The Dark One: Dark Knight (103 page)

     Remington cringed as Patrick did as he was
told. She could only imagine the stinging pain, but he did not flinch. Instead,
he swirled the liquor for several long seconds before evacuating it into the
wooden basin. She noticed his face was pale when he took two long, healthy
swallows from the decanter.

     Gaston gazed into Patrick's mouth a moment,
then ran his fingers along his jaw. “I broke your jaw, I am afraid. And Rastus
will have to remove the pieces of that broken tooth, or the tissue will not
heal properly,” he stood back, eyeing his cousin firmly, yet with regret. “I am
sorry, Patrick. For everything. It would seem that my oversight has caused you
a great deal of pain.”

     “Oversight?” Patrick repeated.

     Gaston nodded. “I sent you to Clearwell to
help you heal your grief. I should have realized…nay, I should have known that
you would have been better off in the company of your family.”

     Patrick put his hand to his jaw gingerly.
“You did as you thought best, Gaston. I suppose I knew that all along, but it
was easier to focus my grief on my anger towards you for sending me away. It
made it easier to deal with my loss if I hated you for causing it.”

     Gaston's guarded expression faded and he
sat opposite his cousin. “It was my fault. If I had not ordered Derek Botmore
killed, then his father would not have seen fit to retaliate.  If....”

     “If I had not gotten myself abducted, then
you would not have had to kill Derek,” Remington put her hand on Gaston's
shoulder. “Then neither Arik nor Rory would have been killed. ‘Tis an endless
cycle; we are all to blame, yet no one is to blame.”

     Patrick looked at her a moment. “And if we
had not even come to Mt. Holyoak in the first place.….”

     He let his words trail off and they all
laughed softly. Gaston sobered first. “If we had not come to Mt. Holyoak, I
would not have two beautiful daughters. And I would not have a dukedom.”   

     Remington looked down at him, waiting for
him to state the obvious. When he did not, she elbowed him in the bicep with
her pointy elbow and he winced, rubbing the spot. “Oh, yes. And I would not
have come to know such irritation and chaos. Is that right, angel?”

     She scowled at him, balling her fist
threateningly and he laughed, kissing her hand and drawing her onto his lap.
And I would not have you. Satisfied?”

     Patrick watched the two of them, more in
love with each other since they had been when he had least seen them. He tried
not to envy their happiness overly.

     Rastus entered the solar, a small man whom
Remington had become well acquainted with when he had tended her shoulder. He
smiled at her, a twinkle in his faded blue eyes, before moving to Patrick.

     “Sir Patrick, back again, I see?” he opened
Patrick's mouth deftly, running a trained eye over the teeth. “Brace yourself,
lad. This might hurt.”

     Remington did not want to watch. Leaving
Gaston alone with his cousin, she swept from the room, intent on seeing her
daughters one last time.

***

     The road to Oxford was awash with spring
flowers, the grass a luminescent green that promised the sweetness of life and
earth. The day was brilliant, not too warm, and Remington was blissfully happy
as she soaked in the surroundings. By nightfall they would be at Oxford Castle,
and she would see her beloved son. She could hardly wait.

     She rode in the carriage with Jasmine, Skye
and Father de Tormo. Nicolas and Antonius rode on either side of the rig,
sweating furiously underneath the plate armor. Patrick and Gaston rode at the
head of the column, together, and high above their heads extending for the
entire length of the hundred-man army furled the colors of the duke of Warminster.

     Remington relaxed against the cushions,
trying not to notice the stench from the priest next to her. Across the cab,
Jasmine was helping Skye work on a robe for little Robert, for the younger
sister simply wasn't an accomplished seamstress. Skye couldn't sew to save her
life, and her needlework and tapestries looked as if they were nightmares one
would have after eating rotten food.

     Jasmine was trying terribly to be patient,
but Skye was irritable and accused her sister of being bossy. They would
squabble and fight, and then ignore each other for a minute or so before
resuming their work. Remington watched and smiled, and couldn't help thinking
that if Rory were here, she would be boxing their ears for fighting so much.
Not to make them stop, no simply because if there was a fight, Rory liked to be
in it.

     Of course, they were also irritable because
they missed their children. They both had to be pried from the babes and
practically carried to the awaiting rig, a move that did not sit well with either
of them. But their misery was blotted by the excitement of traveling to London,
and the more time passed, the better their moods.

     Remington craned her neck to peer from the
open window, catching a glimpse of Gaston and Patrick riding together way out in
front. She was surprised to see that Gaston had allowed his cousin to ride with
him, knowing how well he liked to ride alone, but she also knew that Gaston
felt very bad for what had happened. It was his way of making it up to his
cousin.

     After Rastus had tended Patrick's jaw, the
knight had shaved and bathed and cleaned himself up. Looking more handsome than
Remington remembered, except for his swollen jaw, he had come to see his newest
cousins and nephew before departing for London. He had been terrified to hold
the girls, but for some reason, he was unafraid of little Robert.

     Remington watched him with the babe and
couldn't help wondering if he were feeling a stab in his heart, a stab for the
children he and Rory would never have. But Patrick was quiet and calm, as he
usually was, and she could detect no discernable emotion. Even as he handed
Robert back to his mother, he had been smiling warmly.

     This was the Patrick she remembered, the
man who melted her tomboy sister's heart.

     Patrick had come home.

     The day passed on and the caravan continued
north, through the gently rolling lands as they closed in on Oxford. Once, she
caught sight of a Fallow deer near the edge of the woods, a doe grazing on
buttercups. Skye and Jasmine had crowed their delight, but Antonius and Nicolas
kept threatening to kill it for supper. The two women took to throwing apricot
seeds at their husbands, making loud pinging noises off the armor.

