The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4) Read online

  Some of the smugness left Renard’s face, replaced by surprise and perhaps even disappointment.

  “It’s a lie,” he said. “You are only trying to discourage me.”

  “It is not a lie,” Charles said seriously. “It is very much the truth. Catherine will come with very little. Now, there is an earl’s daughter across the hall in a red dress with lovely red hair. I’ve heard rumors that her father is seeking a husband for her and being married to an earl’s daughter would be much more lucrative than being married to the daughter of a lesser lord with three sons who will take up the inheritance.”

  Renard’s brow furrowed. He looked at Lady Thornewaite, who was starting to scold her sons, but she didn’t outright deny what he’d been told. At least, he didn’t hear any words of denial. She was more intent on shaming her sons because they’d openly contradicted her than trying to convince Renard that her sons were mistaken.

  As the family entered into an argument right in front of him, Renard found himself looking over his shoulder towards the other end of the hall where the earl’s daughter was. He’d seen her earlier, before the lure of taking something away from Ridge de Reyne had clouded his judgment. He sat there and wondered if taking the woman de Reyne wanted outweighed the lure of an earl’s daughter.

  Perhaps he would know more at the end of the tournament.

  It was still early enough that he had time to push his suit with the de Tuberville daughter, but much would depend on how well he did in the tournament. He was already banned from the mass competition because of what he may, or may not, have done during the exhibition earlier in the day, so he thought perhaps to put this discussion aside until all was said and done. If he did well in the tournament, perhaps there would be no need to seek vengeance on de Reyne.

  But if he didn’t… he’d very well go after the de Tuberville daughter like a hound on a fox.

  “Lady Thornewaite, I have enjoyed your company, but I did not intend to involve myself in a family feud,” he finally said, rising from his chair. “I will bid you and your sons a good evening. Mayhap we can continue our conversation at another time, when tempers and perceptions are not so sharp.”

  Blythe stood up, shaking her head. “There is no need for you to leave, my lord,” she said. “My sons are simply…”

  He cut her off. “Next time we speak, mayhap your sons will not be present. Good eve to you.”

  With that, he headed off in search of another woman to occupy his time since his attempts to be introduced to the de Tuberville daughter had come to a dead end. There were plenty of other women to seek entertainment with, as Charles had pointed out. As Renard lost himself in the big crowd in the hall, George and Geoffrey and Charles watched with relief.

  “See what you have done?” Blythe said angrily. “You have chased him off!”

  Charles looked at his mother. “And good riddance,” he said. “How many of us must tell you that Renard de Luzie is the lowest form of life before you will understand?”

  “But he is a count’s son!”

  Charles shook his head impatiently. “Be that as it may, why do you think he is on the tournament circuit?” he said. “He is here because he has to earn money, so if he told you he is wealthy, he is lying. He’s a poor knight looking for a rich bride and if you stop arguing with me, I will tell you that I believe I have found Catherine an appropriate suitor.”

  Blythe was still in argument mode, but the last few words calmed her drastically. “You have?” she said. “Who?”

  Charles grinned. “None other than the tournament champion himself, Ridge de Reyne.”

  That drew a reaction from Geoffrey and George. “De Reyne?” George repeated, astounded. “Why? What has happened?”

  Charles shrugged. “Do you remember when Catie’s dogs ran off today?” He watched his brothers shake their heads. “They escaped her and ran straight into de Reyne’s camp. Catie and de Reyne met and, evidently, it was enough to bring the man to the feast tonight, looking for her. He has asked permission to court her.”

  While Geoffrey and George appeared positively gleeful, Blythe looked confused. “Court her?” she said. “What do we know about this man, Charles? Who is he?”

  Charles patted his mother on the shoulder. “The answer to our prayers, Mother,” he said. “De Reyne is from an excellent family and he used to be the personal guard to the King of Scotland. He’s come to the tournament circuit to make his fortune and given that the man wins every time he competes, he must be wildly rich by now. And he wants to court our little Catie. You could not find a more appropriate or desirable suitor if you search the whole of England for him.”

