The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Like a naughty little brother, he needed an occasional beating.

  Ridge was wrapping the tip of his lance with dark blue fabric, usual to keep the lance from splintering too badly upon impact, but his attention was riveted to Catherine and her brothers. The de Tuberville group set up about thirty feet away, across a dusty central square where a couple of blacksmiths had set up to help those who needed forging while competing. He could see Catherine clearly in her stunning red gown, talking to her brothers, and he felt the first sense of relief since he’d watched over her all night long.

  With the advent of Renard de Luzie and his growing feelings for Catherine, Ridge felt as if he were constantly on edge, always on his guard in watching out for her. It was a hell of a way to start a relationship, but he didn’t mind it in the least. In fact, he welcomed it. But knowing she was with her brothers… he could relax a little.

  For the moment, he could simply enjoy watching her.

  Listening to her excited voice in the distance, he turned back to his preparations.

  *

  “I just had a very interesting conversation with Lady Thornewaite,” Renard said. “She and I have carved out a plan.”

  He was standing in his small encampment as men he hadn’t paid in a while were preparing to take the horses over to the staging area. Unhappy, questionable men who were sometimes sloppy in their tasks, which made it a miracle that Renard or Martin or Fulke hadn’t been killed because of shoddy work. However, they knew it, which was why they checked and rechecked their equipment even after Renard’s dregs had supposedly completed a task. While those tasks were in process at the moment, Martin and Fulke, fully dressed to compete at this point, were listening to Renard spout off.

  It was most curious.

  “Lady Thornewaite?” Martin repeated. “Who is that?”

  Renard was straightening his tunic as the squire he employed went about securing the chest plate that he wore.

  “The mother to the de Tuberville brood,” he said. “Lady Catherine’s mother.”

  That didn’t really clear up the mystery of what he was talking about. “What plan?” Martin asked. “What’s it all about?”

  “What do you think it’s about, you fool?” he asked snidely. “Her daughter, of course. She wants me to marry the girl because of my prestigious father and I want to marry the girl because of the income she will provide. It will be an excellent arrangement.”

  Martin didn’t like to be spoken to so rudely. He’d put up with it for years without complaint, just as Fulke had, but the difference between him and Fulke was that he had a conscience. Every time Renard did something underhanded or sly or illegal, Martin always felt it in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like Renard and he never had, but he’d given his oath to Renard’s father and the count had forced him to serve Renard because he had hoped Martin’s responsible influence might help his dastardly son.

  Unfortunately, Renard’s personality was far stronger than Martin’s was.

  It had been like clinging to the tail of a dragon. Renard did what he wanted to do and achieved his wants any way he could, and Martin could do nothing more than hang on to his tail and give him what advice he could. The problem was that Renard didn’t want advice. He didn’t want anything from him other than his companionship on occasion and a whipping post when the mood struck him.

  That put Martin in a very bad position.

  Like now.

  He’d been watching the whole de Reyne-de Tuberville situation from the beginning. He’d seen Renard take a fancy to women before, but it had always been a fleeting thing. Renard wasn’t capable of real emotion, especially with a woman, so Martin thought the interest in Catherine de Tuberville would fade away until Renard announced he needed a wife for her income. That was the first strike. The second strike was when Renard realized Ridge de Reyne was also fond of the woman. Because of Ridge’s interest, that made her more attractive than if she’d been the richest girl in the world.

  Something neither Ridge, nor the de Tuberville brothers, took kindly to.

  After the beating last night, Martin had thought that Renard would steer clear of Catherine de Tuberville and, this morning, he actually saw signs of that. But now… now, something had happened that put the woman back in Renard’s sights.

  Lady Thornewaite.

  Martin couldn’t believe that Lady Catherine’s mother actually wanted Renard for her daughter. It didn’t make any sense to him whatsoever, but then again, most things Renard did made no sense to him, so he could feel himself tensing up, mentally bracing for the situation.

  Whatever that situation might be.

  “Is Lady Thornewaite giving you permission to wed her daughter?” he finally asked.

  Renard nodded. “She has,” he said, wincing when his hand accidentally brushed his swollen face. “But there is a problem, as you know. De Reyne hasn’t let the woman out of his sight since he met her.”

  “Nor the brothers.”

  “Exactly,” Renard said. “Therefore, I must get Lady Catherine away from de Reyne and her brothers and take her to a tavern in town where Lady Thornewaite is waiting. We will then go to Durham’s cathedral where Lady Thornewaite will give her permission and demand the priests marry us. I shall have what I so richly deserve, Lady Thornewaite has a daughter married into the family of a count, and I will shut my wife up in Patrington Castle while I go about my business and spend her money.”

  Martin could hear the glee in the man’s voice. “And how are you to get the lady away from de Reyne and her brothers?” he asked. “She is never away from them, not even for a moment.”

  Renard held up a finger. “I have been thinking of that very situation,” he said. “We must take her away when de Reyne is competing, for he is the only one who can truly prevent us.”

  “Us?” Martin said reluctantly.

  Renard nodded. “They might expect me to get near her again, but they will not expect you,” he said. “I will put myself on full display for them to see while you take the lady out from underneath their noses. Don’t you see, Martin? I will distract them and you will look for the opportunity to take her.”

