The Dark One: Dark Knight (101 page)

     Remington watched de Tormo walk down the
battlement. “Guy will deny everything, Gaston. ‘Twill be our word against his.”

     “And he has already proven himself to be
difficult and noncommittal, and the council is aware of his characteristics.
Our story will work. It must, else there will be no annulment.”

     She shuddered involuntarily. “And if it
does work? What will happen to Guy, a proven devil-worshiper?”

     “He will be executed, most likely.”

     She thought a moment. “And what of Dane?
Surely it will get around that his father was executed for devil-worship. It
will reflect badly on him.”

     “It will be forgotten,” Gaston assured her
quietly. “Believe me, it will pass in time and people will see him for his
great skill and forget about his long-dead father.”

     She sighed. “I worry for him.”

     “Do not,” Gaston turned her around to face
him, a smile on his lips. “You worry overly for your children, angel. From what
de Vere has told me, Dane will be promoted from page to squire come his
birthday in August. John says Dane is the best page he has, next to Trenton, of
course.”

     “He is?” she asked, her mood lightening. “I
am so glad to hear that.”

     He put his arm around her shoulders and led
her toward the narrow stairs leading to the courtyard. “John also says he had
grown considerably. The other pages look to him as their leader.”

     She bristled with pride. “Truly? But what
of Trenton?”

     Gaston shrugged, helping her take the top
stair. “He acts at Dane’s side. Trenton was never much of a leader, really.
More of a follower.”

     She gathered her surcoat, taking the stairs
carefully. He was directly behind her, taking her hand as they strolled back
across the bailey. Above them, the moon was bright and somewhere in the still
night air, a night bird sang sweetly.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

     Gaston and Remington slept past dawn the next
morning, unusual for both of them. The babes were taken care of by a wet nurse
throughout the night, giving the exhausted parents time alone.

     A stray beam of sunlight pierced thought
the gap in the heavy curtains, hitting Gaston right in the eye. He twitched,
rolled away from it, but by that time he sleepily realized Remington was out of
his arms and he rolled back over to correct the situation. The bright light was
annoying and warm on his eye once again.

     He muttered a curse and burrowed down into
the covers, burying his face in the back of Remington's neck. Unfortunately,
all of his fidgeting awoke her and she sighed heavily.

     “Gaston, stop moving,” she mumbled into her
pillow.

     He grumbled something into her hair,
pulling her tighter. She lazily opened her eyes, noticing how radiant the room
was and wondering what time it was. She reached behind her and touched him.

     “Wake up, Gaston. It's late.”

     He did not say anything for a moment. Then,
he blew out a heavy breath and raised his head, squinting in the brightness.
“Too damn brilliant. My eyes hurt.”

     She sighed contentedly and he pecked her on
the cheek, propping himself up on an elbow. “It is going to be warm today,” he
murmured, seeing the deep blue sky beyond the windows. Then he looked down to Remington's
dark head. “When will you be ready to leave? If we depart before noon, we
should reach Oxford just after nightfall.”

     “I can pack within an hour or two,” she
said, rolling on her back to look up at him. “How long can we visit Dane and
Trenton?”

     “Not long,” he brushed away a wild strand
of her hair. “Just for the day, angel. The sooner we get to London, the
better.”

     She nodded reluctantly, feeling the warm
breeze already wafting through the windows. “I am not looking forward to the
interrogation, Gaston.”

     He played with the same strand of hair. “I
know. But you and your sisters are excellent students. You know your story, and
you will stick to it. As long as you do not waiver, we will have your annulment
by next month.”

     “I hope so,” she murmured. “But I am still
afraid.”

     “Of what?” he tossed back the coverlet,
revealing a body as large and tanned as hers was petite and white. “You worry
overly, Remi.”

     She watched him sit up, the rippling
muscles in his broad back. Vaguely, she shrugged. “There is much to worry
over.”

     “Not for long,” he said, pulling on his
breeches with a grunt. “We will be over and done with this madness before the
end of summer, hopefully. And then we will be married.”

     He dressed efficiently, quickly, as
soldiers do. She sat up in bed to watch him finish with his boots, tugging at
his tunic and strapping on his sword. He was not wearing any armor at all, an
extremely rare state for him.

     “What do you do now?” she asked.

     “I have an entire keep I have not seen in
over a month,” he said. “I intend to make my rounds before our departure, just
to make sure Antonius and Nicolas have not run Deverill into the ground. And
since they are accompanying us to London, I want to make sure the keep is in
excellent hands before we leave.”

     She hugged her knees, smiling. “Uncle
Martin will be surprised to see Skye and Robert, won't he? I wish I could stay
with him until this is over.”

     “No,” he said flatly. “Uncle Martin is in
love with you. You will never be alone with him again.”

     Her eyes widened. “Do not jest with me like
that. ‘Tis a terrible accusation, teasing or not.”

     “'Twas no jest, I assure you,” he paused a
moment when he saw her outraged expression, hands on his hips. “Remi, why do
you think he trailed you to St. Catherine's, intent on following you to your
end destination? I nearly had to wrestle him from the convent, and with the
mood I was in following our argument, I nearly tore his head off. I would not
be surprised if he refuses to speak with me for the rest of his life.”

     She looked at him with uncertainty, feeling
vastly uncomfortable at the new knowledge. “You must be mistaken, Gaston. On
both accounts.”

