The Dark One: Dark Knight (10 page)

     Gaston nodded once, leaning back in his
chair.  “’Tis the most volatile part of England right now.  He would have the
Dark One in the heart of it, ready to quell whatever problems might arise.”

     The other knights fell silent a moment,
listening to the crackling of the fire in the hearth.  “By all means, then,
call for the barons and earls loyal to Richard and inform them of your
mission,” Arik said, studying his wine.  “’Tis best to let them know where they
stand from the onset.”

     “To be honest, I expect no uprisings,”
Gaston said thoughtfully.  “Henry’s demonstration of power at the battle of
Stokes announced that he is the rightful king of England.  I believe even the
Yorkists have resigned themselves to the fact, considering there is nothing to
fight for with Richard dead.  ‘Twould be futile to resist Henry.”

     The fire spit and the men enjoyed their
wine.

     “So what now?” Antonius asked in his rich
Italian accent.

     “I do not think I shall know what to do
with myself with no battles to look forward to.”

     The statement brought smiles to the lips of
Patrick and Nicolas, but Gaston raised an eyebrow.  “We face an even greater
challenge.  Henry would have us train troops, legions to be deployed in other
parts of England.  We should be receiving the first batch of recruits within
the month.”

     ‘Twas an honor and they all knew it, yet it
was nothing new.  Arik helped train nearly half of the crown troops and was
considered one of the finest troop masters in the civilized world.  And, of
course, every man wanted to train under the Dark Knight.  He had been
considered the very best trainers of men before the call of war tore him away
from his duty.

     With the battles over for the moment, he
could return to what he enjoyed.  If he could not be fighting, then he wanted
to train men on the arts of fighting.

     “Mt. Holyoak is certainly big enough to
house hundreds of men,” Patrick remarked.  “There are sublevels below the outer
wall that are unused.”

     Each man sat alone with his thoughts,
feeling the wine and the good food.  The warmth from the hearth pushed away the
chill of the room, leaving them with sleep in their mind.

     “I will send missives on the morrow, then,”
Gaston said.  “What’s the steward’s name – Oleg?  Find him before the morning
meal and he will assist me.”

     They were dismissed without another word. 
All except Arik.  He continued to sit with Gaston, drowning more of the wine.

     “Has Lady Stoneley said anything about her
sister’s captivity?” he asked.

     “Not a word,” Gaston replied.

     “Hmpf,” Arik shrugged.  “I expected more from
her.  Her sister has been in the vault all afternoon and screaming like a
banshee.”

     Gaston did not reply, thinking on the
incident earlier in the day.  He refrained from mentioning it, probably because
he couldn’t make any sense of it and was in no mood for Arik’s insightful
philosophy.

     Arik, feeling the wine in his veins, rose
to depart when there was a young knight in the doorway.

     “Begging your pardon, my lord, but we have
a bit of a problem,” he said respectfully.

     “What kind of problem?” Arik asked.

     “Lady Stoneley was caught attempting to
break her sister out of the vault,” the knight replied.  “When we tried to stop
her, she fought and…well, she fell and hit her head.”

     “What?” Gaston rose to his feet, focusing
on the knight.  “Is she dead?”

     “Nay, my lord, she is quite alive, but
unconscious,” the knight answered.  “We took her back to her room.”

     Gaston was already moving past the knight. 
“How did she fall?  Did someone push her?”

     “Sir Ottis hit her because she struggled
with him when he tried to stop her,” he answered.

     Gaston gazed down on the young knight, his eyes
glittering like the deadly steel of his broadsword.  He flicked his gaze up to
Arik and, without a word, quit the room.  Arik followed, as did the young
knight.

     Jasmine was attending her sister when
Gaston entered the room.  Skye stood vigilant by her side, helping her sister
apply a compress.  Old Eudora was chattering softly, trying to ease Jasmine’s
tears.

     Gaston moved to the edge of the bed, his
eyes lingering on Remington.  She was pale and her breathing was labored.

     “How is she?” he asked.

     Jasmine jumped as if she had been gored. 
Terrorized blue eyes riveting to him; the feared one himself.

     “This is all your fault.” she spat,
forgetting to whom she was speaking.

     “Jasmine,” Skye hissed.

     But Jasmine paid no heed.  “Men are all
alike.  Brutal, self-centered bastards who care nothing for the well-being of
women.  Look at what your soldier did to her.”

     Gaston looked at her impassively.  “Had she
not been trying to release your sister from her cell, then this would not have
happened.  I asked you a question; how is she?”

     Jasmine shuddered, sniffled.  “I do not
know.”

     Young Dane raced into the room as fast as
his legs would carry him.  One look at his mother and his eyes flew to Gaston
accusingly.  “You said you would protect her.”

     Gaston gazed down at the boy.  “I would
have had I been there, Dane.”

     Hurt and confused, Dane moved to his mother
and gently touched her arm.  “Just like father all over again.”

     Arik and Gaston exchanged glances.  Arik
moved away from the bed, leaving Gaston standing alone. 

     Jasmine put her hand over Dane’s mouth,
silencing him against any further slips.  The boy struggled against his aunt a
moment, pulling away and moving to the other side of the bed where he could
touch his mother unimpeded.  The sadness on the young face spoke volumes.

     He already knew Guy had abused them both,
but he had no idea to what extent the abuse went.  He should not have cared in
the least; this was another man’s wife and son.  Yet he found himself caring a
great deal.

     “Get out.  All of you,” he growled. 
“Except you, Dane.  You may stay.”

     Jasmine opened her mouth in outrage but
Skye grabbed hold of her, pleading with her sister to be silent.  Arik made
sure they left the room, eyeing old Eudora menacingly until she complied.  When
the women had vacated, he closed the door softly behind them. 