  While Geoffrey and George made comments pertaining to the joy of having de Reyne as a permanent member of their family, Blythe was only slightly less confused than she was before.

  “But what is his family background?” she asked. “Is his father a great lord?”

  Charles shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “You can ask him because he wishes to speak with you.”

  “Then where is he?”

  Charles threw a thumb in the general direction of the competitors’ encampment. “He took Catie back to our camp,” he said. “I wanted her away from de Luzie, if you must know, so I asked him to escort her back to our camp. But he will return to speak to you. In fact, I think I see him now.”

  Everyone turned to the hall entry. It was crowded with people as they strained to see those entering. So many people milling about and somewhere in the midst of them, an enormous man in a deep blue tunic pushed through the crowd. Or perhaps it was more that they simply parted for him – Ridge de Reyne commanded that kind of respect. No one wanted to stand in his way. He was heading straight for them and Charles went out to meet him.

  “How is my sister?” he asked. “Is everything well?”

  Ridge nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ve come to speak to your mother.”

  “I know,” Charles said, lowering his voice and speaking quickly. “We just chased de Luzie from the table and she seems quite enamored with him, so be advised. You’re going to have to charm her with tales of your wealth and family connections. Make it good.”

  Ridge looked at him sharply, because those certainly weren’t the things he intended to highlight in this early conversation, but he didn’t ask questions. They approached the table and he greeted Geoffrey and George before Charles made the introduction with Blythe.

  “My lord, this is my mother, Blythe de Tuberville, Lady Thornewaite,” he said. “Mother, this is Sir Ridge de Reyne. A finer knight you will never meet.”

  Ridge could feel the weight of the woman’s stare as she looked him over. Catherine resembled her, but it was limited. Whereas Catherine’s eyes were warm and glittering, her mother’s eyes were dark quagmire pools of mud.

  Already, he could see that the woman was dead inside.

  He braced himself.

  “My lord,” she greeted after she was finished visually dissecting him. “My sons speak highly of you.”

  Ridge nodded. “Thank you, my lady,” she said. “I will speak highly of them, as well, but that will all end when the games begin.”

  Charles and Geoffrey snorted. “We’re on your team tomorrow, do not forget,” Charles said. “At least speak kindly of us until that is over with.”

  Ridge smiled, enjoying the humorous rapport he was starting to build with them, but Blythe wasn’t smiling at all. She was looking at him as if she didn’t have a humorous bone in her body.

  “Charles says you wish to ask my permission to court my daughter,” she said, getting right to the point. “If you wish to plead your case, do so now.”

  Ridge didn’t dare look at Charles. Fortunately, the man had forewarned him, so he was moderately prepared. At least, he hoped so. He suspected he might not have another chance from the way she Lady Thornewaite was looking at him, so he quickly and succinctly formulated his speech.

  It was all or nothing.

  “My father wa
s Sir Ryton de Reyne, heir to the baronetcy of Hartlepool, but he was killed before I was born,” he said. “My uncle is now Lord Hartlepool and the bulk of my family lives at Throston Castle, south of Darlington. I fostered at Kenilworth and Dover Castles and entered the king’s service as soon as I was knighted. I worked my way through the ranks to become the captain of his personal guard until I was gifted to the King of Scotland as part of a treaty. I served Alexander flawlessly until a few years ago when I left his service and entered the tournament circuit to increase my fortune. I am lord of Lynebank Castle and the Lynebank fiefdom, granted to me by the king, and I am richer than most men in the north and will therefore be able to provide for your daughter quite well. I would ask that you allow me to court her, my lady, with the intention of marriage. Is there anything specific you wish to ask me?”

  He’d been smooth and concise, and by the time he was finished, Charles and Geoffrey were looking at him with smiles on their faces, impressed. George was too drunk to care, sitting next to his mother, who had yet to reclaim her seat. But she, too, didn’t seem to be as cold as she had been initially.

