Knight's Ransom. Suzanne Barclay
did he say?”
“Naught, he…”
Oscar, the third member of Cat’s guard, a man of medium build, unswerving loyalty and sharp wits, appeared behind Margery. “Fat lot of nerve the knight’s got, running off with that woman. Do ye want we should go after the lout and drag him back?” Flanking him were Gamel and Garret. The twin giants flexed their thick arms and clenched fists the size of hams.
Cat smiled. “Tempting as the offer is, the duke has strictly forbidden fighting off the tourney field, and I’d not see you three land in trouble over a petty slight.”
Gamel swung his shaggy head toward the far end of the hall where Lady Clarice and her friends plied the knight with wine and charm. “‘Tis no small thing to us, m’lady,” he snarled.
“Actually, I found Sir Gervase’s company tedious. Clarice is welcome to him.” Cat glared at the knight, who stood taller than any present save Gamel and Garret, and seriously contemplated squashing his black head with something damaging…a pike, mayhap.
As though sensing her regard, Gervase turned suddenly and their gazes locked. Triumph kindled in those wintry eyes of his, so quickly gone it might have been a trick of the torchlight.
Now what do you suppose he’s about? she wondered.
Lady Clarice was as difficult to shake as a Mediterranean squid and seemed to have more arms. Gervase finally escaped by claiming he needed to visit the jakes, then ducking into the shadow-draped gardens behind the castle. Scarcely had he closed the gate behind him when someone grabbed his arm.
Gervase yelped and yanked his arm free.
“Easy, ‘tis just me.” Perrin’s voice came out of the gloom.
“Thanks be to heaven.” Gervase sagged against the trunk of a birch tree. “I thought it was her.”
“Lady Catherine?”
“Clarice. The stink of her perfume still pollutes my nostrils and I swear there are marks on my chest from her nails.”
“The perils of court intrigue. What of Lady Catherine? I expected you’d have gotten her out here by now so we could be on our way.”
“She proved…difficult.” Gervase pushed away from the tree and dragged a hand through his hair as he paced the path.
“Losing your touch with the ladies?”
“Small wonder. This past year I’ve been too busy keeping the brigands from our door and tilling the fields like a common peasant to woo a woman.” Gervase sighed in exasperation. “But I could think of no other way to get close to her except to swallow my hatred for her family and pretend to court her. Who would think ‘twould be so difficult to get her alone?”
“Aye. She is surrounded by admirers, and two of those Sommerville men-at-arms go everywhere she does. How will you get her away before the tourney starts?”
“I’m not certain I can. We may have to stay and participate in a few of the events in hopes that during the confusion we will find an opportunity to take her.”
“Oh? And what will you do for a suitable mount? Or will you ride old Jock in the jousting lists and the melee?”
“I have yet to figure that out…but I will. After all, we’ve lived on our wits these past six years.”
An hour later, Cat finally slipped away from the hall to walk in the gardens. The cool night air eased the heat from her cheeks and cleared the stench of smoke and unwashed bodies from her nostrils, but for once the familiar scent of roses and herbs failed to lift her spirits.
Sir Gervase’s attempted seduction had shaken her, and when Philippe had arrived a short while later, she’d asked to leave the castle and stay in her father’s tent.
“A tent is no place for a lady,” Philippe had replied.
“I’ve stayed in them since I was little.” Nor could he deny that. “The castle is crowded beyond belief with so many nobles come for the tourney. True, Margery and I are more fortunate than most, since there are only two of us in our bed, but six other ladies spread their pallets on the floor each night. I can scarce arise at night to use the pot but what I step on someone.”
“You are more comfortable here,” he insisted.
“I have never been more uncomfortable in my life, and well you know it. ‘Tis a nest of greedy vipers and backbiting she-cats. Margery is the only one with whom I feel at home.”
“If anyone bothers you, you have only to tell me and I will bring the matter to His Grace, the duke.” Philippe’s expression sharpened. “Are you certain this Gervase St. Juste didn’t insult you? Oscar seemed to think—”
“We merely…argued. The man is arrogant and surly. I can look out for myself. However well-meaning, Lord John’s interference would only make things worse, for there are some who think our family’s connection with the king’s has given me airs.”
“You? Never.” His brown eyes danced. “I know you’d rather be mucking out a stall than dancing with…what was it you called them…ah, yes, those lead-footed nobles.”
“Then you see why I’d rather stay in the tents than—”
“Out of the question. Your sire was most specific in his instructions. You are to stay within the castle except whilst attending the tourney events. Gamel and Garret are to be with you at all times, and one is to sleep across the doorway of your chamber at night.” Nor could she shake Philippe’s determination. Having served her father for some nineteen years, first as squire, then as a knight, he was not only loyal, he knew the folly of disobeying Ruarke Sommerville.
Sighing, Cat turned her back on the castle and walked along the gravel path.
“Are you certain Gervase St. Juste didn’t insult you?” Garret grumbled as he and his brother fell into step behind her. “I’ve not seen you so angry in years.”
Too true. Clearly her initial impression of him had been in error. He might have her papa’s size and commanding presence, but Ruarke Sommerville would never have stooped to insult a woman. Obviously Sir Gervase was an arrogant lecher. He and Clarice deserved each other. Yet the few times Cat had surreptitiously glanced their way, she’d been stunned by the pang she felt at the sight of his tanned face bent close to Clarice’s pale one.
“Mayhap, Sir Gervase will be wounded in the tourney and thus God will punish him for his meanness,” Cat said with forced cheer. Determined not to let the knight ruin what was already an unpleasant visit, she continued along the path. On either side grew the flowers and herbs Princess Joan had planted here when she and the Black Prince first came to Bordeaux.
“Gamel, do you know what that one is?” she asked.
The giant swung his sword scabbard out of the way as he hunkered down beside the plant in question. His thick, scarred fingers stroked the leaf with surprising gentleness. “Horehound by the smell and these white flowers.”
“Very good.” Cat beamed at her pupil. The brothers had learned much in the two years since Henry’s treachery had made them her guardians. She’d been confined to Wilton’s grounds, then, under the guise of improving the gardens. Talking about herbs had eased the tension of having someone following her at all times. “There are few things here even I recognize. I wonder if the local herb woman—”
“Lady Catherine. Ho, Lady Catherine,” called a horribly familiar voice. Before she could bolt behind a bush, Sir Archie was upon them. He grabbed her hand in one of his slender ones and pressed his wet lips to her fingertips.
Cat repressed a shiver of revulsion. Archibald de Percy meant well, he was just so…soft. With his curly hair and big, vapid eyes he reminded her of a brown sheep. A wealthy, handsome sheep, ‘twas true, but a sheep nonetheless.
“My