The Dark One: Dark Knight (100 page)

     “'Tis a shame you must cover that
magnificent body,” he said, eyeing her as she walked past him.

     She gave him a coy look, laying her shift
and dress across a chair. “I do not think de Tormo would appreciate my showing
up to supper in the nude,” she put her hands on her hips.  “Do you know that he
does not believe in bathing? He told me so. He says it is a danger for men of
the cloth to expose parts of the body that should remain covered.”

     “I believe it. He reeks something fierce.”

     “Well, I think it is disgusting,” she
pulled the shift over her head. “Gaston…do you think that ordained men are
subject to the same urges as normal men? I mean, do they feel lust and desire
as you do?”

“Of course,” he replied,
watching her dress with pleasure. “I'd wager that de Tormo's handprints are all
over his manroot.”

     She gasped and he laughed. “Oh, Remi, do
not look so shocked. He's a mortal man, no matter how hard he tries to pretend
otherwise.”

     She frowned, the mental picture of an
aroused de Tormo disgusting. “How unpleasant.”

     Gaston sat up, throwing his massive legs
over the side of the bed and scratching his scalp. “I have got to find Antonius
and have him cut my hair. It is getting far too long.”

     She pulled her surcoat over her head, a
clingy bit of pale green satin that molded to her breasts and torso and hung
gracefully off her hips. “It looks fine.”

     He ran his hand up the back of his head.
“Too long,” he repeated, moving for his thin leather breeches that were almost
like hose.

     She looked closely at his head as she
fastened a silver link belt around her hips. The front was long as it usually
was, almost hanging to his mouth. The back was shorn, nearly to the top of his
skull and she shook her head. “If Antonius cuts your hair any closer to your
scalp, you shall be bald.”

     He grunted as he pulled on his breeches,
giving her a vague shrug. She sat on the bed, pulling on cream-colored hose and
he groaned softly, turning away so he would not have to watch as she ran her
hands up her legs. She grinned knowingly, pulling on soft leather slippers.

     “There, you coward, I am dressed,” she
said. “You can turn around now.”

     “How many times must I tell you that I am
not cowardly,” he insisted, pulling on his boots and moving to don his armor.
“I am simply exceedingly wise in my judgment.  Were I to watch you any longer,
all of your efforts at dressing would be lain to waste. The surcoat would come
off.”

     She held her grin, kneeling before him to
help him with his leg armor. The stuff was heavy; Gaston would position it and
she would latch it. She found it little wonder that he had two squires to assist
him.

     “Off your knees, love,” he pulled her to
her feet. “I have a few things to attend to outside, and then we will sup. I
trust our meal will be fit for a returned duke?”

     She put her arms out exaggeratedly, bowing
worshipfully. “By your command, Oh Great Duke. The great Dark Duke of
Warminster.”

     “Dark Duke, am I?” he muttered, swatting
her playfully on the exposed rear. “Mind your manners, wench.”

     She yelped weakly and grabbed her behind,
but she was smiling. Gaston grinned at her as he pulled on his gauntlets, and
then indicated the door. “After you, madam.”

     She thrust up her chin. “I like a man who
knows his place. A proper distance behind a woman.”

     He smirked, moving to open the door for
her. “That will change after we are married. For now, I plan to lull you into a
false sense of security into believing I am a true gentleman.”

     “I believe no such thing,” she insisted.

     He shook his head, watching her luscious
backside as she sashayed through the open door.

***

     Supper that night was nearly like the first
few days when Gaston had arrived at Mt. Holyoak, except for the obvious
vacancies of Arik, Rory and Patrick. Remington had ordered mutton, reminiscent
of Yorkshire, and had it prepared several different ways. Gaston was digging
into his third helping of herbed mutton, listening to Skye and Jasmine argue
with Nicolas over something silly, smiling every so often when Remington would
jump in and deliver a scathing blow to his cousin.

     De Tormo sat on the opposite side of
Antonius, far gone into his food and ale. The priest was not as pious as he
liked to believe; in addition to turning a blind eye to Gaston and Remington's
adultery, he was also guilty of gluttony. Not only that, but after the
conversation Gaston had had with Remington that afternoon, he swore he saw the
priest give one of the serving wenches a second glance.

     It was strange, he reflected, how his life
had changed within the past year. For a man who was alone most of his life, he
suddenly found himself surrounded by his family and wondering why he had ever
chosen to be a loner. There was so much more to be gained by allowing himself
to feel, to love, to laugh. A pity Arik wasn't alive so he could tell him just
that. Arik had spent the better part of twenty-four years trying to tell him so.

     “Remi, did Gaston tell you he is to have a
birthday soon?” Nicolas said, snapping Gaston out of his train of thought.

     Remington turned accusing eyes to Gaston.
“He did not. When, Gaston?”

     “The twentieth day of June,” Gaston mumbled
into his cup.

     “In two days?” she gasped. “How dare you
not tell me? There is no time to plan a fitting celebration.”

     “How old do you think he is going to be?”
Nicolas asked his wife mischievously.

     Skye looked at Gaston openly. “Oh…twenty
seven? Twenty eight?”

     Nicolas snorted loudly. “He's older than
that. Try again.”

     Gaston met Skye's gaze and she blushed
terribly. “I do not know, Nicolas. I am a horrible guesser. Do you know, Remi?”

     Remington smiled. “I do indeed. Gaston
remembers the fall of the Roman Empire.”

     Antonius and Nicolas roared loudly at
Gaston's expense.  “How old?” Jasmine demanded.

     “Thirty-eight,” Gaston told her, smiling
faintly while his knights whooped. “I shall be thirty years and eight.”

