“‘Tis hard to believe she’s the daughter of a vicious man like Ruarke Sommerville,” Perrin said thoughtfully.
“Of course she is not a murdering savage like her father. Women, even one born of his evil seed, are weak creatures, but last eve I had ample proof she is cold and heartless.”
“Just because she refused to wed Sir Archie? Be reasonable, if she accepted every man who trails after her, she’d be a bigamist twenty times over.”
“‘Twas the way she did it, wounding both his heart and his pride when a simple nay would have sufficed. She may not be a murderer of women and babes like her sire, but she’s shallow and cruel.” He’d had doubts about this plan when his uncle had proposed it. No matter what Ruarke had done, to kidnap an innocent lady went against the principles Gervase’s grandparents had literally beaten into him. But after meeting Lady Catherine, his conscience was clear. And his course of action. “That so vicious a soul is wrapped in a pretty package makes it all the worse.”
Perrin grinned. “I should think ‘twould make your task all the more pleasant. After all, she’ll be your prisoner, locked up in Alleuze with none to say you nay did you decide to—”
“I may be many things, Perrin, but I would not stoop to despoil a woman in my care.” The words came out more sharply than Gervase had intended.
“Nay, you are too honorable for that.” Too honorable for your own good sometimes, Perrin thought. He’d seen how the horrors of war, the bloodshed and senseless violence had eaten away at Gervase’s soul. But he’d also seen the way his friend looked at the vivacious Lady Cat. There’d been a heat in his gaze that had been absent when he’d looked at his poor dead wife. “I was surprised you agreed to this scheme of your uncle’s.”
“What choice do I have?” Gervase growled. “My people are starving. Alleuze is a charred ruin without even a roof to keep out the rain, and I have no coin for seed or building materials.”
“Aye. And my heart also bleeds for all we lost, but such things happen in war.”
“War. I know all about war…we’ve done little save fight for the past ten years. What Sommerville did to Alleuze went beyond war. ‘Twas barbarism of the worst sort.” Gervase’s gaze clouded over, and Perrin knew he remembered the gruesome sight that had awaited them when they’d returned home. Knew, too, that Gervase blamed himself for having been off fighting for King Charles when his family needed him. “Uncle Bernard is right,” Gervase said. “Ruarke should be made to answer for his crimes.”
“True. But Bernard’s motive in all this puzzles me, for I’ve never known the man to do aught that didn’t benefit him.”
“You are as bad as my grandparents, trying to turn me against Bernard. He came to our aid years ago when my father was killed, and lent Grandfather the troops to regain Alleuze.”
“And left straightaway when old Lord Jacques wouldn’t give him half of the estate as payment for his help.”
“So Grandfather said, but he ever hated Bernard for being a de Lauren and never let me forget I shared that blood,” Gervase said stiffly. “If you find this business abhorrent and wish to leave my service, I will understand.”
“I’d never leave you,” Perrin exclaimed. “You are more than my overlord and cousin. We’ve been friends since birth.” He cursed the upbringing that made Gervase hold everything inside. “You are right, our situation is perilous. We must do whatever is necessary. I—I just hate to see Lady Cat hurt by—”
“Hurt! I have no intention of harming a hair on her vain, foolish little head. The worst that will happen is she’ll spend a few uncomfortable weeks at Alleuze deprived of the luxuries to which she’s addicted. Why, she’ll likely return home more appreciative of her considerable wealth.”
“Aye, she is a great heiress. If you wed her, her dowry would buy food and stone enough to keep us—”
“Wed her! Perrin, have you lost your wits? If I planned to marry again, which I don’t, I could not overlook the fact she’s the daughter of the man who murdered my Marie and little Eva.”
“I know, but—”
“I’d speak of it no more,” Gervase snapped. Bad enough his sleep had been ruined by thoughts of Lady Catherine, he’d not have his daylight hours consumed by her, as well. Ahead he spotted the tents of the nobles and merchants arranged around the field where the tourney would be held four days hence. “I need a horse to ride in the joust, and I’d have your advice on the matter.”
“A destrier?” At Gervase’s nod, Perrin lifted his visor. He and Gervase both had the St. Juste swarthy complexions and black hair, but Perrin’s eyes were brown, clouded now with concern. “How will you pay for such an expensive beast?”
“I’ll trade my father’s sword for it, with the understanding I’ll buy it back with the prize money I win in the tourney.”
Perrin grinned. “Certain of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Aye. Desperation can lead a man to greatness.” But they both knew ‘twas no idle boast. Gervase was unequaled with a sword and lance. Had he not been needed to protect his lands, he might have made his way as a mercenary or fighting in tourneys.
“If you earn enough, you’ll not need to kidnap Lady Cat.”
“Perrin,” Gervase warned. “‘Twould be difficult to win what Bernard says we can get for her.”
“The prospect of bashing a few English heads tempts you.”
Gervase grinned with a hint of his former humor. “Ah, you’ve caught me out. That and the fact that we’ll need coin to feed our people till the Sommerville ransom is realized.”
“But if you should win more than you expect, will you still go through with this mad scheme?” Perrin asked.
“Mad? Aye, I suppose I must be, but the chance to punish Lord Ruarke is too good to pass up. Now that Uncle Bernard has put that notion in my head, I cannot shake it.”
“Hmm,” Perrin said. What he couldn’t shake was the notion this was wrong, but he owed Gervase his life and his loyalty. “As to the horses, I understand the best beasts were those bred by Lord Ruarke and most of them have been sold.”
“I’d not buy from him if he had the last horse available.”
As it turned out, that is exactly what he did have. After visiting every horse trader, Gervase ended up at Sommerville’s.
“Aye, we’ve a stallion for sale,” said the groom. That his tunic, emblazoned with the Sommerville crest, was newer and finer than those Gervase and Perrin wore did not escape the fellow’s notice. “But ye’ll not be able to afford him.”
Gervase had had a bellyful of Sommerville arrogance. “I’ll be the judge of that. Who is in charge here?” he demanded, one hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip.
The groom scowled, then turned to the youth lurking in his shadow. “Run fetch Sir Philippe, lad.”
The boy ran off between the tents, great silken tents finer than the hovels where Gervase’s people were forced to live, returning moments later accompanied by a mailed knight. Obviously the man had been training, for his helmet was tucked under his left arm and sweat slicked the hair to his head. He looked young to be in charge of Sommerville’s men. Likely he was some flunky sent to see what these impoverished interlopers wanted, Gervase thought, and his temper soared.
“George?” Sir Philippe inquired, one brow cocked.
“They’ve come