The Dark One: Dark Knight (107 page)

     “What's this I hear that Henry is being
pressured into releasing him?”

     “True enough. The papal council feels
Stoneley had been unfairly singled out and punished. To release him would be to
make restitution.”

     Gaston snorted. “Restitution, is it? They
feel he's been treated wrongly because of what he possesses. Have they
forgotten that the man is a prisoner of the crown?”

     Peter shrugged. “He is married to Remington
and you want her, and they know Henry will stop at nothing to grant you your
desire. Prisoner or not.”

     Gaston let out a repugnant sigh. What a
mixed-up, chaotic mess he was involved in.

     Peter moved to Henry and Gaston moved away
from the group, standing in front of a narrow window and feeling the cool
evening on his face. Remington, a few miles away at the Tower, filled his mind
even as the wind caressed him, and he found himself imagining the gentle
fingers of the breeze were hers somehow. If he closed his eyes, he could
literally feel her.

***

     Guy had no idea there was anything amiss
until his door opened and one lone papal guard entered. The older man was
dressed in the crimson colors, fully armored, and he paused stiffly just inside
the door.

     “My lord,” he said formally. “You have been
summoned. Please collect yourself and accompany me.”

     “Accompany you where?”

     “To Westminster. The papal council demands
your presence, my lord.”

     Guy continued to sit at the small writing
table, a quill in his hand as he composed a letter to his son. He still did not
know where Dane was; no one would tell him anything, not even the church. He
hoped that somehow his letter would find its way to Dane, wherever he was.

     Not because he cared for the boy; but he
wanted the church to think he did. Then, mayhap, someone would take pity on him
and tell him where his son was.

     Anything to use against Remington.

     He had already succeeded in stopping the
annulment proceedings, claiming victimization. That bastard de Russe had not
bested him, after all. He kept his wife, and from what he had heard, the Dark
One had abandoned Mt. Holyoak. And he had almost secured his release, a mere
technicality as far as he was concerned.

     God, he was clever.

     “More questions? Why is that?”

     “I do not know, my lord. Please come with me.”

     Guy rose slowly, a shadow of concern
crossing him. “Is there a problem, sergeant?”

     “I do not know, my lord,” the man repeated.

     Guy frowned, moving to don his shirt. Even
in the coolest days, he avoided tunics unless absolutely necessary. He hated to
cover up his beauty. “Would you be so kind as to tell me if I am to be released
this night? Is that why I am being summoned?”

     “I have not been so informed, my lord,” the
soldier said. “All I know is that the papal council wishes to speak with you.
Most likely Henry and the duke of Warminster, as well, considering they are at
Westminster.”

     Guy felt a bolt of shock move through him.
“The duke is here? Did he bring his... lady?”

     The guard nodded. He had not heard of the
details regarding the board's proceedings, only that there was something very
potent going on if Henry and Gaston de Russe were involved. He had no idea
where Stoneley fit into this, and that was his undoing. The guard was a fairly
dim man who did what was ordered of him and did not move far beyond his limited
world.

     “The duke arrived this afternoon with his
household, including his wife, I believe,” he replied. “She is housed in Martin
Tower.”

     Guy was seized with another shocking bolt,
only this jolt was one of excitement. Remington was not far from this very
room, and he was suddenly extremely excited to know that.

     His sharp mind was working quickly.
Remington was here... de Russe was at Westminster, miles away. A plan took
root, began to nurture and take shape.

     Guy glanced at the soldier one more time
before moving to his great wardrobe and pretending to rummage through. The
rapid movements of his hands disguised his shaking; he was literally shaking.
His plan was blossoming, consuming his mind, until he knew there was no
possible alternative.

     He was confident he was to be released. So,
what if he were to release himself a bit ahead of schedule? And Remington was
to remain his wife, was she not? He would take her with him.

     Home.

     Home to Mt. Holyoak.

     So far away in Yorkshire, surrounded by his
fellow loyal barons, not even Henry could return him to London. And, mayhap,
the church would go so far as to demand the king leave him in peace. After all,
the church was on his side after his performance yesterday. Who would
blame
him for taking what was his and fleeing London as fast as he could?

     Even if he was, technically, escaping jail.

     Guy pushed those thoughts aside. Once
escaped home, mayhap Henry would eventually forget about him and focus on his
many other troubles instead. And de Russe would find another whore, and leave
Remington alone.

     Aye, it would work out... eventually.

     But first, he had to get out of the White
Tower. And there was only one possible out, as he saw it.

     Certainly he could wait for the king to
release him. But why should he? He had been in this damnable hell long enough.

     “You there,” he motioned to the sergeant.
“Come here and give me a hand with this.”

     The soldier was either to dim to ask what
he needed assistance with, or he simply did not care. He walked over to the
wardrobe expectantly.

     Guy stood slightly aback of him, one hand
shrouded in the clothes that were slung over the wardrobe door. “Can you jar
that boot free? It seems to be stuck in the drawer.”

     The soldier bent down, yanking at the
leather boot. It took Guy less than a second to wrap the belt around the
soldier’s neck, tightening the noose so tightly that the mail hauberk cut into
the skin.

     In a strangled heap of mail and blood, the
soldier slipped to the floor.

     Guy smiled. Death always made him smile.
Even if the soldier was bigger than he was, the armor fit well enough.