  “If your father was killed before you were born, why are you not Lord Hartlepool?” she asked. “Why your uncle?”

  “Because I am my father’s bastard, my lady.”

  Blythe cocked an eyebrow. “I see,” she said, the coldness returning to her manner. “Then you inherited nothing.”

  “Correct, my lady.”

  “You will never be anything more than what you are.”

  She said it with such disdain. Ridge could see that she was not a likeable person, even this early in their conversation, but he didn’t want to offend her. He could see that she was looking for something more for her daughter, perhaps something he would be unable to give, like a title or power.

  But she had another think coming.

  “I have the trust and support of two kings, my lady,” he reminded her. “They can provide me with much more than any family inheritance ever could. I will be far greater than any man in this room by the time I die, which would make your daughter a prestigious and wealthy woman. If that is what you are looking for, then I am able to offer it.”

  Blythe’s gaze lingered on him, pondering his words. “Mayhap,” she said. But she looked away from him, stepping away from the table. “I will take your request under consideration, my lord. We are here for the duration of the tournament and it is quite possible we will have other offers from other lords. I would be foolish to accept the first suit that is presented.”

  “Mother,” Charles said, frowning. “There is no one better. Sir Ridge would make Catherine a fine husband.”

  Blythe looked at her son, at Ridge, and then back again. “As I said, I will consider his request,” she said. “But it has been an exhausting day and I wish to seek my bed. Charles, you will attend me. Good eve to you, Sir Ridge.”

  Ridge simply nodded his head, watching Charles as the man gave him a long look, silently asking for patience. Ridge had little doubt that Charles would plead his case all the way back to the encampment. As Charles and his mother walked away, Geoffrey came to stand next to him.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Charles can convince Mother to do anything. My guess is that you’ll have her approval by morning.”

  Ridge looked at him, forcing a smile. “If not, I will take it out on you and your brothers,” he said. “But I do thank you for your support.”

  Geoffrey smiled in return. “You are welcome,” he said. “And don’t take anything out on me. Take it out on George. He deserves it.”

  They both turned to look at George, who was passed out in his chair, his head back and his mouth open as he snored. Geoffrey started laughing, slapping George on his boots, which were on the table, to awaken him. George startled so badly that he nearly fell off the chair.

  Leaving Geoffrey dealing with his inebriated brother, Ridge headed over to the table where copious amounts of drink were on display, grasping a cup and downing it in one swallow. It was some kind of cider, very strong, and it nearly blew the back of his throat out, but he found that he needed it. He was in unfamiliar territory with Catherine and her resistant mother. He needed to pull himself together and focus.

  As he downed a second cup, he was suddenly reminded of the favor he carried, tucked into a pocket inside his tunic. He put his hand against the pocket, feeling the favor, and it made him smile. Things were happening terribly fast with Catherine, but he’d never experienced anything so exhilarating.

  Or so right.

  To him, it just felt right.

  As the feasting and drinking went on around him, Ridge didn’t feel like remaining now that Catherine was gone. Taking another cup of that powerful cider with him, he made his way out of the hall, but not before he spied Payne and Tavis and Osbert drinking and laughing with a pair of young women. They saw him, too, and waved him over, but he begged off, continuing on towards the exit.

  Unfortunately, he also caught sight of Renard before he passed through the doorway, and the man had cornered a woman in a green dress, covered with jewels. She was smiling coyly at him as he fingered the curls in her hair.

  The scene brought Ridge some relief. Hopefully, Renard would forget about Catherine altogether. He seemed quite focused on the young woman, so Ridge could only pray that the man had swiftly moved on from the de Tuberville daughter.

  For Renard’s own safety, it was best that he did.

  Ridge finally headed out into the cold, dewy night, thoughts of a certain young lady with miniature vicious dogs heavy on his mind.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He’d come back to check on her.

