The Dark One: Dark Knight (111 page)

     The serving wench was standing in the
archway, eyeing Remington as she spoke. “The lord says that he shall give you
until midnight and no longer,” she said. “He says they need to be on their
way.”

     Hubert nodded sharply and shut the door,
turning to Remington. “It would seem that my coinage did not buy as much time
as I would like, but it still gives us nearly four hours. Enough to make it
into Yorkshire, at any rate.”

     “You are taking- me to Yorkshire? Why not
back to London?” she demanded.

     “Think on it, my lady,” he said gently.
“Gaston is most likely on his way to Yorkshire already. I shall take you to
Ripley Castle for safe keeping and send word to Gaston.”

     “He shall be traveling to Mt. Holyoak,” she
murmured, her eyes distant. “But so is Guy. What happens if...?”

     “If Guy intercepts the message? He won't, I
swear it,” Hubert was pulling her to stand. “I shall send one of my most
trusted men to seek out Sir Gaston, wherever he might be. In fact, I'd wager to
say that your husband will not be welcome at Mt. Holyoak as it is. The fortress
is staffed with Sir Gaston's men.”

     She'd forgotten that very real fact. Her
eyes widened, feeling more energy than she had in a day. “Then….Guy has nowhere
to go.”

     Most likely not, unless he plans to engage
one hundred of Gaston's troops,” Hubert moved her to the door. “However, Guy
has several sympathizers in the area he could easily house with, including
Botmore.”

     Remington’s mouth went agape with the
possibilities. “And if Gaston occupies Mt. Holyoak again, the raids could start
anew.” She tilted her head at Hubert. “My God, this is confusing, isn't it?”

     He laughed softly, a dazzling smile of
white teeth and she joined his snickers. To laugh, to smile, improved her mood
immensely. “‘Tis good to see you smile,” he said approvingly. “And, please…
call me Hugh. No one calls me Hubert except my mother, and she only uses my
full name when she's angry with me.”

     She nodded in agreement, mayhap a bit
shyly. Hubert’s eyes lingered on her for a brief moment before he moved to the
door again. Silently, he opened the panel and glanced down both sides of the
hall. Unfortunately, there was only one way down, and that route led to the
common room where Guy Stoneley was enjoying his meal.

     And there was the window.

     Hubert held his hand out for Remington, who
slipped her soft hand into his mailed one. Silently, they slipped from the room
and closed the door.

     He led her to the window at the end of the
hall. Below, a twelve-foot plunge beckoned and he was reluctant to drop the
lady from that distance. But he had no choice.

     “I shall go first,” he said quietly,
placing his big body in the sill.

     Remington watched with anticipation as he
hung by his hands from the window. Sir Hubert was a tall man, not nearly as
tall as Gaston, but large nonetheless. Even so, the twelve-foot chasm was a
long way for him to fall.

     When his fingers let go of the sill, she
gasped softly and hung her head from the window just in time to see him land
heavily. Hubert stumbled to his knees but rose, unharmed. Hurriedly, he turned
to Remington and held out his arms.

     “Jump.” he hissed. “I shall catch you.”

     With only the slightest hesitation,
Remington swung her legs over the side of the sill. Horrified that Guy would
mount the top of the stairs at any moment and see her dangling, she scooted
herself off the wooden ledge without further delay.

     All Hubert saw was a billowing mass of gold
and cream satin falling. The very next thing, she was cradled in his arms with
surprising ease, her arms gripping his neck. Her crashing weight had barely
been mentionable and he was vaguely pleased that he had not tripped over his
own feet and broke both their necks. He'd never caught a woman in his arms
before. With Remington still in his arms, he rushed to the livery behind the
inn.

     There was a young boy on duty. Hubert put
Remington down just outside the door, out of the boy's view. Remington could
hear the knight conversing easily with the lad, the sounds of a horse being led
out of its stall. Hubert continued to talk the entire time his destrier was
saddled and she heard him pay the boy for his trouble.

He rounded the corner of
the stable with a great brown destrier in tow. Reins in one hand and Remington
in the other, they moved into the shadows of the trees before mounting.

     Hubert was silent now as he lifted
Remington onto his saddle, mounting behind her lithely. Gathering his thick
reins, he clucked softly to the horse and spurred him into the sheltering
safety of the forest.

     Remington leaned against him as he took her
through dense foliage, crossing over a creek and through more trees. They were
paralleling the main road north; actually taking a short cut that would chop
two miles off their trek. She would find out later that Hubert grew up in
Leicester and, therefore, knew the surrounding area very well.

     She prayed to the God she did not believe
in, yet the God she was coming to know very well. She prayed that Guy was still
content with his ale and food, that he would not bother to check on her until
the allotted time was concluded. She prayed beyond hope that he would do what
she wanted him to do, just this once.

     Even so, she had no doubt that Hubert could
competently protect her even if Guy discovered their absence and caught up to
them. Her greatest fear, however, was that Guy would accuse the knight of
stealing his wife, and rally the township into a lynch mob. He was not beyond
any sort of lie or deception, as he had proven when he testified before the
papal delegation.

     Guy could not be anticipated, and that
frightened her.

     Her mind would run wild if she let it.
Banking her fears, her exhaustion-fed imaginings, she convinced herself calmly
that she was safe now, thanks to Sir Hubert.

    
Thank you, God
.

***

     At exactly midnight, Guy mounted the stairs
to the second floor of the inn. Expecting to find a verily pleased knight and
one exhausted woman, he rapped softly at the door. When he received no answer,
he knocked louder. He continued to knock until, irritated, he called out to the
knight to awaken and open the door.

