“Of course they are, but de Luzie’s accidents are intentional.”
“Nay, my lord,” Hobart said slowly. “Not the accidents he causes. What I am saying is that any man could be killed by accident. It is the nature of the game. Any man.”
There was a message in that. Charles looked at the man, his eyes narrowing. “Then… de Luzie could have an accident, too?”
Hobart shrugged faintly, averting his gaze. “Just make sure the accident is not with de Reyne,” he said. “It would reflect poorly on him. But mayhap an accident is our only hope.”
With that, he turned his back on him and headed over to his fellow marshals, men who were preparing for the coming tournament. The schedule was about to go up and they were in the process of drawing lots and hanging miniature shields, painted on square pieces of wood. They would be hung in pairs so men would know who they were paired with for the first round.
Charles pulled his brothers out of the stall.
“You heard him,” he hissed. “He said de Luzie was already here, trying to have us removed for the beating he was dealt.”
“I heard that,” Geoffrey asked. “But what else did the marshal say to you when he pulled you aside?”
Charles looked between his brothers, his expression intense. “He said that while he is unable to do anything officially, men in competition have accidents all of the time,” he said, lifting his eyebrows as if that would help them get the hint. “He meant de Luzie.”
Geoffrey’s brow furrowed. “We are to make sure he has an accident?”
Charles nodded. “But it cannot be Ridge,” he said. “After what happened to Pocklington, he cannot have the death of de Luzie follow him around, too. I am not one to advocate killing a man but, in this case, we must think of it as a way to protect Catherine. De Luzie is on her scent like a dog on a fox and Mother seems to be swayed by him.”
“Even after what happened last night?” George asked.
“Even after what happened last night,” Charles confirmed. “If we do not do something, I fear that something terrible is going to happen.”
That was a distinct possibility. It would be different if Renard wasn’t empowered with their mother’s advocacy, but the unfortunate fact was that he was. That put Charles in a very bad position – defending his sister and disobeying his mother.
But he no longer cared.
He’d take on de Luzie personally if he had to.
“Then let us hope one of us has a shot at de Luzie,” Geoffrey said quietly. “Come on, they are about to post the schedule for the day, so let us wait and see who our first opponents are. If one of us has de Luzie, we must endeavor to cause an accident before the man kills us first. And given what happened last night, you know he’s going to try.”
They did. Charles wasn’t too concerned for Geoffrey because he was excellent in the joust, but he was concerned for George. The youngest de Tuberville brother was powerful, excellent in the saddle, but he tended to be rash in his decision making. He wasn’t strategic like he needed to be. But Charles didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to upset George to the point where he would feel the need to prove himself. He wanted George calm and focused on de Luzie… should he end up facing him.
But he sincerely hoped that didn’t happen.
More knights were beginning to gather because they knew the schedule would be posted imminently. Charles looked around, noticing some of the houses he saw yesterday, men who were on the losing end of the mass competition – Allington, le Corlet, Arnsworth, Bexwell, and more. Then he noticed the knights of Northwood heading towards him through the early morning light.
De Wolfe held up a hand.
“Have they posted it yet?” he asked.
Charles shook his head as de Norville, Hage, and de Bocage were greeted by Geoffrey and George. “Nay,” he said. “Not yet, but they’re nearly ready. How did you sleep?”
De Wolfe shrugged. “Kieran snores like there are a thousand thunderstorms crashing over my head, so it makes sleeping difficult.” He looked around. “Where is Ridge this morning? I thought he would be here.”
Charles lifted his eyebrows in a regretful gesture. “We had some… trouble last night after we left you.”
“Oh?” de Wolfe looked at him curiously. “What happened?”
“Renard de Luzie happened,” Charles said, lowering his voice. “He attacked my sister and Ridge beat him badly. I came early this morning to tell the marshals what had happened and asked them to ban de Luzie from competing, but they said Renard had already come to them and told them that Ridge and the de Tuberville brothers gave him a beating for no reason at all and that we were the ones who needed to be banned.”
De Wolfe looked at him as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Christ,” he growled. “I’d not even heard of that bastard until Ridge sent us the warning about him, but I saw what he was capable of when he tried to break Paris’ neck. You say he attacked your sister?”
Charles nodded. “She is well enough,” he said. “However, I sent her to stay with Ridge for the night. He is better protection for her and I have my mother to worry about.”
“What is the matter with your mother?”
Charles liked William a good deal, but somehow admitting that his mother was determined to ruin his sister was too embarrassing to share, so he simply waved the man off.
“She is well, physically,” he said, “but the story is complicated. So suffice it to say that my sister is better off with Ridge’s protection right now.”
There was a gleam in de Wolfe’s eye. “That is rather bold, for a bachelor knight to protect an unmarried maiden who is not a relative.”
Charles eyed him. “He is trustworthy,” he said. “Moreover, there is more to it than that.”
“I thought so. Then de Reyne and your sister are…?”
Charles smiled weakly. “Aye, they are,” he said. “And that is why de Luzie attacked her. He wants her, too. Not only does the man try to kill his opponents, now his talents include attacking women he wishes to steal. But the field marshal said something interesting to me this morning.”