     “Gaston…” He began.

     “You, too,” Gaston said, his voice as low
as the rumble of thunder.  “Get out.”

     Arik did without a word, leaving Gaston
alone with the mother and son.

     Slowly, he moved around the side of the bed
and picked up the compress Eudora had been preparing.  As gentle as a mother,
he placed it on Remington’s head, observing her delicate features in the glow
of the firelight.  He was unaware Dane was watching him.

     “Why did not you protect her?  You said you
would,” Dane said softly.  He was growing sleepy.

     Gaston looked up at the innocent face.  “I
told you that I was not present when this happened.  Had I been there, your
mother would not have been injured,” he said.  “I am not a magician, Dane.  I
cannot be everywhere at the same time.”

     Dane looked at his mother with longing. 
“Why does she not wake up?”

     “I am awake,” Remington mumbled.

     Gaston removed the compress.  Slowly, the
sea-crystal eyes opened and blinked lethargically.  She focused on him for a
moment before closing her eyes again.

     “Be swift with your punishment, my lord,”
she whispered.  “I am ready to accept your judgment.”

     “There will be no punishment, my lady,” he
replied softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. The entire side of the bed sank
under his considerable weight and Remington rolled right into him.  She moaned
at the swift motion, grasping her head as he reached out to steady her against
him.  Her torso was pressed against his left thigh.

     “No punishment?” she repeated, wincing.

     A crease of a smile appeared.  “I consider
what happened to you punishment enough.  But tell me one thing; why did you do
it?” 

     Remington opened her eyes, looking up at
him.  His expression was actually gentle.  “Because she has done nothing to
warrant imprisonment.  Aye, she’s a spitfire and a handful, but she is not
malicious.  Her jokes are innocent, my lord.  Rory is not evil.”

     He cocked an eyebrow.  “You mean to say
that you do not consider saffron dye in a knight’s bath to be malicious?  What
of the charcoal on Nicolas’ cup?”

     “Harmless,” she whispered.  Her head was
killing her.  “Were she to have taken a dagger to him, then I would deem the
punishment to fit the crime.  But she has done nothing other than a few
harmless pranks.”

     He considered her explanation a moment. 
“Then why did you not simply come to me and ask me to release her?”

     “Would you have done it?” she asked
softly.  “I doubt it.”

     “You reason well enough, madam. After I
heard your argument, I most likely would have reconsidered,” he said.  “I will
always listen to you.”

     Her eyes opened again and she looked
strangely at him.  “Why?”

     He actually smiled and her insides jiggled
enough to make her nauseous.  “As I said, you reason well.  Your intelligence
is worth listening to.”

     “Then you will let Rory go?” she asked
hopefully.

     “Not unless we come to an agreement,” he
said firmly.  “I will not have her disrupting my household by playing childish
jokes on my knights.  The next man she plays a trick on may not be as tolerant
as Nicolas.”

     “Tolerant?” she raised an eyebrow.  “He’s
hardly the calm type, my lord.  He and Rory have been going at each other like
two tomcats.  They yell and screech until I have had enough.”

     “So that is what has been going on since I
left?” he murmured, more to himself.  Then he focused on Remington again.  “We
will discuss your sister further on the morrow.  I suspect that tonight you
wish to sleep.”

     Her hands were pressed against his thigh,
preventing them from being any more intimately positioned than they already
were.  Her hands felt as if they were touching solid rock, yet the heat coming
forth from his skin was making her warm, as well.  She could feel her cheeks
heating.

     “My head
is
hurting,” she admitted
quietly.  “Talking only makes it worse.”

     He rose slowly, steadying her so that she
did not roll off the bed.  His hands were incredibly large and warm and, to her
amazement, tender.  Yet she was instinctively afraid of his touch and she
pulled back indiscreetly.  Gaston pretended not to notice.

     Dane was sitting on the other side of the
bed, his hand protectively on his mother as she adjusted her pillows feebly. 
He alternately eyed Gaston and helped his mother and Gaston couldn’t help but
feel that this young boy had been forced to grow up far sooner than he should
have.  There was a sort of wisdom to his face that was difficult to fathom.

     “Dane, you will leave your mother to
sleep,” he said firmly, moving around the side of the bed.  “I will do you the
honor of escorting you to your room.”

     Dane looked hesitantly at his mother. 
“But…but what if she needs my help?”

     Gaston put his hand on the boy’s shoulder,
turning him for the door.  “I shall send her maid in to take care of her,” he
said.  “Bid her a good sleep.”

     Dane looked over his shoulder, his eyes
still full of longing.  He was afraid to leave her alone, afraid the knight
would come back and… “Good night, Mummy.”

     Remington smiled weakly, watching as the
Dark Knight escorted her son from the room.  Strangely, she knew she could
trust the knight with her son’s life.  He was a stranger, a trained warrior and
technically, her enemy.  Yet she had seen the way he had dealt with her son and
he had been entirely tolerant and even kind.  Not like Guy.

     As for Rory, she would be better equipped
to deal with that problem after she slept off this terrible headache.  She knew
she shouldn’t have tried to free her sister and, in truth, she had not been
attempting to release her.  She simply wanted to talk to Rory to see what had
happened, when the guards had come upon them and out of fear, she had defended
herself.

     Defending herself was a habit.  She knew
better than to go against the lord’s wishes, for she had learned several harsh
lessons from Guy.  But he somehow found something wrong with whatever she did
anyway and her sense of self-defense was better than most.  Her sense of fear,
of self-preservation, of panic was highly developed thanks to her husband.  A perfect
example was just a few minutes ago when the Dark Knight touched her; his touch
was as gentle as a woman’s, yet she instinctively flinched.  There was nothing
good in a man’s touch.