The Black Storm
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
Part of the de Reyne Domination Series (family group)
Part of The Red Fury (House of d’Vant) Series (characters)
© Copyright 2021 by Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
Kindle Edition
Text by Kathryn Le Veque
Cover by Kim Killion
Edited by Scott Moreland
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All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Welcome to Ridge de Reyne’s story!
Ridge has had a bit of a wild ride. We first met him in The Red Fury, a massive epic, as an English knight sworn to King Alexander of Scotland. He came to the aid of the hero and heroine in the tale, a true and stalwart warrior who was determined to do the right thing even if it went against the king.
That’s the kind of hero we like.
Now, on to Ridge’s parentage…
It was never discussed in The Red Fury where, exactly, he came from. The truth is that I always intended Ridge to be the son of Ryton de Reyne from Guardian of Darkness. Ryton was the elder brother of the hero in that tale, Creed de Reyne, and he was unmarried. What he never mentioned was that he had a bastard son with a lady-in-waiting for Lady Hexham, an ally of Prudhoe Castle where Ryton and Creed served. Ridge is that bastard. Now, Ryton was an upstanding guy. He wasn’t wicked or evil. He just happened to get a girl pregnant, so we’re going on the assumption that he never knew he had a bastard son. I’m sure if he did, things would have been different. As it is, Ridge has a good family name which gave him opportunities, but he has to work for his fortune.
And that’s where we find him now – a knight on the tournament circuit known as The Black Storm.
Almost all of the books I write focus on the big adventure – politics, grand settings, lots of things going on, but this book focuses on a tournament and all of the things that go on in front of, or behind, the scenes. I’ve written about tournaments for years, of course, using them as backdrops to greater things. But this is the first time there is a focus on the details of tournaments – and the first thing I discovered in my in-depth research is that rules changed constantly and rapidly, from tournament to tournament, from decade to century.
Nothing remained the same.
There were certain rules that applied to every tournament, however. Think of them like federal laws. The individual tournaments could make their own rules, but certain laws were always kept. One good example is the jousting lance – in the early days, it was perfectly acceptable to have a spear tip… until too many men were killed or maimed. Then it became illegal to have a sharp tip on the lance so they switched over to the blunted tips. Everyone was expected to use those. Therefore, rules like that were expected to be observed at all tournaments for the safety of the competitors.
And a little something about the story itself – actually, it’s gone through quite a metamorphosis. Originally, the story was the forerunner of The Gorgon, with Bose de Moray as the hero. Ridge’s role in The Red Fury was, in fact, originally Bose’s role, so this story was always meant for Bose – the tournament and everything. You’ll still see shades of Bose’s tale in this one. However, because it was so close to Bose’s tale, I knew I had to change it – drastically – even though I had at least half a novel already written.
Unfortunately, forensic writing can change the tide of a story completely because, in this case, there were whole missing chapters I needed to fill in, including the first eight chapters. That was all newly written to mesh with what I already had, but in reading it through again for the millionth time, I realized I couldn’t use any of it because it was just too close to Bose’s tale. I wasn’t going to copy Bose, and Ridge deserved an original story, so the forensic writing of The Black Storm became a brand new book with all brand new chapters. Plus, the chapters I did have from Bose’s original story were just plain bad, even though a few of them had Jeniver and Andrew from The Red Fury in them. Still – they were just awful (the book was a practice run, after all) and knowing I would have to reconstruct them anyway confirmed my decision to write a brand new story for Ridge. I think he deserves it.
And that is the tale of the “original” The Black Storm!
Pronunciation guide:
I don’t think I’ve ever discussed the pronunciation of the name “de Reyne”, but it’s pronounced “duh RAIN”. Easy!
And a fun fact: Hamamelis water is actually Welsh witch hazel. It wasn’t called witch hazel in Medieval times, but they did use it for bumps, scrapes, bruises, etc.
With that, it’s time for Ridge’s tale, one that has waited at least four years to be written. It’s not as big as some of my novels, but it packs quite a punch.
Enjoy!
Hugs,
A powerful knight who has served two kings becomes a tournament champion, but will a meddlesome woman and a wicked opponent bring him the greatest defeat of his life?
Will the lady he loves with his entire being slip through his fingers?