     De Tormo had been unusually quiet during
the journey. In truth, he had been unusually quiet since Gaston's return to
Deverill. As Jasmine and Skye bombed the knights, Remington turned to the
priest.

     “Are you feeling well, father?”

     He shifted in his seat. “The heat bothers
me.”

     “Me, too.”

     They sat in silence a moment before de
Tormo twisted a bit, reaching behind him. Remington watched as he pulled forth
a roll of vellum and handed it to her.

     “What's this?” she asked, examining the
scroll with de Tormo’s own seal.

     “Just keep it,” de Tormo said, his
expression unusually soft.

     “Why?” she looked at him, his flushed face.

     “Keep it safe,” he repeated. “'Tis only to
be used in the case of a dire emergency.”

     “Dire emergency? Father, what are you
talking about?”

     “Just that,” he patted her hand, pushing it
toward Remington's satchel on the floor. “You shall know when that happens.
Then you may open the scroll.”

     She was greatly puzzled, but put the vellum
away as requested.  What is it? A black spell to make the church bow to our
wishes?”

     He smiled. “If it were only possible.”

     He looked away, gazing from the window, but
she continued to watch him. He seemed very pensive and distant and Remington
was beginning to feel depressed.” What are you thinking? We do not have a
chance with this annulment, do we?”

     His fat face turned to her, flushed; yet
she noticed the pale ring around his lips. And his lips were a very strange
color, almost blue. “I truly do not know, Remi. I wish I did.”

     “But with your testimony, surely they will
be convinced, she persisted. “If anyone can convince them, you can.”

     He shrugged. “I can but try, my lady. And I
will, believe me.”

     She stared at him a long moment, reading in
his eyes everything he could not say. “But it would take a miracle.”

     He met her gaze and nodded once, faintly.
Patting her hand, he turned back to the window.

     Gaston did not stop for supper. The column
continued on into the night and Remington took to lighting a small oil lamp for
some illumination, breaking out the bread and cheese and wine they had brought
along. Nicolas rode next to the carriage, flipping up his faceplate and opening
his mouth like a fish as his wife fed him bits of food.

     De Tormo did not eat. He complained that he
was too tired and laid his head back against the carriage, closing his eyes to
gain some rest. Remington was worried about him and sent Nicolas to fetch
Gaston for her.

     Gaston returned to the rig, reining Taran
on Remington’s side. The horse, even with his armored face and heavy chain bit,
nibbled at Remington's arm with his silk lips and she scratched him affectionately.

     “How is the ride?” he inquired, watching
her 'ruin' his warhorse. How many times had he told her the animal was a war
machine, and not a pet?

     “Fine,” she lowered her voice, her eyes
locking onto his. “I fear Father de Tormo is ill, Gaston. He does not look
well.”

     Gaston leaned forward a bit so that he
could see inside the cab. He raised his faceplate after a moment, as if to get
a better look. “What’s wrong with him?”

     She glanced over her shoulder at de Tormo.”
He seems extremely fatigued and his color is bad.”

     “So? ‘Tis the heat, Remi. With all of the
weight he carries, it is no wonder that....”

     “And his appetite is gone,” she cut him off
insistently. “Moreover, he gave me a scroll this day and bade me to keep it,
only to be opened in case of a dire emergency. He told me that I would know
exactly when that occasion would arise.”

     Gaston gave de Tormo one last glance before
sitting straight. “He would not tell you what the parchment contained?”

     “Nay. He only told me to keep it.”

     Gaston thought a moment, his gaze raking
over the darkened surroundings. “We shall be at Oxford within the hour. I am
sure a good night's sleep will do him good.”

     “But what do you think it is?” she leaned
forward out of the window, trying to keep her voice down.

     He shook his head and lowered his visor. “I
do not know. But do as he requests; hold on to it.”

     Oxford Castle, seated on a crest above the
river, was not as large as Remington would have thought. It was grand, of
course, but not nearly as big as Deverill or Mt. Holyoak. Still, the massive
outer gates were most impressive as Gaston's party rode in under a full salute.

     There were soldiers everywhere. The nearly
full moon offered a good deal of light as the bailey swarmed with activity, but
still torches added additional brightness as Remington and her sister's
disembarked the carriage. De Tormo, roused from a heavy sleep, nearly fell to
the ground as he stepped from the rig.

     John de Vere greeted Remington warmly, a
kiss to her cheek as if she were an old friend. Remington was delighted to see
him; she had come to like him a great deal. An older woman fell into place
beside him and he put his arm around her shoulders.

     “Lady Remington, this is my wife, Anne,” he
introduced the two.

     Remington curtsied deeply. To her surprise,
the woman reached out and took her hand gently. “My lady, I have heard much
about you. I see now that John did not exaggerate your beauty.” She blushed
furiously. “Thank you, Lady de Vere. I am flattered.”

     The woman's eyes were warm on her. Anne de
Vere was in her late thirties, a very handsome woman. Remington liked her.

     “Allow me to introduce my sisters,”
Remington indicated her two siblings standing next to her. “This is Lady
Jasmine Flavio, and Lady Skye de Russe.”

     Lady de Vere greeted them pleasantly, but
returned her attention back to Remington. “We have a late meal prepared in the
morning room for you and your family. If you would follow me, please.”

     Remington nodded, searching over her
shoulder for Gaston. He was several feet away, taking to the earl, and caught
her glance. With a faint smile and a nod, he encouraged her to go along.

     She felt a little lost that he was not to
accompany her into a house full of strangers, but did as she was told.
Gathering her sisters and taking de Tormo by the arm, she followed the countess
into the elegant castle.