Knight's Ransom. Suzanne Barclay
not the skills?” Gervase added softly.
Sir Philippe smiled. “You would know that better than I, sir knight. You hail from the south.”
It was a statement, not a question. Gervase cursed silently. “I speak both Norman French and that of the south.”
“As do I. I’m originally from these parts,” Sir Philippe said lightly, “so I hear nuances in speech others miss. Have I the honor of addressing Gervase St. Juste, the man who quarreled with my lord’s daughter?”
“How did you know?”
“I came late to the festivities at the castle yestereve, but soon heard what had transpired between you and Lady Cat.”
“I’m certain the lady was quick to complain about me.”
Sir Philippe frowned and shook his head. “She’d be the last one to do so. ‘Twas Oscar, leader of her bodyguards, who said the two of you had argued.”
Bodyguards? Damn. Those two great brutes he’d seen last night were her bodyguards. Another impediment to surmount. “With so many brigands about, you are wise to see your lady well watched,” Gervase replied with feigned casualness. Beside him, he felt Perrin shift and knew the news would elicit another round of complaints the moment they were private.
“Lord Ruarke is determined to see no harm befalls his eldest daughter.” Philippe scowled. “What did you say to offend her?”
So the lady had not told her guardians of his clumsy attempt at seduction. Interesting. “She is English, I am French. Our countries have been warring for years.” Gervase shrugged as though that said it all. “If you’d rather not sell one of your war-horses to the enemy…”
“It makes no difference,” Philippe said quickly. “We are at peace now, and many French knights have bought milord’s horses.”
Gervase nodded. “I’m in need of a destrier. My own was injured en route here and had to be put down.” A stretch of the truth. The battle had been years ago, but the pain of having to slit Damien’s throat was fresher. He’d raised the stallion from a colt and had hopes of siring a string of bay war-horses.
“Come look at Thor, and we’ll see if you two are suited.” Sir Philippe motioned for Gervase to follow him. The knight was either a courtier or had time to burn, for he’d not mentioned the horse’s price or asked if Gervase could pay it.
A log fence enclosed the grazing horses, each of which was chained to a huge boulder. The paddock itself was more closely guarded than the town of Bordeaux, ringed by no less than twenty pikeman. Tents flying the Sommerville banner formed a second outer ring. The area bustled with activity, squires cleaning armor and weapons, men-at-arms training with sword and ax.
Sir Philippe stopped at the rail of the fence and called to a man inside. “Fetch Thor for me, Sim.” He spoke firmly but not harshly, still the man raced off to do his bidding.
“This knight seems a goodly sort,” Perrin murmured. “Not at all what I’d expected from one who serves a monster.”
“His lord is not here,” Gervase growled. “And with so many important people come for the tourney, they are doubtless on their best behavior.”
“This is Thor,” Sir Philippe said.
Gervase looked around and fell instantly in love. The stallion was magnificent…sixteen hands high, heavy muscles rippling beneath sleek gray hide. He held his head up, alert but not tugging on the stout lead rope. The instantaneous attraction to Sommerville’s horse angered Gervase even more than had the dangerous lure of his too-beautiful daughter. “He seems docile to be effective in battle,” Gervase sneered.
“You think so?” Philippe grinned and nodded to the groom, who led Thor nearer to the rail. “Touch him if you can, Sir Gervase,” the knight taunted.
Gervase extended his hand. The stallion’s nostrils flared as he scented a stranger. In the blink of an eye, he was transformed from a thing of beauty into a wild beast. Screaming a challenge, the stallion lashed out with both front feet. A steel-shod hoof crashed into the fence, splintering the wood. Thick yellow teeth snapped at Gervase’s hand.
“Bloody hell,” Perrin exclaimed, tugging Gervase to safety. “That thing’s a menace. He should be put down.”
“He requires a strong hand on the reins, I’ll grant,” Sir Philippe said, still grinning as the groom and six helpers worked to calm the irate horse. “But you’ll find no better mount in battle. He’s bred to it, you see. He’ll carry you till he drops, stand over you and chase off all comers if you fall.”
“Saddle him,” Gervase said, his gaze pinned to the stallion, who now stood still. Thor’s rolling eyes and heaving sides were the only indication of the earlier outburst.
Philippe laid a cautionary hand on Gervase’s arm. “There is one proviso, sir. No whips. If you cannot control him without, I cannot sell him to you.”
“I’ve never beaten a horse, nor would I own one I couldn’t manage,” Gervase said tautly.
Philippe nodded. “Let us see how you manage, then.”
Gervase had a moment of trepidation when he swung up into the saddle and felt the horse tense to repel him. “Nay, you do not.” He tightened his knees. Thor screamed and ducked his head, ready to buck. Gervase shouted a curse of his own and drew back sharply on the reins. The battle was joined. Thor pranced and jumped and twice tried to scrape the unfamiliar presence from his back. With the skill of long experience, Gervase countered every move with one of his own till finally the horse admitted defeat and stood still in the center of the ring.
Hot and exhausted but triumphant, Gervase gingerly walked Thor over to the string of onlookers lining the fence. “He’s magnificent,” Gervase said. “I will take him.”
Philippe grinned and named a price twice what Gervase had expected to pay.
“I…I do not have the coin.”
“Ah, too bad. I am afraid I cannot sell you the horse for a promised share of your booty in the coming tourney.”
“Nor would I expect you to.” Even the strongest knight with a string of victories to his credit could be unseated or killed in the fierce fighting. “I would offer something more certain. Perrin, would you take the sword from my pack?”
From his vantage point on Thor’s back, he watched his friend uncover the sword. Sunlight flowed like fire along the tempered-steel blade, struck sparks off the jewels embedded in the hilt. A gasp of wonderment swept through the Sommerville retainers.
Philippe whistled through his teeth. “‘Tis a beauty.” He lifted the sword in both hands, testing its balance before looking up at Gervase. “How come you by such a sword?”
“You mean a tattered knight like me?” Gervase asked stiffly. “I didn’t steal it, if that is your meaning. It’s been in my family for generations, brought back from the Crusades.”
“I wonder you can bear to part with it.”
“I don’t mean to be for long,” Gervase replied. “I want your guarantee I may buy it back with what I win in the tourney.”
“Agreed,” Philippe said at once. “I will summon the clerk to draw up the papers. Lord Ruarke has a fondness for old weapons and would be pleased to add this sword to his collection if your plans don’t succeed. If they do, rest assured you may have it back for the price of the stallion.”
“That seems most fair,” Gervase said grudgingly. So this Philippe was honorable. That didn’t make his master so.
Just then a party of riders cantered across the field, halting a few yards away. Recognizing the woman who rode in their midst, Gervase gritted his teeth.
“What is going on here, Philippe?” Lady Cat demanded.
The