Suzanne Barclay - Knight's Ransom

Apparently the duke agreed, for his gaze narrowed as it swept the bold knight from head to toe. “I crave peace. These continued hostilities have taken a toll on both our peoples.”

Sir Gervase’s raven head bowed a fraction, and his shoulders sagged as though some terrible weight had dropped on them. Then he straightened. “On that we are agreed. Peace is necessary.”

“So you have come to fight in the tourney. Do you seek to bash a few English heads under the guise of sport? Or is it ransom you are after?”

The knight started. “What?”

“Ransom. The taking of prisoners in the melee in order to get rich by ransoming them back to themselves or their families.”

“I am familiar with the process,” Sir Gervase growled. “But I want naught I do not deserve. I come to celebrate the peace.”

Now why did she think that wasn’t strictly true? Cat was intrigued by this big, mysterious stranger. He wasn’t for her. Even had she been in the market for a husband, which she wasn’t, her father would never approve her marrying an impoverished French knight. Still there was something about him that caused a purely feminine flutter deep inside her.

“Cat!” Margery’s padded elbow landed in her ribs. “His Grace is calling for you.”

Frowning, Cat lifted her skirts and worked her way through the crowd to the edge of the dais. “You wanted me, Your Grace?”

A knowing grin split the old war-horse’s face. “Caught you daydreaming, eh, m’dear? I said Sir Gervase has a harsh opinion of us and I thought meeting some of our lovely ladies might soften him toward us. This is Lady Catherine Sommerville, daughter to Lord Ruarke and goddaughter to my brother, the king.”

Excitement shivered across Cat’s skin. He was totally unsuitable, yet he fascinated her. “Sir Gervase,” she murmured. Relieved by the steadiness of her voice, she glanced up at the knight. Her heart slammed against her ribs as her curious gaze met his. Gray. His eyes were an unusual shade of gray, she thought. Cool and mysterious as fog on water, fringed by long black lashes. The expression in his eyes changed to something totally unexpected. Contempt. Shock held her immobile.

“A pleasure, Lady Catherine.” His smooth words at odds with his expression, he took the hand she’d instinctively held out. The brush of his mouth on the back of her hand sent a frisson of heat up her arm.

Alarmed, she snatched her hand back.

He straightened, brows winging up over eyes as blank as polished silver. “Have I somehow offended?”

“Nay…of course not.”

“I am glad.” A slow, intimate smile lifted the corner of his mouth, making her think she’d imagined his disdain. He had no reason to dislike her. “I’d hate to see His Grace’s plan fail.”

Intrigued, she smiled. “As would I. Have you supped?”

He nodded, taking her arm and steering her away from the dais. “I ate with my men after we’d set up camp, but the ride in was dusty. A cup of wine or ale wouldn’t be amiss.”

She signaled a passing page, who returned with two cups of wine just as they reached the window seat she’d recently vacated. “You’re out near the tourney fields, then?” She sank down onto the bench, feeling unaccountably nervous and…and vulnerable with this stranger, though the hall was still packed with people and her bodyguards lurked nearby. “Why not here in the city?”

“All the inns were full.” He leaned one shoulder against the wall of the tiny alcove, looking big and solid as the stone behind him. His body blocked the light from the hall, creating an intimate bower for the two of them.

Recalling another time and another man bent on seduction, Cat was half tempted to flee. Pride wouldn’t let her. Eventually she must wed to have the children she wanted. Which meant she’d have to learn to deal with men on an intimate level. Gervase St. Juste could never be her husband, but he was enticing, dangerous. Tempting her to boldness.

“Fortunate you are to be outside the city,” she said, low and husky, keenly aware of the muscles bulging beneath his velvet tunic as he crossed his arms over his chest and the way his knitted hose hugged his long legs and sturdy thighs. Very dangerous. Very tempting. “The noise and smells of so many people living so close together makes sleep difficult.”

“Do they?” He stood so near she could smell the soap mingling with the faint muskiness of his skin and see an odd light flare in his eyes. “Have you had trouble sleeping?”

“Nay,” she said, startled by his intensity. “Well, I am a bit bored, is all, so…” So she gazed out the chamber window and wished she were riding across the hills distantly glimpsed.

“Mayhap I can help allay your…boredom,” he said silkily.

Cat stiffened, wary yet intrigued. “How?”

“Mayhap a walk in the gardens…for a start. We’ll see where that leads us.”

Into danger. “I am not that sort of lady.”

“What sort is that?”

“The sort who goes walking with a stranger.” The walk she’d taken, the one that had cost her so much, had been with a man she thought she knew. A man she’d thought loved her.

Gervase’s smile was ripe with masculine challenge. Her stomach fluttered in response and her palms grew damp. “You’d go if you knew me, then?” he taunted.

Aye. Cat knew then that she was in way over her head. “Possibly.” She stood, shaking out her skirts to hide the trembling in her hands…her limbs.

“Afraid of me?” His smile deepened, another challenge.

Aye, but more so of herself. She angled her chin up to meet the arrogant tilt of his. It was a mistake. In the blink of an eye, he leaned forward, his mouth closing over hers in a fiery kiss. Only their lips touched, but she felt the impact shudder through her body, sapping it of will and breath.

A groan filled her throat, of protest or surrender, she wasn’t certain. Beneath her feet, the ground shifted. Dizzy and disoriented, she brought her hands up, clenched them in the front of his tunic. The growl of satisfaction that rumbled through his chest broke the spell. She tore free of him, cheeks burning, heart thundering. “How could you do that to me?” she asked.

“Quite easily, it seems,” he drawled.

Cat drew back and slapped him as hard as she could…or she would have had the blow landed. Instead he caught her wrist a scant inch from his cheek.

“Don’t ever attempt to strike me.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t molested me.” She shook off his hand.

“Quarreling already?” Lady Clarice asked, gliding in to wrap a slender arm through the knight’s muscular one.

Cat smiled, displaying the teeth she longed to sink into Sir Gervase. “Nay. But we have run out of things to discuss.”

“Ah. It seems I came just in time. My repertoire is more…extensive,” Lady Clarice murmured. Smug as a cat making off with the cream, she led her trophy away. Just before the crowd swallowed them up, Sir Gervase glanced back over his shoulder and gave Cat a long, simmering look that promised this wasn’t over.

Margery charged into the alcove. “How dare Clarice take—”

“‘Tis all right, Margery,” Cat said hastily. “Sir Gervase and I, er, found we have very little in common.”

“Why are you so angry? What 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.”