Knight's Ransom. Suzanne Barclay

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СКАЧАТЬ crime from the rooftops.

      Cat paused at the entrance to the hall. Most of the men had indeed left to polish their skills for the morrow, but many women and older nobles sat at the trestle tables partaking of ale, bread and lively conversation. Her mood lightened as she scanned their familiar faces. These were her peers, her friends. With the exception of Clarice and a few of her cronies, these people liked Cat, wished her well. Fatigue and irritation with Gervase must have caused her to imagine the chill in the air last night.

      Cat spied Lady Ela seated at the far end of the room, with her usual crowd of older matrons and Margery with them. With Gamel at her heels, she swept into the hall.

      The noble diners fell silent suddenly as though they’d all been struck mute at once. Heads swung in Cat’s direction, smiles turned upside down, glances narrowed as they looked down their noses at her. Their contempt stopped Cat in her tracks.

      Contempt? What had she done to…?

      Nay! It couldn’t be, yet she knew with dread certainty that it was. Gervase had spread the word of her ill-fated liaison with Henry. Shame fired her cheeks and clogged her throat; she prayed for the floor to open and swallow her. When it didn’t, instinct urged her to bolt from the room. Pride kept her rooted to the spot. Damn. Damn. What was she to do?

      Hot tears stung the backs of her lids, blurring the sea of disdainful faces. Drowning in misery, Cat sought out the only one whose opinion truly mattered. Margery, how can you think ill of me? she silently asked.

      To her credit, Margery stood and started forward, her own eyes brimming with tears. Her lady mother grabbed her arm, jerked her down onto the bench and held her there.

      “Come, let us leave.” Gamel plucked at Cat’s sleeve.

      Aye. Cat twitched with the urge to flee the hall and keep running till she was back in England, safe in the protective bosom of the loving family who had stuck by her despite her mistake. But her parents had imbued her with their steadfastness. A Sommerville did not run; she stood and faced trouble head-on.

      Raising her chin a notch, Cat cast about for an empty table. The only one sat on the dais. Lord John was not here, but by right of her family’s connection with the Angevines, she had often been asked to sup there with His Grace. “I will break my fast before riding out to the tourney field,” Cat said to Gamel. Spine as stiff as her resolve, she marched down the center aisle of the hall, mounted the single step to the raised platform and took the low-backed chair to the left of the duke’s lofty one.

      A sullen maid, pressured to serve her by Gamel’s furious glare, set the food down so abruptly ale sloshed over the rim of the cup. Cat watched the liquid pool on the polished oak and felt her throat fill with tears. Though she doubted she could swallow past the fullness, she tore off a bit of bread, popped it into her mouth and chewed. It took two gulps of ale to get the first bit of bread down, but she kept eating.

      Gradually the others went back to their own food, and the hum of voices rose to replace the awkward silence.

      That they discussed her was a certainty. Unable to meet their eyes, Cat stared at the crossed axes decorating the far wall and contemplated burying one in Gervase’s treacherous skull. Thank God, her parents weren’t here to relive the horror of two years ago, the veiled slurs on her honor and on theirs.

      Somehow she got through the meal, though the bread sat in a lump in her belly and her throat was tight with unshed tears. As she stood, an expectant hush once again fell over the assembly. This time she forced herself to look around at those she’d thought were her friends. The women regarded her with disdain. The men, even the old ones, were openly speculative, wondering no doubt if she’d be amenable to a tumble. Only Margery looked back with any measure of empathy and fondness.

      What shallow, petty fools, Cat thought, so quickly swayed by a vicious rumor. Though she longed to crawl away and lick her wounds, she’d come to Bordeaux to cheer the Sommerville forces to victory in the tourney, and she’d not be driven away by such as these. “Come, my friend.” She looked to the hovering Gamel. “I’d take a turn in the garden to clear my nostrils of this place.”

      Her comment made several of the ladies gasp in outrage, but Cat was beyond caring. Her misery had given way to rage. She was staying for the tourney and attending every function. And she’d find a way to repay Gervase for dragging her name through the mud.

       Chapter Four

      “She’s here,” Perrin muttered. He didn’t need to explain further, for Lady Catherine Sommerville’s name rushed through the crowded hall like an ill wind.

      Gervase stiffened, but he didn’t turn to watch her progress through the throng of knights, nobles and ladies assembled for the tourney banquet. “I’m surprised she dared show her face.”

      “They are snubbing her…just as we’d heard they did this morn,” Perrin added unhappily. “She is ignoring them all. Damn, but she’s a brave one, her head high, her eyes fierce.”

      “Do you think I wanted this?” He’d hoped to blackmail her into keeping company with him, the better to steal her away. Now she’d think he had spread the rumor and would shun him totally.

      “I suppose not, still I don’t like hurting an innocent.”

      “Innocent?” Gervase snorted. “We know she is not that. And I swear she won’t be harmed, only held till her sire renders up—”

      “She’s already been harmed,” Perrin muttered. “Thanks to us, her reputation here is ruined. The only men who’ll be pursuing her now are those looking for an easy tumble.”

      “I did not spread that rumor.” A quick investigation pointed to Lady Clarice as the source. Still Gervase’s hand tightened on his cup, the crest of the English kings biting into his flesh. A reminder of why he was here. Catherine Sommerville was a means to that end. He couldn’t afford to feel anything toward her, not pity and certainly not this inconvenient desire. “Who’s to say she was not bedding them all on the sly,” he growled.

      Jealous, my friend? Perrin wondered. Though Gervase was adept at hiding his feelings, Perrin had not missed the flash of hunger in his lord’s eyes when he looked at the lady. Poor Marie had never kindled that kind of fire in her husband. Nor had any other woman, come to think of it. Pity Lady Cat was not only English but the daughter of one Gervase hated above all others.

      “Thor shows great promise,” Gervase said suddenly.

      Perrin sighed and accepted the change of subject. “He’s magnificent, but I wish you had longer to work with him ere the tourney. He’s strong willed and not yet used to your ways. Which could be a liability, especially in the melee.”

      “With another horse, that might be true. But Thor is disciplined and responsive to my commands.”

      “Aye, and the other Sommerville horses we observed on the tiltyard were likewise fine specimens. ‘Tis a puzzle, is it not, that a man as vicious in war as Lord Ruarke would have the patience and sensitivity to raise such fine beasts?”

      Gervase’s smile fled. “I doubt he had a hand in it, but even so I am trying to forget I bought Thor from that bastard.”

      “Speaking СКАЧАТЬ