Suzanne Barclay - Knight's Ransom

Her lips curved provocatively as she laughed into the adoring face of the man who partnered her. Feral heat bloomed in Gervase’s chest. He hated that unknown man for the possessive hold he kept on Catherine’s slender waist. And he hated her, too, for so thoroughly besotting every man who crossed her path. Himself included. No matter who or what she was, if he wasn’t careful he could easily slip under her spell.

“I thank you for learning about that young fool she ran off with,” Gervase said, clasping Perrin on the shoulder. “I may have need of the information to force her into doing what I want.”

Lady Clarice’s lips pursed thoughtfully as she spied Sir Gervase and Sir Perrin with their heads bent together in whispered conversation. Their faces fairly shouted guilty secrets. As she watched, Gervase left his friend and slipped out the door leading to the gardens. Should she pursue him and see if he’d changed his mind about dallying with her?

A scant moment later Catherine Sommerville abruptly left the dancing and quit the hall for the gardens with only her guards for company. Interesting. Especially given the way the two had been eyeing each other. Clarice had undertaken enough clandestine meetings in her time to recognize the signs in others. Seeing an opportunity to cause trouble for the pair who’d slighted her, Clarice excused herself to her next dancing partner on the pretext of visiting the garderobes.

Once out the side door, she hiked up her velvet skirts and made for the back gate into the gardens. Careful to keep clear of the faint circles of torchlight, she scurried along the wall and ducked in behind the trellis. From within the shadowy alcove came the sounds of two voices rasping and gasping in the throes of passion. But when Clarice peered in through the lacy grapevines, she realized this was not the pair she sought and moved on. Nor was the couple trysting in the maze Gervase and Catherine.

Clarice had nearly decided her instincts had failed her when a familiar voice sailed out from the clump of birch at the far end of the garden.

“Why have you been watching me?” Cat Sommerville demanded.

Gervase replied, “You know the answer to that.”

Fascinated, Clarice bent down and crept along the path till she’d reached the hedge of hazelnut. Parting the branches slightly, she saw her quarry facing each other. Cat’s two guards stood a distance away, their backs to the confrontation.

“I have told you I am not interested in any…any alliance with you,” Cat said stiffly.

“So your lips say. But your eyes…they tell a different tale. You’ve been watching me as I do you.”

“Nay.” Catherine’s hand came up to her throat. She backed up a step. “You…you are mistaken.”

He stalked closer, but he didn’t touch her. “I think not. If I were not a penniless French knight, you’d gladly spend time with me. You, Lady Catherine, are a snob.”

“I am not.” She clenched her fists and glowered at him.

“Your protests are as false as your pose of innocence.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I know all about your elopement with Henry Norville.”

“Sweet Mary.” Catherine sagged against the tree behind her, her face ashen in the filtered torchlight.

Shock nearly caused Clarice to fall through the bushes. Oh, this was too good to be true. Imagine…

“You are afraid I will talk of what happened two years ago and ruin your reputation. But that is not my aim. All I want is to be treated as you would a man of wealth and position. A few dances…a few walks in the garden…alone. Mayhap your favor to wear in the jousts.”

“ ’Tis…’tis blackmail,” Catherine replied.

“It seems the only way I can persuade you to spend time in my company,” Gervase replied just as harshly.

“You…you wretch.” She looked toward the solid backs of her guards. “I’ve a mind to call Gamel and Garret and let them pound some manners into you.”

“ ’Tis no more than I’d expected of so shallow and spoiled a lady,” Gervase said scathingly.

“I am not.” Catherine stamped her foot for emphasis, two red splotches coloring her pale cheeks.

“Prove it, then, and give me a chance to prove myself in turn. I vow I have no desire to rum your reputation, only teach you not to look down your nose at a man for lack of wealth.”

“I…I do not know…”

“Think on it. I will seek you out tomorrow for your answer.”

Catherine nodded, turned and fled.

Oh, this was too good to be true, Clarice thought. Imagine, sweet Lady Catherine was really a harlot. As she slunk off into the night, Clarice’s mind seethed with ways in which she might use this new knowledge. One thing was clear, once the information became public, no man would want Cat as a wife, which would leave the field clear for Clarice. What a lovely notion.

Winded and perspiring from the last set of dances, Cat declined an invitation to join another set and wandered toward an open window. Three men trailed after her with offers of food and drink. She agreed in order to get rid of them. ‘Twas hell staying here, keeping up a carefree facade when she longed for privacy to try and sort out her problem. If not for the questions it would have caused, she’d not have returned to the hall after her meeting with Gervase. Blackmail. The nerve of the man.

At least he had not followed her into the hall. Trying to keep up a pretext of gaiety under his intent gaze would have been impossible. What was she going to do? Though he’d not asked for much—only a bit of her time—the notion of bowing to blackmail went against everything she believed in.

Feeling wretched, Cat scanned the room and spied Margery standing off by herself, eyes wide, tears trickling down her full cheeks. Had some man slighted her? Had one of the catty women said something to wound poor, defenseless Margery? Lifting her skirts, Cat stalked off to the rescue.

“Margery.” Cat grasped both Margery’s icy hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “Only tell me what has happened.”

“Oh, Cat.” Margery cried harder. “‘Tis terrible. I…I cannot think of a way to tell you,” she stammered between sobs.

“Hush, dearling.” Cat wrapped an arm around the girl’s heaving shoulders. “Come, let us find a quiet corner.”

“Margery! Come here this instant.” Lady Ela snapped her fingers imperiously and motioned for her daughter to join her by the hearth where she stood with a group of staring women.

“I…I have to go.” Margery darted away.

Cat started after her, but Oscar blocked her path.

“ ’Tis late and ye should be abed. I like not the mood of the crowd,” he added in a low voice.

Indeed, the dancing had ceased and the nobles hung about in small groups. They chattered like a flock of crows, eyes darting about the hall, faces animated with what looked like malicious glee. Had Gervase told them about Henry? Nay. It profited him not to betray her before he had her answer. Still Cat suddenly felt alone and vulnerable. “See what you can find out.”

“Likely everyone has had too much to drink. Come, milady, we’ll escort you to your room.” With Oscar in front and the brothers following, they swept from the hall and up the stairs to her chamber. Cat was deposited inside and her maid given strict orders to see her mistress stayed within.

“See here. I will not be ordered about.” Cat jerked the door open and ran into the solid wall of Garret’s back.

Nor would he let her leave. “What of Margery and the other ladies? Where will they sleep if you bar the way?”

“I’ve orders to let them pass when they come up,” Garret said. “But Gamel and I are to remain here the night, and you’re not to leave till Oscar or Sir Philippe says ‘tis all right.”