The Dark One: Dark Knight (108 page)

     “Guy!” she shrieked.

     It would not do to have a shrieking,
screaming captive. Instinctively, Guy brought up a mailed fist and crowned
Remington on the side of the head, just like old times. She dropped like a
stone.

     He left her, a mound of silk and satin, and
dragged Patrick across the moist dirt to deposit him in a small doorway. With
any luck, he would not be found until morning and by then, he and Remington
would be on their way to Mt. Holyoak. With little exertion, he swung Remington
into his arms and carried her out into the main courtyard.

     The small papal escort looked concerned as
he approached, but Guy kept his face lowered and waved them off. “Part the way,
men.” he declared.

     The three guards looked at him strangely as
he commandeered the nearest destrier. “Now where do you think you are going
with that horse?”

     Guy threw Remington up over the animal and
she grunted softly, beginning to come around. Guy slapped her on the rear.
“She's ill, man. Can you not see that? I have got to find a physic.”

     The guards looked at each other hesitantly,
but Guy was forceful. He mounted behind Remington and gathered the reins. “I
shall send the horse back, I promise. You have Bourchier's word. God bless you
for allowing me to seek care for this woman.”

     Guy was too fast, too slick. He was
spearing the horse toward the main entrance before anyone could stop him.

     With a shout that sounded suspiciously like
a triumphant bellow, he tore through the narrow entrance as if the demons of
hell were on his heel.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

     It was just before dawn. Gaston was ashen
by the time he reached the Tower; so pale he was nearly green. Not a word was
spoken between he and Henry, or Nicolas or Antonius. Uncle Jasper seemed to be
doing most of the talking, and it was minimal at that.

     It had taken the papal escort three hours
to realize they had been duped. A search of Guy Stoneley's rooms turned up a
dead comrade in the prisoner's bed. By the time they returned to Westminster
with news of the prisoner's disappearance, it was an hour before sunrise.

     Gaston realized within the first few
sentences what had happened. Stunned beyond believing, he knew what had taken
place and his only thought at that moment was to reach

Remington. No one had so much as mentioned her,
but he knew instinctively that she would be missing.

     He did not know how he knew. But he knew.

     Gaston did not stop until he reached their
bedchamber in the Martin Tower. Even then, he only stood in the door like a
stone statue, staring at the bed as if he could will Remington to appear.

     “Dear God,” he breathed. “She's gone!”

     Nicolas came up behind him, surveying the
room. “Where's Patrick?”

     Gaston felt sick. Every emotion he could
possible feel was crowding his mind, torturing him. “Send the household troops
to search the grounds. Mayhap he's been....”

     “No!” Nicolas stumbled back, horrified. “Do
not even suggest it! There is no way Guy Stoneley could best Patrick in a
fight!”

     Gaston could not react to Nicolas' grief.
He was filled with quite enough of his own. “He must have found out she was
here,” he mumbled, feeling as if he were going mad. He did not even realize
Henry was standing beside him. “How is it possible that he found out she was
here? How did he
know
?”

     “'Twould not be difficult for a soldier to
mention it,” Henry said quietly. “There are a thousand different ways he could
have discovered her arrival.”

     Gaston was dazed. He shook his head with
disbelief. Why was only one guard sent to escort Stoneley? Why did not the
whole damn company attend him? Why did not the household troops insist on more
than one man in Stoneley's room?”

     Henry shook his head; he did not have the
answers. “Security was lax, Gaston. Stoneley has never given us any problems;
he's never been belligerent or combative in the least and, therefore, not
considered a real threat. 'Tis the only explanation I can offer you for the
presence of merely one guard.”

     Gaston's eyes were wide with shock, his
face taut. He was having difficulty thinking, for the possibilities literally
overwhelmed him. “So Stoneley killed the papal guard sent to escort him back to
Westminster, then donned his uniform and spirited Remington from the compound.
But how did he get past Patrick? Damnation, I do not understand any of this.”

     Henry put his hand on Gaston in an
ineffectual attempt to calm him. “We shall interrogate the guards who were on
duty. Someone had to see something.”

     Gaston's eyes were locked onto the bed, the
indenture Remington had made in the feather mattress. Woodenly, he wandered to
the wardrobe, as if it would lend a clue. He simply couldn't believe what all
of the facts were leading him to believe.

     Guy had escaped and took Remington with
him.

     His huge hands gripped the open doors of
the wardrobe as he gazed inside. Be seemed to stand there for an excessive
amount of time when suddenly a loud popping noise filled the room, crumbling
and snapping.

     The wardrobe doors came off in Gaston's
hands.

     Henry stared, astonished, as Gaston tossed
the doors aside as if they did not weigh a couple of hundred pounds apiece. It
was then, and only then, that every man present realized the extent of Gaston's
anguish.

     “Where would he take her?” Henry asked,
still shocked. “To Mt. Holyoak?”

     Gaston nodded absently, reaching into the
wardrobe and drawing forth a small glass vial. Reverently, he pulled the
stopper and inhaled the contents. All watched him curiously as he gently
replaced the stopper and shoved the vial into his waistband.

     The scent reminded him of Ripon and the
first time he had ever made love to Remington. He would; nay, had to, keep it
with him. It would keep him steady when the pain was more than he could bear.

     “I ride north,” his voice was tight, his
manner hard. “Nicolas, find your brother, or what's left of him, and return to
Deverill. Antonius, you will ride to Oxford and notify de Vere of what has
happened. Tell him to keep close watch on Dane.”

     “Are you going to Mt. Holyoak?” Henry
demanded again. “Are you so sure he will take here there?”