  Martin could see quite clearly. Renard was putting him in the line of fire, demanding he abduct the lady.

  Nay, he didn’t like that at all.

  “If they catch me, they will kill me,” he said frankly. “They will also know that you ordered me to do it and they will come for you. Are you willing to risk that? There are a dozen other women at this tournament who are richer than Lady Catherine and without several heavily armed knights to guard them. What about Olive de Grimsby? Her father is richer than King Midas.”

  Renard has lost most of his gleeful mood by that point, his dark eyes flashing with irritation. “She does not have Ridge de Reyne’s attention,” he said as if Martin were a simpleton. “This is not completely about the money, if you’ve not yet figured that out for yourself.”

  “Then it is about seeking vengeance on de Reyne.”

  “He may triumph in the games, but I will triumph where it counts the most. In my bed.”

  Martin thought it was a ridiculous, dangerous scheme but it wouldn’t do any good to say so. Renard would only belittle him. Again.

  Heavily, he sighed.

  “What is the plan, then?” he asked without enthusiasm.

  The gleeful light came back into Renard’s eyes. “We are going over to the staging area now,” he said. “Your task will be to look for an opportunity to abduct Lady Catherine. When you do, do not bring her to me. Go to The Silly Gilly Tavern in town because her mother will be waiting there. I will join you as quickly as I can. Do you understand me?”

  Martin nodded unhappily. “I understand.”

  Renard’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. “Excellent,” he said. “Go on, now. Gather your things. We must get over to the staging area.”

  Martin turned away without another word, second-guessing his life choice to swear fealty to the Comte de Gavere. He
was a good knight, better than anything Renard de Luzie deserved, yet he was treated like rubbish by a man whose entire being was filled with rot and rubbish. He hated Renard more than he could express, but to betray him would be to shame his entire family, who served the Comte de Gavere with distinction and had for years. Martin had an older brother who served the man and if he betrayed Renard, it would most definitely come back on his brother. That was something he had to take into consideration.

  In truth, he was a man torn.

  And he hated himself for it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “He just went back to his work,” Geoffrey said, scratching his neck. “The man has been watching you like a hawk, Catie.”

  “I know,” Catherine said, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked over to Ridge’s group. “He’s hardly let me out of his sight. He wouldn’t even let me go over to our camp this morning to retrieve my clothing. He insisted on going himself.”

  “That is because he cares about you,” Charles said. “You are very fortunate to have someone so concerned.”

  Catherine nodded, but it was without enthusiasm. “I know,” she said. “But I feel very guilty. We only met a few days ago and now I must become his burden because of Mother and Renard de Luzie? It does not seem fair to him.”

  Charles shrugged. “He assumed the burden,” he said. “We never asked it of him. He took it willingly. I suppose that’s what happens when you fall in love with someone.”

  Catherine looked at him in shock. “He is not in love with me.”

  Charles fought off a grin. “Of course he is,” he said. “Have you noticed the way the man looks at you? Why else would he be so protective of you?”

  Catherine didn’t have a swift answer for that. Her gaze moved over to Ridge and his men again, feeling her chest tighten at the sight of him. It was a feeling of not being able to breathe, of feeling like her entire body was on pins and needles. It was like nothing she’d experienced before and to hear Charles speak of love had her heart pounding with excitement.

  “Do you really think so?” she said wistfully. “I do not even know how that is possible after having known someone so short a time.”

  Charles looked at her. “Ridge is not a child,” he said. “He’s a grown man who has lived a great deal in his adult life. He has learned what he wants in a woman and what he doesn’t. He knows exactly what he is looking for and he sees that in you. How could he not fall in love with you, Catie?”

  She looked at him, tears in her eyes. “But even with Mother…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, gently cutting her off. “Be grateful for it. Don’t question it. But just make sure you feel the same way. It would not do to have you break Ridge’s heart.”

  She blinked away the tears that were forming. “He is wonderful and kind and generous… how could I not adore a man like that?”

  “Do you love him?”

  She flushed, embarrassed. “I am growing to, I know it.”

  Charles smiled and put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. But that was all he was able to do before one of the men dumped a bunch of weapons onto the ground and he was off shouting at them. Catherine found a stool to sit on and kept out of the way as her brothers went about preparing for the coming bout, her attention mostly on Ridge across the way.

  Do you love him?

  She loved what she did know about the man. There was nothing not to love. But she knew that, with time, she would love all of the other wonderful things she’d not yet discovered about him. Wasn’t that what love was? Finding out about someone day by day and loving them for it? Love was ever-changing, ever-evolving, because there was always something more to love a person for.

  She was looking forward to discovering more of Ridge to love.

  Already, she was well on her way.

  The morning progressed and the first bout come around. Usually, the earlier rounds were newer or lesser experienced knights against the seasoned professionals. When the first round came, Ridge came to collect Catherine and he took her over to the gate that admitted the competitors so she could watch the event close-up. He explained to her that the first round was against a very new knight named Theobald de Correa against a more experienced knight, and a friend of Ridge’s, named Fabian de Dere.