Ridge de Reyne (from The Red Fury) served both Henry III and Alexander, King of Scotland, but royal appointments were ultimately not the life he wanted. Determined to make his fortune and become a powerful warlord in his own right, Ridge has followed the tournament circuit for the past few years, accumulating wealth and making a name for himself as the unbeatable warrior known as The Black Storm.
Enter Lady Catherine de Tuberville.
Coming to the prestigious Durham tournament with her brothers and mother, Catherine is overwhelmed by the pageantry and spectacle of one of the largest tournaments in the north. In a chance meeting with Ridge, she discovers a handsome, kind, and somewhat shy man she’s quite interested in. But her mother has other ideas.
When Catherine’s mother insists her daughter find favor with a brutal, immoral knight who is the son of a French count, her underhanded actions could bring about the destruction of everything Ridge and Catherine hold dear. It’s mother against daughter in a battle of good versus evil, with the prize being Ridge’s very life.
With neither lady willing to surrender, it’s an epic battle in this stunning Medieval romance.
De Reyne Family Motto
Ducibus fidem meam
Faith Guides Me
Table of Contents
Title Pa
ge
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
About the Book
De Reyne Family Motto
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Kathryn Le Veque Novels
About Kathryn Le Veque
PROLOGUE
1238 A.D.
Durham, England
It was a day made of diamonds.
That was the way days like this were usually categorized, days that were as bright as a shiny diamond, with a sky that was clear and blue as far as the eye could see. Days like this made it seem like there was no strife in the world, no hardship, and no pain. It was a magical day that one would imagine all days in heaven were like.
In the very old burg of Durham, the day was a precursor to the fabulous festival that would soon be taking place. Great houses, knights, and everyone in between were coming in from miles around, crossing over the old bridge from Neville’s Cross and Durham, or coming off of the north road that went all the way through Newcastle and on into Berwick.
A brisk breeze was blowing in off the sea, and even this far inland the air smelled like salt. The standards of the bishops of Durham we’re flying high above Durham Castle, snapping in the wind. While down below, the streets were filled with people making their way to the tournament field that was north of the city.
Already, the field marshals and other officials had their hands full with the important houses arriving. Some were allies, and some were not, and it was important that one know the politics of England in order to make sure enemies were not positioned next to one another. It was a careful dance of etiquette that the marshals engaged in as they directed great groups of armed men into the appropriate spots.
In effect, this had been going on for two days. The great tournament at Durham had been planned for almost a year and had been announced for just as long, and they had more people than they had expected showing up to participate. But no matter; they had the room, so everyone was welcome provided they could show the proper documentation.
Any man could compete in the games that would be a major part of the festival, provided he could bring proof of his lineage and of his training. There were clerics and officials who were specifically assigned the task of making sure every competitor had the pedigree needed in order to compete. Once the encampments were set up, those who intended to participate in the competitions were expected to find these clerics and provide their histories and bloodlines in the patents of nobility.
They were as important as any weapon, shield, or armor.
The games presented by the bishops of Durham were not ordinary games. They were meant for the finest competitors England could offer, so they were careful about classifying the men. The more seasoned, professional competitors were in a league all their own, whereas the casual competitors, like soft lords who needed to feed their pride, were kept in a separate category. It was usually a terrible mistake to pair a professional tournament competitor with a lord who hadn’t lifted a joust pole in ten years.
Unfortunately, the fact that some of the more professional circuits kept a division between the casual competitor and the professional competitor was cause for slander with some of the older, more arrogant lords who believed they should compete against men whose job it was to win a tournament every month. If an earl or even a prince pulled rank, then the field officials had no choice but to obey their command.
In the past, that had led to some deadly consequences.
The tournament at Durham had been going on regularly for the past twenty years, until two years ago when the Earl of Pocklington demanded to be paired up against a veteran tournament knight who was one of the more skilled men on the circuit. That put the knight at a very bad position because the games were his livelihood and if he didn’t win, he wouldn’t make any money. He had tried to talk the earl out of it. In fact, they had all tried to talk the earl out of it, including the man’s sons and the Bishop of Durham himself.
But the old man wouldn’t listen.
Therefore, the knight faced him the next morning with the intention of disabling him early on so that they could simply get this pass out of the way. Unfortunately for him, the earl had other ideas. The earl was very out of practice. When the moment came that the knight had planned to simply push the earl off his horse, the earl had fallen awkwardly and ended up underneath his horse’s feet. The horse trampled the man to death.