“What is that?”
“He apologized for not being able to do more about de Luzie, but then he told me that men have accidents in competition all of the time,” he said. “Deadly accidents, if you know what I mean, and it would be the only way to rid us of Renard de Luzie. It was a hint.”
The light of understanding went on in de Wolfe’s expression. “I see,” he said. “Accidents do happen and considering the man nearly killed Paris, it just might be that he has an accident with me. Or Kieran. Or Michael.”
Charles smirked. “Good,” he said. “He may very well have an accident with me and my brothers, also. The man is foul and dangerous. It would be justice to every competitor on the circuit should he have an ‘accident’.”
De Wolfe simply nodded, understanding the situation and in full support of it. By that time, the marshals were starting to put up square, wooden pieces with shields painted on them. Some tournaments hung flags to announce bouts, but at Durham, they had wooden pieces painted with the competitors’ shields and names. Everyone began to crowd in to see who was in the morning rounds and who would be competing in the afternoon.
“Ah,” de Wolfe said when he spied his name. “I have a bout against Dalton de Royans. How fortunate for me. How unfortunate for him.”
Grinning, he stepped aside as de Norville, Hage, and de Bocage all stepped up to see who they would be competing against. Charles and de Norville spied their bouts at the same time.
“It looks as if you and I are to be on opposite sides this morning,” de Norville said, slapping Charles on the shoulder. “I would wish you good fortune, but that would be assuming you have a chance of besting me, and you do not.”
He stepped away, laughing, as Charles shook his head. He wasn’t keen on going up against de Norville because the man had been unseated in the exhibitions and more than likely would be out to
prove something. But even knowing he was to face de Norville, he didn’t step away from the boards, not just yet.
He was looking for someone in particular.
Renard de Luzie had drawn Ivor l’Ebreux from Lavister Castle.
“Well? Who am I to destroy first?”
Charles turned to see Ridge standing behind him, looking at the boards. He stepped aside so Ridge could get a closer look and the man did, finally spying his name in the last bout of the afternoon. The marshals would make the crowd wait to see The Black Storm and Ridge peered at his competition.
“Arthur St. Marr,” he said with satisfaction. “He’s very good. That should be an exciting bout.”
“You know the man?” Charles asked.
Ridge nodded, looking over the schedule. “I know almost everyone,” he said. “Artie and I have had many bouts together.”
“And you’ve won every single one?”
Ridge cast him a long look before breaking into a smile. “I seem to remember losing one when my horse came up lame, so in answer to your question, I haven’t won every single one,” he said. “All but one of them, at least.”
Charles grinned, but that gesture soon faded. “Where is my sister?”
“She is breaking her fast as three fully armed knights sit with her.”
Charles sighed with some relief. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I do not know where de Luzie is, but he was evidently here before dawn, demanding that you and I be removed from the competition because we unfairly thrashed him. You should probably know that.”
Ridge’s smile faded. “I am not surprised,” he said. “I would not put anything past him. If he cannot physically remove us, then he’ll try to have someone else do his dirty work.”
Charles motioned to him to follow him, and Ridge did. They ended up standing off to the side, away from the men who were clamoring to see where they were on the schedule and against whom.
“The marshals know that Renard is dangerous and immoral, but they are afraid what removing him might do to the reputation of the tournament,” Charles said in a quiet voice. “They are afraid of what de Luzie’s father might do and they do not want to deal with an angry French count. Therefore, it’s de Luzie’s word against ours, and considering he looks as if he’s been run over by a beer wagon, the marshals consider that his story does indeed ring true – that he was beaten. Whether or not it was unjust is a matter of opinion.”
Ridge shook his head, exasperated. “I know that making a judgment against a competitor is tricky,” he said. “They must have witnesses to any events presented to them. They do not act upon a whim or one man’s version of events.”
“I know.”
“But that is why they were able to remove de Luzie from the mass competition,” Ridge went on. “They saw him try to break de Norville’s neck. There was no question. But a beating… de Luzie cannot prove we did it in malice and we cannot prove he attacked Catherine. It would be her word against his.”
Charles knew that. “The marshal suggested that the only way to have de Luzie removed permanently was to see that he met with an accident, as so many men do,” he said. “He all but told me to cause the accident myself, but he specifically said that you should not do such a thing.”
Ridge frowned. “Why not?”
“Because of what happened to Pocklington,” Charles said. “You do not want the reputation as a killer on the tournament circuit, not when you make your living here.”
That was quite true. Ridge sighed heavily, scratching his head and looking out over the crowd of knights that had collected to see where they were on the schedule for the day. He caught sight of Arthur St. Marr, a hairy bear of a man who waved and grinned when he saw Ridge. Ridge chuckled and waved back. Arthur drew his finger across his neck, indicating that he was going to metaphorically slit Ridge’s throat on the tournament field, but he was laughing happily the entire time. There was no malice, only good-natured competition. Ridge continued to chuckle and waved him off.
He rather liked Arthur.