  Catherine had been watching from the tent opening when Ridge had made a pass by her encampment on his way to his own. She’d seen him in the torchlight and had waved at him.

  He nodded at her and continued on.

  But it was enough. Enough to make her smile, enough to make her feel happy as she’d never felt in her life. This powerful, noble knight who apparently thought she was something special. No one had ever thought she was anything special except her brothers and her father.

  But it was different when Ridge felt that way.

  Donning a heavy linen shift and sleeping robe, Catherine had braided her hair into one big braid and had fallen asleep with Bando and Iris tucked against her, which was usual. Sometime in the night, they’d end up on their own pillow on the ground, or they’d drag the pillow she was using onto the ground. Catherine often woke up with no pillow under her head.

  But she truthfully didn’t much care.

  Sleep did not come easy this night, however. So much had happened during the day that it was difficult to settle down enough to sleep, so it took quite some time to finally doze off. Thoughts of Ridge had kept her awake, dreams of a castle called Lynebank where they would live and raise their sons. Dreams that all young women had when hoping for a better future and a happy life.

  A life far away from Blythe.

  In fact, she’d heard her mother return to the encampment, but the woman didn’t come to see her. She went straight into her tent and Catherine could hear the muffled voices as she spoke to her maid. A maid that Blythe treated better than her own daughter. In any case, the sounds of her mother weren’t enough to dampen her spirits, but she’d finally drifted off to a handsome knight with dark, dusky eyes.

  Catherine awoke sometime in the middle of the night because she still had her pillow, but the dogs were no longer sleeping with her. That was unusual. Yawning, she lifted her head and looked around, fully expecting to see them somewhere on the bed, but realizing they weren’t. That had her looking around the floor, thinking they had found something else to sleep on top of, but a cursory examination of the tent didn’t turn up the dogs. Rising, she lit an oil lamp and looked more thoroughly, softly calling their names, but there was still no sign of them.

  Then, she heard distant barking.

  In a panic, she bolted from the tent, hearing the barking of
her dogs coming from the south. Without putting on her slippers, she tore off to the south, back through the trees that lined the river. Since the moon was only a sliver, it was extremely difficult to see and, at one point, she ran face-first into a tree. She could taste blood in her mouth, but it didn’t matter. It was nothing compared to the utter terror she was feeling at the moment.

  “Bando!” she called. “Iris!”

  More barking. It was Bando – she could tell. He had a raspy bark and he sounded unhappy. Catherine was trying very hard not to tear up as she rushed through the trees, straight towards Ridge’s encampment. She called out to her dogs again, but by this time they’d stopped barking. That only brought a myriad of terrible scenarios to mind and she couldn’t help the tears.

  “Bando?” she called again. “Iris?”

  Suddenly, a man appeared, big and blond. He was in a shift and breeches, with no shoes, and he looked as if he’d just been pulled out of bed. There were a few soldiers on the de Reyne perimeter but he wasn’t looking at them.

  He was looking at her.

  “Lady Catherine?” he asked.

  She came to a pause, wiping the tears that were escaping. “I am so sorry if I disturbed you, my lord,” she said. “But my dogs seem to have run away and I could hear their barking from this direction. I thought…”

  He cut her off, though it was gently done. “I know, my lady,” he said. “Ridge sent me to fetch you. He heard you, too. Come with me.”

  Catherine did. She tramped through the grass with her wet and dirty feet, now with a bloodied toe she’d gotten somehow as she’d run barefoot through the trees. She was only in her linen sleeping shift and robe, both of which were heavy and lined, but in spite of that, she was shivering from her wet feet. The man reached out to take her arm as she came close.

  “I am Payne de Ceron, one of Ridge’s men,” he said. “I fear we’ve not had a chance to be properly introduced.”

  Catherine couldn’t even manage a smile at him. She simply nodded her head. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord,” she said. “Where are my dogs?”