and used another rag, a dry one, to dry himself off. With his hair still dripping, he pulled up a chair for Catherine to sit in as he pulled up a stool.

  “We should eat before the food is like ice,” he said. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

  Catherine, who had been watching Ridge wash off with interest and fascination, sat down in the chair he presented and waited patiently as he cut up the beef knuckle that had been brought. There was bread, but it was cold and probably a few days old, as well as a big bowl of beans and carrots that was barely warm.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Together, they shared their first meal.

  Since the food came with only the bowls that contained it, Ridge and Catherine ended up eating out of the same bowl with the beans and carrots, and he carefully cut off pieces of gristle-free meat for her to eat. She didn’t eat much, but that was intentional, since he was the one who had exerted himself so much during the day.

  She let him have the bulk of it without him really realizing it.

  The usually quiet knight seemed to have lost that trait now that they were alone. Mouth full, he spoke of the past tournaments he’d attended, mostly in the north, but some towards the south. He didn’t like the ones in the south because “too many Frenchmen” tended to compete in them and they tended to go for the pageantry more than the actual competition, and Ridge was a man who liked competition. He liked the thrill of a good fight.

  Catherine finished eating and simply sat there, listening to him tell a story about a particular tournament in Dover where about half of the competitors were French and they went around trying to cut the backs of men’s knees in the mass competition. That tale led to him speaking about accompanying King Alexander on a visit to the French court and how the French seemed to be determined to separate the king from his guards. Cup of good wine in hand, Catherine cocked her head in thought.

 

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