     He gazed at her a moment before bending
down and depositing a sweet kiss on her lips. “Mayhap on the latter, I am. I would
hope so. But as far as my original allegation, I most certainly am not. Even
Nicolas agrees with me.”     He moved for the door. “Rise and pack, love. And
tell your sisters to pack hurriedly,” he stopped and pointed a finger at her as
he opened the door. “And limit the trunks we must carry. One per lady, please.”

     She raised an eyebrow. “Impossible, my
lord. Have pity.”

     “No,” he said firmly. “We are not a
merchant caravan. One trunk for each of you.”

     He winked at her and shut the door.

     Remington sat a moment, a faint smile
playing on her lips. Without another wasted minute, she bound from the bed and
called for a bath.

***

     Nearly two hours later, bathed, hair washed
and drying, Remington scurried down the hall to Skye and Jasmine's rooms to
make sure they were almost complete with their packing. She knew Gaston would
return shortly and she wanted to be able to leave as soon as possible. The
sooner they left, the sooner she would see Dane.

     She supervised the men-at-arms who had come
to take the trunks down to the waiting wagon. As promised, each lady had only
packed one large trunk, but that did not prevent them from packing several
smaller bags and satchels to carry a myriad of other necessities.

     Jasmine and Skye were thrilled to be going
to London. Dressed in the finest surcoats they owned, they chattered like
magpies while the soldiers took their baggage. Remington, dressed in cream
satin and gold, shushed them in between relaying orders to the soldiers;
that
bag on top, do not turn this one on end, and whatever you do, do not let that
one fall.

     Gaston lumbered up the stairs, eyeing his
soldiers as they descended, laden down like porters. The first person his gaze
fell on was Remington.

     “I told you one trunk,” he said with a
cocked eyebrow.

     “Aye, you did,” she met him evenly. “And we
only packed one trunk a piece. But you said nothing of traveling bags, Gaston.
Not one word.”

     Jasmine and Skye cowered behind Remington
as Gaston drug a hand wearily over his face. “By God, madam, you know exactly
what I meant,” he jabbed a finger at her. “If all of the bags do not fit within
the confines of the wagon, that is your misfortune. Those that do not fit will
be left behind, for I will not consign another wagon. Do you understand?”

     She smiled, taking hold of his arm and
softening his harsh stance. “Perfectly, my love. Not to worry.”

     He tried to remain stern, but she won out
and he cracked a smile. He patted her hand as they walked toward their
chambers. “I would take a bath before we leave. I fear I am smelling as badly
as de Tormo.”

     “Not
that
bad,” she slanted him a
glance. “But I think a bath is a fine idea.”

     Shortly, the huge copper tub was brought
and filled with steaming water. Gaston complained that it was too hot for a hot
bath, but Remington insisted and ordered him into the water. Careful as to not
muss her fresh dress, she donned a heavy apron and washed him from his head to
his feet. Gaston was scrubbed, rinsed, and rubbed until his body was weak with
pleasure from the attention. Had they not been on such a tight time frame, he
would have ripped Remington’s clothes off and bedded her that moment. As it
was, he was sorely distended and she laughed at his discomfort.

     “Hmpf. You laugh, madam,” he grumbled,
standing up in the tub as water rushed off him.

     She giggled, helping him dry off with a
heavy linen towel. He dried his hair vigorously, watching her as she selected
his clothes. Something she was holding caught his attention.

     “What is that?”

     She turned to him, holding up a lightweight
linen tunic of an off-white color. “A new tunic I made for you. Do you like
it?”

     He blinked. Did he like it? He always wore
black. Always. This was... white. “It's... nice, Remi.”

     She lowered the tunic, eyeing him with a
slight smirk. She knew exactly what he was thinking. “I am tired of seeing you
in black, Gaston. Black, black, black! There are other colors, you know.”

     He shrugged, throwing the towel down and
moving to his breeches. “I have never thought so. I have never worn anything
other than black, even as a lad. Why do you think they call me the Dark
Knight?”

     “Because you are blood brothers with
Lucifer?” she teased, holding the tunic out to him. “Please try it on. I want
to see how it fits you.”

     He took it from her, hesitantly. He turned
to the polished glass mirror, holding the tunic up in front of him. “It looks
as if it will fit well enough. What did you use for a model?”

     “Your horse,” she quipped, motioning
impatiently. “Put it on.”

     He pulled it over his head, straightening
it just as Remington was. She ran her hands all over his chest, tugging at the
shoulders, pulling at the hem. A slow smile spread across her face as she
observed her handiwork. “Put your sword on. I want to see how it looks belted.”

     He strapped on his sword, the studded black
leather belt and the matching scabbard. The entire time, he watched himself in
the mirror, thinking he looked terribly strange in the light color. It was
peculiar, as if he were looking at another person. He wasn't at all pleased
until he looked at Remington's expression.

     She was smiling the most wonderful smile.
“Oh, Gaston, you look magnificent. I have never seen you handsomer.”

     Her expression, her obvious delight, made
him take a second look. “Truly?”

     “Yes!” She rushed to their chamber door and
before he could stop her, she was calling eagerly to her sisters. He started to
protest weakly, but almost instantly Skye and Jasmine were rushing in,
exclaiming favorably at his new tunic.

     Gaston was embarrassed as they fawned over
him, laughing and touching and tugging at the material. He managed a thin smile
at Remington, who laughed at his humiliation and patted him sweetly on the
cheek. He eyed her sisters, thinking their praises to be well rehearsed.