It had been a most unfortunate happenstance that had seen the tournament of Durham postponed for two full years. The earl’s family didn’t blame the knight, nor did anyone else, really, but the whispers followed him.
That knight had returned to Durham.
In fact, he was here this very day.
Ridge de Reyne was that knight.
Ridge had returned to the scene of that most unfortunate event and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. There were the obvious unsavory memories coupled with the recollections of victory. These were his hunting grounds, his home, and his legacy all rolled into one. He had been a professional tournament competitor since he had left the service of Alexander, King of Scotland, a few years ago, unable to serve the man because he had lost faith in nearly everything, including his oath.
Now, his home was where he made it and his allegiance was to himself.
Behind him, his men were setting up their encampment, complete with custom-made tents that weren’t quite a year old. They were black and white, made with the best canvas and constructed by a family in Sunderland whose sole business was based on constructing fine traveling shelters for kings, earls, lords, and tournament knights. They charged a good deal, but their craftsmanship was excellent. With the black and white standards snapping in the breeze, everyone knew that The Black Storm and his group had arrived and was prepared to compete.
“I am heading over to see the field marshals, Ridge.” A man with sharp, hawk-like features and piercing blue eyes came up behind him. “I have heard they will have a few joust bouts later today just to entertain the crowd. Do you want me to express your interest in them?”
Ridge turned to a man who had become a close friend. Sir Payne de Ceron was from a good family in Sussex, but a greedy older brother who had inherited the family wealth had forced the man out into the world to fend for himself. Like Ridge, Payne had come to the tournament circuit to earn his way and, by all accounts, was richer than his brother now. Payne was a tall man and a big target on the back of a horse, which made the joust tricky for him at times. But in the mass competition or archery, he was unbeatable.
Games were always interesting with Payne in the mix.
Ridge inhaled deeply.
“Can you smell it, Payne?” he asked.
“What?”
“The excitement,” Ridge said. “I can smell it every time we come to a new tournament. There is something in the air that can be inhaled and ingested. It feeds me like nothing else.”
Payne grinned as he, too, looked over the tournament fields. “There are some excellent houses here today,” he said. “Someone said de Wolfe of Castle Questing is here. You know the man, of course.”
Ridge looked at him sharply. “William de Wolfe?”
“That is what I heard.”
Ridge stared at him a moment before a smile spread across his lips. “Excellent,” he said. “This tournament just got better. I don’t know the man personally but, of course, I know his reputation.”
“He arrived with a contingent from Northwood Castle, so I’m told.”
Ridge put his big hands together gleefully. “The Earl of Teviot is here, too?” he said. “Send word to Teviot and to de Wolfe. Send them my compliments and tell them that I look forward to meeting them, on the field and off.”
Payne nodded. “I will,” he said. “But we are the team to beat and everyone knows it. Do not be surprised if they do not welcome you warmly.”
Ridge smiled thinly. “That is to be expected,” he said, his gaze moving out over the encampments again. After a moment, he sighed. “Sometimes, I still cannot believe this is my life.”
“What do you mean?”
Ridge shrugged, looking out over what he considered his empire. The fields, the people… all of it was his domain. He’d competed at other tournaments over the past year, of course, but Durham was a big one. In fact, it was one of the first tournaments he’d ever openly competed in when he’d first started his career on the circuit.
Being here brought back memories.
“I mean that this wasn’t always my livelihood,” he said. “I have told you this before. Before I became a tournament champion, I had spent the past several years in the service of King Alexander’s household. In fact, I had spent nearly my entire knightly career in royal service. It was all I really knew. The sudden loss of that steady environment created… confusion. A sense of grief. I had no home to go to when that ended. but as I look out over all of these tents, I know that this is my home. It is where I was always meant to be.”
Payne looked at him. “Of course it is,” he said. “You prove that every time you take the field. It is what you were meant to do.”
Ridge’s smile turned modest. “I’ve made my fortune at it, to be sure.”
Payne snorted. “That is an understatement, Ridge,” he said. “Did the wealth gathering begin at the first tournament? I did not know you then.”
The Black Storm (De Reyne Domination Book 4) Page 1