     It wasn't difficult to slip past the guards
at his door. He kept his eyes averted and his helm on, telling the guards that
Stoneley was ill and that he was summoning a physic. If the Tower guards
happened to look into the room, they would see a man in bed, covered to his
head with a blanket. Guy knew his guards well enough to know that they would
not bother to enter the room and check the prisoner personally.

     Taking the papal guard on his word, they
continued to stand vigilant watch at the door, expecting a physic shortly.

     Free!   Free!    Guy's mind sang with the
glee of it, the simplicity of it. He could not believe he had not thought of
this strategy earlier, but in truth, the opportunity had not presented itself.
What he had done moments ago was done in the spur of the moment.

     He knew his way out of the White Tower
easily, and he moved directly for the Martin Tower. His heart was pounding in
his ears as he moved across the dark courtyard, moving freely as he had not
moved in over two years. It was almost too good to believe!

     His mind was reeling with plans,
possibilities, and escape routes. Over his shoulder, he could see the small
papal escort waiting patiently by the Tower entrance, but they apparently had
not seen him. With the three-quarter moon, it was dark enough in the shadows
that they could not make out the color of his crimson tunic from that distance
away.

     As soon as he rounded the White Tower, he
was out of their line of sight and he relaxed. Several hundred yards in front
of him loomed the Martin Tower, and he lowered his head as he scurried down the
walk. Behind him, the Salt Tower provided him ample shadow coverage.

     There were sentries posted an intervals and
he passed them with no problem. His excitement, his confidence, soared.

     Sweet Remington would soon be within his
grasp. But as he approached the Martin Tower, he slowed. As soon as he entered
her bower, she would know it was he. And he had no doubt that she would give
him away to her guards, who would most likely be de Russe's men. And they would
kill him.

     His pace slowed more dramatically. Mayhap
he could send someone else in to retrieve her, to deliver her straight into his
hands far away from de Russe's dogs.

     Wise man that he was, Stoneley thought
quick on his feet. At the entrance to the Martin Tower was one of Henry's
household soldiers. He approached the man.

     “The papal delegation wishes to speak with
Lady Stoneley,” he stated firmly. “You will summon her and bring her so that I
may escort her to the hearings.”

     The guard looked him up and down. “An'
what's wrong with your legs, pansy? You can mount stairs as well as I can.”

     Guy's first reaction was to strike, but he
clenched his fist instead. He gave a helpless shrug. “I have got the gout, man.
It'll take me all night to take those stairs. Be a good chum, will you?”

     The household soldier grumbled and cursed,
but he complied. Guy smiled smugly, pleased at his cleverness and glancing
overhead. The moon was beautiful this night.

***

     Remington was asleep when Patrick roused
her. Stumbling from the great bed, she donned her ecru-satin surcoat and pulled
her hair back into a golden net. Still half-asleep, she splashed cold water on
her fact and pinched some color into her cheeks, gradually becoming
increasingly anxious as she groomed. Why did not Gaston come personally for
her? She prayed that nothing was terribly wrong, realizing she had done more
praying recently than she had done in her entire life.

     Running her finger in a small vial of mint
balm and rubbing it over her teeth to freshen her breath, she was ready and
threw open the bower door even as she struggled to shove her shoe on.

     “I am ready, Patrick,” she said hurriedly.

     Patrick steadied her as she adjusted the
hasty shoe. “You shall need a cloak, Remi. 'Tis cool outside.”

     With a sharp exhale, she dashed back into
the room and retrieved a cloak of crushed golden silk, a gift from Gaston after
the twins were born. The lining was of white rabbit, almost too hot on the cool
night, but it matched the dress so, therefore, she took it anyway.

     “Let's go!” she said eagerly.

     Patrick escorted her to the base of the
Martin Tower, where the household guard was back at his post. The soldier
pointed to the papal guard several feet away.

     “He's come for the lady.”

     Remington swung the cloak over her
shoulders, gazing at the guard in the distance. It never occurred to her that
it was odd that the man had not come for her personally, or that he had not met
her at the base of the stairs. All she knew was that the man was to take her to
Gaston.

     But Patrick demanded to accompany her. She
tried to protest, but he insisted. With a resigned shrug, she and Patrick made
their way to the papal escort.

     Guy saw her coming; his heart pounding so
loudly that he was sure the entire keep could hear it. But who was the fool
with her? Damnation. He would have to dispose of the knight, and do it quickly.
Remington would recognize him in a heartbeat and he could not allow his perfect
scheme to be foiled this early in the game.

     Panicked for the moment, he turned away
from Remington and Patrick and motioned for them to follow. They did, nearly
catching up to him as they rounded the corner on the green by the Chapel of St.
Peter and Vincula.

     But Guy kept a pace ahead of them, working
a small dagger out of his waistband. Passing the chopping block, adjacent to
the Beauchamp Tower, Guy clasped the dagger close to his arm and worked his
belt loose. His sword went clattering to the soft ground.

     “Good Christ.” he said in an exaggerated
lower-bred London accent. “'Ow in the 'ell did 'at 'appen?”

     Remington came to an abrupt halt, watching
Patrick bend down to pick up the sword. One moment Patrick was grasping the
weapon; the next moment, the papal guard was on top of him.

And in the next moment, Patrick collapsed on the
ground with a dagger protruding from his neck.

     Remington did not quite grasp what she was
seeing. It was the farthest thing from her mind. A second or two after Patrick
landed in a heap, a scream rose to Remington's lips and her eyes flew to the
papal guard, now moving toward her with lightning speed.

     Sea-crystal eyes locked with icy-blue. Guy
Stoneley was staring back at her.