     Jasmine nodded, her eyebrows raised in
surprise; she did not think he was that old. “What about you, Remi. Are we
celebrating your birthday?” Skye asked.

     Remington looked surprised, hoping Gaston
did not hear what Skye had said. But he turned to her. “Pray, when is your
birthday, madam?”

     Remington shot Skye a deadly look. “Uh...
soon.”

     He gathered her hand in his own, still
smiling. “When?”

     She rolled her eyes, knowing there was no
way out of his question. “The day after yours. The twenty-first day of June.”

     He raised his eyebrows in feigned outrage.
“And you thought not to tell me? How dare you.”

     “Honestly, I had not thought about it,” she
said truthfully. “With so much going on, I'd almost forgotten.”

     “She shall be twenty-seven.” Skye
announced, turning to her husband. “She does not look it, does she?”

     Gaston kissed her hand. “She's ageless. And
what is it you would like for your birthday gift?”

     She shrugged. “I have everything I could
possibly want. Except....”

     Her voice trailed off and he knew what she
was going to say,
except an annulment and a proper marriage.

     He squeezed her hand. “I know. How would
you like to see Dane?”

     Her face brightened. “Oh, Gaston, I'd love
it! When can we go?”

     “When we leave for London,” he was pleased
to see that she was so happy. “We shall travel due north to Oxford Castle. It
shouldn't take any more than a day.”

     Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I
have not seen Dane in so long. I am sure he's grown a mile,” her smile faded a
bit. “Do you think... could we bring the girls?”

     “I do not think it would be a good idea,”
he said gently.

     “They are too small to travel, angel.
Moreover, I would not want them to go to London and I would not trust anyone to
return them to Deverill but me, and I cannot take the additional time.”

     She nodded in reluctant agreement,
understanding his reasoning. But then it occurred to her that she would be
separated from her girls for the duration in London, and that thought did not
sit well with her at all. “We cannot take Adeliza and Arica to London? We must
leave them behind?”

     He nodded. “Sorry, love. No one knows of
them but Henry and a few others, and it would not be a good thing to have them
there.”

     Her light mood was spoiled and she could
feel tears stinging her eyes. She tried to drown her sorrow in a large gulp of
wine, but it did not help. She took a couple of bites from her tart, but her
mood did not improve. Instead, it sank lower. Hastily, she excused herself from
the table.

     He knew she was upset and followed her from
the great hall. He caught up with her in the corridor outside and silently put
his arm around her waist as they continued to walk down the hall.

     The night was warm and he took her to the
battlements looking north, facing Warminster and the Vale of White Horse. There
were few soldiers on that portion of the wall and he stroked her hair as she
gazed out over the moonlit land.

     “I am sorry you cannot take the babes,” he
said softly.

     She shrugged. “I will miss them. How long
do you think we will be in London?”

     “As long as it takes,” he leaned on the
ledge next to her, resting on his elbows as she was. They looked at each other
a moment until she looked away sadly. He continued to look at her.

     “I told de Tormo we would meet after sup.
We should go and find him.”

     “No need,” de Tormo came out of the
shadows, strolling across the battlement. “I thought we could talk out here,
enjoying the evening.”

     The priest rested against the ledge, gazing
up at the moon. Remington caught a whiff of his odor and edged closer to
Gaston, who put his arm around her.

     “You know of the basics, de Tormo, so I
will not repeat them,” Gaston said, to the point. “Little has changed since you
left London, except for a particular meeting Henry and I had with Bourchier and
the papal legate. Apparently, the council was leaning toward a rejection of the
plea and I felt I had to resort to desperate measures. I told them that
Stoneley worshipped the devil, and they are now eager to hear testimony from
the both of you supporting my allegation.”

     De Tormo nodded calmly. “I am prepared. Did
you go into any specifics?”

     “No. I was vague, mentioning the pentagram
and the skin-covered books but naught else.”

     The priest nodded again. “I see. As I will
only be able to testify to those as well,” he looked at Remington. “It would
seem the details would have to come from you, Remi, as his wife.”

     Gaston stiffened and Remington put out a
hand to calm him. De Tormo had inadvertently referred to her as Guy's wife,
which she was, but Gaston did not like to hear the term used in that context.
He did not like to be reminded of it.

     “What details?” she asked.

     “Details of the room, I suppose,” de Tormo
eyed Gaston with a silent apology for his slip. “Do you have any knowledge of
devil worship?”

     “No,” she insisted, slighted.

     He put up his hand supplicatingly. “I did
not mean to insinuate anything, as you know. I simply meant to know if you had
ever read anything, or heard anything.”

     She shook her head. “Nothing.”

     The priest thought a moment. “I could tell
you several things, but I have a better idea,” he looked at the two of them.
“It will make your testimony far more compelling if your sisters were to
testify to support your statements. Mayhap we should gather them together and
prepare one story. One story that we will all memorize until we know it better
than we know our own name.”

     Remington looked to Gaston for his
approval; he looked intrigued. “A simple story that will stand up under
cross-examination?”

     “Absolutely, de Tormo said firmly.” Nothing
terribly detailed, but enough to lead the council to their own conclusions.”

     Remington was torn between hope and
reluctance. “Must my sisters be pulled into this?”

     De Tormo looked to Gaston. “We must do what
is necessary, angel,” Gaston said quietly. “And we must trust the priest in
this matter. He knows far more than we.”

     She nodded faintly. “If you say so.”

     Gaston enfolded her in both arms, fixing
his gaze on the de Tormo. “Gather the flock then, priest. We shall meet you in
the solar in an hour.”