Truthfully, it was a brotherhood of sorts among those who followed the circuit from town to town, competing against one another for money and position. With rare exceptions, everyone was friendly for the most part. That was one of the things that made the tournament circuit both enjoyable and lucrative, but when an element like Renard de Luzie was introduce, it fractured the entire dynamic. The games they competed at could be deadly and no one needed, or wanted, that added component of a competitor deliberately trying to hurt people.
“Look,” Charles said quietly. “One of de Luzie’s men.”
Distracted from his thoughts, Ridge looked over to see Martin inspecting the boards to see where the bouts were.
“That’s de Lamoreux,” he said. “Truthfully, he’s quiet and obedient, and I’ve never known him to be as ruthless as his liege is. From what I’ve seen, de Luzie kicks him around quite a bit.”
Charles turned away from the sight of Martin. “If that is true, it makes you wonder why a man like that serves de Luzie.”
“Money,” Ridge said. “Money, a place to sleep, food to eat. Service to the son of a count. All good reasons. I do not know de Lamoreux’s family or background, so mayhap there is something there that keeps him subservient to a beast like de Luzie.”
“Scandal?”
“Mayhap.”
Charles lifted an eyebrow. “Speaking of scandal, how is my sister?” he said. “What were the sleeping arrangements last night?”
Ridge fought off a grin at the change in subject. “Quite proper, I assure you,” he said. “Although there was never the chance that we would not sleep in the same tent, we found a solution. She slept with the dogs in front of the brazier and I slept on the cot several feet away. I assure you, I would have gladly given her the bed, but she fell asleep before I did and when I finally came to bed, that is how I found her. Sleeping with all three dogs.”
Charles snorted. “That is my sister,” he said. “She loves her dogs.”
“And how does your mother fare this morning?”
Charles lost his humor. “She is packing,” he said. “I should return to camp, in fact, to see her off. She is going home.”
Ridge fell silent for a moment. “If it is worth anything, please know I am sorry about the deterioration of your relationship with your mother,” he said. “That is a distressing thing.”
Charles shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I have spent many years living with her, watching her mistreat Catherine, watching her manipulate those around her. It’s strange… when I was a young boy, before I went to foster, I thought my mother could do no wrong. It wasn’t until years later, after I’d spent time away from her and around people who taught me right from wrong, that I began to see just how dreadful she could be. So this is nothing new, Ridge. I just finally had to take a stand.”
Ridge simply nodded. There was part of him that had been feeling guilty with the relation between the sons and mother spiraling out of control, but the larger part of him knew he had nothing to do with it. Renard de Luzie had been a catalyst to something bigger, something that was far removed from his desire to court Catherine.
He had to keep that in mind.
“Your stance is admirable,” he finally said. “I do not want to dwell on it, but I wanted to offer my sympathies just the same. My own mother was a very warm and kind woman, so I suppose it is difficult for me to understand a mother who is otherwise.”
“You were fortunate,” Charles said, but it was clear he didn’t want to discuss it. “But let us not dwell on that any longer. Catherine is going to want to watch the bouts today but I do not want her sitting in the box without a knight by her side, so I propose we take turns sitting with her. Except for you. If you are in the box with her, no one will be paying any attention to what is going on in the lists.”
Ridge grinned. “I will bring her down in the staging are with me when it is my turn to mind her,” he said, already full of pride with
the thought of her by his side. But his smile soon faded when he noted Renard making an appearance.
Then, everything seemed to change.
Both of Renard’s eyes were black as he entered the area, followed by the other knight who trailed after him like a lost puppy. Upon closer inspection, Renard’s entire face seemed to be a mass of bruises and his expression was nothing short of dour. He tried to push through a group of knights that were standing there, talking, and they shoved at him, nearly knocking him on his arse.
Angry, Renard shook a fist at them and cursed them. He was looking at them as he walked forward, not realizing that he was about to walk into de Wolfe and the knights from Northwood. He realized it too late, bumping into Kieran Hage, who was easily twice Renard’s size and then some. Renard had the audacity to tell Kieran to get out of his way, to which Kieran responded by planting an enormous fist into Renard’s face.
Renard went flying, skidding several feet on his bum and bashing into the marshal stall. A great roar of laughter rose up, all of it directed at Renard, who sat on the ground and held his face in his hands as blood poured from between his fingers. A few of the knights actually congratulated Kieran, who simply brushed it off. He was calm, cool, collected and hardly gave the matter another thought.
Ridge, having seen the entire thing, simply shook his head.
“If de Luzie keeps getting hit like that, he’s not going to make it to the end of this tournament,” he said. “Who on earth would challenge Kieran Hage like that? Not even I would do it. One blow from him and I would lose my beauteous looks.”
Charles was still laughing from the sight of Renard having his face bashed again. “My sister would lose interest in you, then.”
Ridge looked at him with great concern. “Would she?”
Charles slapped him on the shoulder. “Of course not,” he said, amused at Ridge’s insecurity when it came to Catherine. “Come along, lover. We’ve a lady to collect and I’ve a mother to see off, so let’s get on with it.”
Ridge was ready. Already, the day was looking up.
The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4) Page 16