     “There is nowhere else he could go. I will
find him, and I will kill him.”

     Henry watched the duke of Warminster
transform himself into battle mode. Hard. Cold. Calculating. The perfect
killing machine. He pitied Guy Stoneley.

     “I shall notify Bourchier of what has
transpired, Gaston,” Henry said quietly. “Have no doubt that they will support
you in your endeavor.”

     Gaston did not reply.

     “We shall search for Patrick,” Antonius
took charge; Nicolas was having difficulty controlling himself. “And I shall
interrogate the household guards personally. If I discover anything valuable, I
shall try to send you word.”

     Gaston was busy with his gauntlets,
tightening the interior strap of one. He listened, but said nothing. This was
the Gaston who was preparing for the battle of his life, and they all knew it.

     “Is it not possible that Lady Remington is
with Lady Beaufort?” Jasper interjected at the last moment, trying to find
reason in this chaos. “She is still at the Tower, you know. It is possible that
Margaret sought the lady's company. Mayhap Patrick is with her, as well.”

     Gaston paused a brief moment. “Send someone
to check. I will only wait that long.”

     Jasper snapped to the nearest soldier, who
dashed away in a jingle of armor. Until the man returned, it became the mission
of every man in the room to keep Gaston calm.

     No one wanted to meet their end as the
wardrobe doors had.

     Gaston remained calm, but he also remained
as a block of stone, cold and unmoving. In truth, he was afraid to speak or
move for fear it would release the dam building inside him. He was afraid to
explore the feelings growing within his heart, afraid that he would be unable
to deal with them.

     So he remained still and aloof, waiting
without hope for the soldier to return from Lady Beaufort's room. He knew that
Guy had taken Remington.

     He did not have a doubt.

     He also knew that Guy would take her back
to Mt. Holyoak. It was his home and there was no reason to believe he would
take her anywhere else.

     Gaston would then ride to Mt. Holyoak to
retrieve Remington, but logic told him that it would be useless to bring his army.
With as well fortified as Mt. Holyoak was, he could lay siege for months and
never see progress. He doubted that he could even catch up to them with the
head start they had.

     Nay; the intelligent thing to do would be
to go alone and wait for an opportunity to take back what was his. And kill Guy
in the process.

     He couldn't even think on what the man
might have done to her already. He refused to imagine the beatings, or mayhap
he had even raped her by now. Gaston angrily shoved those hideous thoughts aside,
for there was nothing he could do at the moment.

     Forcing himself to remain calm in the wake
of such a catastrophe was the hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life.

     They waited for nearly an hour. Gaston had
remained immobile the entire time, standing by the wardrobe, waiting. But he
was near to bursting with impatience, merely reining himself because of Henry's
presence. But he could not hold out much longer. He had to get to Remington.

     Mercifully, the same soldier that had gone
in search of Lady Beaufort reappeared in the company of another soldier. The
men appeared breathless and wide-eyed.

     Henry snapped at them. “Speak.”

     The soldier bowed crisply, almost as an
afterthought. “My lord, Lady Beaufort has returned to Windsor, but her serving
woman told me that Lady Remington had not been to visit her,” he indicated the
soldier standing next to him. “Malsgrave was on duty last night, standing watch
by the Middle Tower. He saw... well, go on, man.”

     The second soldier, a young man, paled in
the presence of the mighty men. “A p-p-papal guard rode through the main
entrance last night with a woman slung across his saddle.”

     Gaston suddenly came to life. “Could you
see much of his face? What did he look like?”

     The soldier shook his head. “Nay, my lord,
I could not see his face for the helm. But the woman…well,” he brought up his
hand. In his fist was a golden hair net, delicate and torn. “This came off her
hair as they rode by. That is why we took so long in returning to you; we went
to find it. I remember seeing something fall, but.....”

     Gaston snatched the hair net, examining it
closely. His heart crashed into his heel, the evidence in his hand confirming
everything he had pieced together. He began to sweat with apprehension and
horror, completely sickened.

     Henry stood beside him, eyeing the hair
adornment. “Well, Gaston?”

     He could barely speak. He swallowed hard.
“It's hers. Stoneley has her.”

     Henry nodded faintly, placing his hand on
Gaston's arm. “Go after her, man. Waste no time about it.”

     Gaston did not have to be told twice. He
stormed from the room, his mind ahead to the most potent battle for his life.
His mind was still reeling with the rapid falling of events, of the turn of
tides. The very thing he had promised Remington would never happen again had,
in fact, happened.

     Remington did not believe in God. Be wasn't
sure he did, either. But he had prayed for Arica and she had lived, and he had
thanked God profusely for Remington's own life being spared in childbirth.
Mayhap God was becoming used to hearing his prayers.

     He prayed again.

***

     Even as Gaston rode a hasty trail north to
Mt. Holyoak, Antonius left his wife and sister-in-law at Braidwood with Martin.
With Guy on the loose, he wanted the women far away from Mt. Holyoak and well
protected. By the time he left the Tower, Nicolas was still searching for his
brother and Gaston had not yet ridden from the keep.

     He reached Oxford by mid-day, reining his great roan
destrier to a halt in the middle of Oxford Castle's massive bailey. Coincidentally,
Dane and Trenton were out in the bailey with several other young pages going
through their routines with a combat sticks and saw him ride in.

     Antonius dismounted his steed, casting a
long look at Dane, several feet away. He wasn't even sure Dane should be told
of what was happening and hoped the boy had enough discipline not to break rank
and rush to him, demanding to know why he had come to Oxford. Antonius wasn't
sure he could lie effectively.