  Fabian, a big man with an exceptionally calm demeanor, sat perfectly still and calm as de Correa struggled to pull himself together. He was nervous, and that was obvious, but his first pass was a good one. Both lances glanced off of each other and no damage was done, but no points were awarded, either.

  The crowd was screaming with excitement given that it was the first bout, and after the first pass, Ridge began to explain more about the rules of engagement.

  “There will be four passes,” he told Catherine. “It is expected that lances will be broken, or splintered, at every pass.”

  “But why?” Catherine wanted to know.

  “Because that means you are actually trying to do what you’re supposed to do,” he said. “In this first pass, they are to hit the target on the left shoulder. That is what they’ll aim for.”

  He was pointing to his own left shoulder, which was covered with plate armor. In fact, both shoulders were, strapped on by big, leather belts. He wore his de Reyne tunic, but his shoulders and his throat and upper chest were covered by the plate armor but beneath the de Reyne tunic, he wore a hard leather vest that covered his chest and belly. The only other part of his body covered by metal were his forearms. Everything he wore was strategic, and well-used, but also well-tended. He looked every inch the fearsome knight, prepared to do battle.

  Catherine looked him over most carefully.

  “Most interesting,” she said. “But what is the ultimate objective? To knock a man off his horse?”

  Ridge shrugged. “Mostly,” he said. “I have won more horses than I know what to do with. Most of them, I simply sell back to their owners. The object is to accumulate points by a strike to the shoulder, a strike to the hip, or simply knocking a man from his horse. Hits to the belly or head are discouraged and they are not counted. In fact, a strike to the head will have a man disqualified.”

  Catherine was quite curious about all of it. “There are a great many rules, aren’t there?”

  He nodded. “To protect competitors and to ensure fair competition,” he said. “But every tournament has its own specific rules. For example, at Durham, there are only four passes. Many tournaments have six.”

  “Why do they change things like that?”

  “It is simply preference,” he said. “Also, there are somewhere around fifty knights competing at this tournament, which makes it one of the larger ones, so four passes means that we’ll be able to compete in a timely fashion. I’ve been to tournaments with a hundred men and it takes two weeks. This one has almost fifty, meaning four passes, a half-hour each. It’s still going to take us several days, considering the final rounds. Five days at the most.”

  She looked at him, smiling. “Five days with you.”

  He smiled in return, but not wanting to make a spectacle of their blossoming relationship, he simply took her hand and kissed it gently.

  “The best five days of my life,” he said softly. “I can still hardly believe it.”

  She grinned, rather coyly, and returned her attention to the field. “That gaily decorated fence out there,” she said, pointing to the guide that ran up the center of the arena floor. “Does that show the colors of the men competing?”

  Ridge shook his head, standing very close to her, his big body up against hers. “Those are the colors of the bishops of Durham,” he said. “Although sometimes it does have the colors of the men competing. That fence is called the list.”

  She looked at him curiously. “Why?”

  His right arm was on the wooden fence they were leaning on, but his left arm was at his side, his fingers discreetly toying with the ends of her long, silky hair.

  “Because we all add our
names to the list of competitors when we arrive to any tournament,” he said. “Men will ask each other ‘who is on the list?’ and because of it, the guide received its name.”

  Catherine smiled at the clever term. “How marvelous,” she said. “I wonder why only the banner of the bishops of Durham is on it, though?”

  Ridge snorted. “Because they are an arrogant bunch,” he said. But then, he pointed to the knights on the field. “Look, now. They are lining up again. Let’s see what they do.”

  Catherine was wrought with anticipation. The knights made another pass, a fast and thundering pass, and de Dere made a shoulder strike that not only splintered the lance, but it knocked de Correa off his horse. However, his foot was caught in the stirrup, so his horse ran around in a panic until men were able to stop it. The young knight was able to stand, shaken, and walk off the field as the crowd roared.

  And on it went into the morning.

  Some bouts only went two passes, while others went the full four. Payne was the first man in Ridge’s team to compete and he didn’t unseat his opponent, but he was able to rack up more points, making him the winner. There were six marshals on the field, watching the passes from all angles and ensuring that everything was fair.

  After Payne, Kieran Hage and George competed back-to-back, both of them triumphing against skilled opponents. Kieran was so strong that he managed to unseat his opponent in the first pass, but George took a full four passes and ended up barely squeezing by. He disputed a marshal’s call when the man said he hadn’t struck his opponent in the elbow. More marshals were brought in, the competitor’s elbow was examined, and it was determined that he had, indeed, made the strike.

  Watching George celebrate, one would have thought he had just defeated the entire Scots army singlehandedly.

  Geoffrey was the next one to compete, nearly the last one of the morning, and he had a rather violent bout. All of his lances and his opponent’s lances were splintered because of the great force behind them. Strong men trying to win in the heat of competition. Geoffrey’s competition struck a powerful blow to his chest, but he didn’t topple. With the next pass, Geoffrey hit him squarely in the left shoulder and nearly knocked him from his horse, but he managed to keep his balance. Finally, the marshals had them make a fifth pass and when Geoffrey’s lance shattered, he was declared the winner.