     Still no answer, he rattled the latch
himself and was surprised to find it open. Cautiously, he pushed the door open
but did not enter the room. He stood back in the jamb, his ice-blue eyes
inspecting every shadow and crevice of the dimly lit room.

     It was empty.

     Anger settled in his chest and his eyes
narrowed. Strolling slowly into the room, he glanced about for any signs of his
wife and the knight. There was a half-empty wine flask on the table and an
empty cup, and the remainders of a meal.

     The bed had been sat on, but was not mussed
beyond that. He wandered off to the small bed, his eyes grazing the dirty
coverlets. It did not take a brilliant man to deduce that the bed had not been
used for the illicit encounter.

     So where were they? Guy turned a complete
circle, scanning the room. The window was closed, and everything was fairly in
order. But there was no knight, and no Remington.

     They had vanished.

     Impossible, he told himself calmly. He had
been seated in the common room the entire evening and they had not escaped him,
of that he was sure.

     So where were they?

     Guy went back downstairs. It was late and
there were several soldiers snoring on the dirty floor, the smell of ale and
urine heavy in his nostrils. The innkeeper was wiping at a stack of wooden
trenchers when he approached.

     “There was a well-dressed knight who sought
board from you this night. A tall man, young. He occupied the second room
upstairs, on the right. Did he, perchance, leave?”

     The innkeeper glanced at him. “Ye mean the
man with the polished armor? The new gloves?” When Guy nodded, the proprietor
shook his head. “I 'aven't seen 'im. Why do ye ask?”

     A muscle in Guy's cheek twitched, not
particularly eager to answer the question. “Would his horse be stabled in the livery
out back?”

     “Aye, it would,” the innkeeper said. “A
fine animal, my son says.”

     Guy did not say another word. Be pushed
past the owner, through the kitchens, and out into the yard. The night had
grown cool as he made his way back to the dilapidated structure.

     A young lad was asleep on a cot of straw.
Guy kicked him on the foot and the youth let out a yelp, rubbing his heel. The
boy looked up into a very angry, very frightening face.

     “What the... what is it, m'lord?” he
swallowed.

     “Did anyone leave this night?”

     The boy nodded slowly. “A few.”

     “Did a knight leave? And did he have a
woman with him?” The boy thought a moment. “Aye, a knight left three or four
hours ago. But 'e did not ‘ave a woman with 'im.”

     Guy's nostrils flared and the lad instinctively
moved away, rising unsteadily. The man with the pale blue eyes scared him.

     “Was the man tall and fair? Well-dressed?”
Guy asked patiently.

     “Aye, m' lord,” the boy nodded. “And 'e 'ad
a very fine animal.”

     ''But no woman?”

     “No,” the boy shook his head.

     Guy thought a moment. “You did not catch
his name, mayhap?”

     The young man shook his head hard. “'e did
not give me 'is name. But he paid me a coin for saddling 'is destrier. Said he
'ad to be on 'is way.”

     Guy drew in a deep, calming breath. He had no
doubt that the knight had stolen Remington from him, as one man steals a loaf
of bread.

     No wonder the knight had paid him so well.
His intentions had been to steal Remington from the first and mayhap he thought
he was compensating Guy for his loss.

     Damnation. He spun away from the boy, anger
and frustration expanding in his disbelieving mind. To come so close to
escaping home with his wife, only to be foiled by a lustful knight who decided
he wanted Remington for his own.

     It was his fault, of course, and he cursed
himself as he marched back into the tavern. He shouldn't have sold her services
to a young knight; he should have sold her to an older knight who would have
been too tired after the deed to do anything more with her. Young and vital,
the salacious knight took Remington as his chattel.

     Guy passed through the tavern. His horse
was still tethered to the hitch post and he untied the animal hastily. Guy
wasn't angry that the man had taken Remington herself, merely angry because a
tremendous bargaining tool had been stolen away from him.

     Bargaining tool? Of course. No doubt de
Russe was on his way from London already to rescue Remington from her husband's
evil clutches. And no doubt Henry was ranting for justice, demanding his
escaped prisoner be returned. And no doubt the church was on Guy's side,
demanding Henry to leave the man alone, to allow him to live peacefully at his
native fortress. Remington could provide the bargaining chip to control all
three.

     Firstly, de Russe would do anything Guy dictated
if Remington were threatened. Secondly, Henry would do whatever de Russe
demanded of him. Thirdly, the church would be pleased to see a husband and wife
back together again.

     Damn. Guy gathered the reins roughly,
slugging the horse when it protested the treatment. He would track down the
lecherous knight and gut him cleanly for taking what did not belong to him.

     Hubert stopped just after dawn to allow
Remington rest. Pale and drawn, he helped her sit on a rotted tree stump while
he started a small fire. The night had been cool and the morning damp and
cloudy, and he thought she could use a bit of warmth.

     As Hubert built the fire from dried twigs
and dead leaves, Remington slid off the stump and sat upon the ground, using
the tree to lean against. She was so damnably tired that she needed help to
simply sit erect. She wasn't particularly cold in her crushed silk cloak, but
the small fire felt wonderful on her cold feet and before she realized it, she
was asleep.

     Hubert had not noticed that she was sleeping
until he turned to say something to her and saw that she was propped against
the stump, snoring very lady-like. Her eyes were dark circled, indicative of
the harrowing past few days.

    
Poor little waif
, he thought,
sincerely wishing he could send word to Gaston on her whereabouts this very
instant. He had seen the way the Dark Knight had treated her, how obviously
attached he was to the petite woman. And he had no doubt that Gaston was fully
prepared to tear apart Yorkshire in search of his lady-love, who happened to be
another man’s wife.

     Hubert shook his head, moving to sit beside
her. He pitied the woman, lovely and fragile, married to the devil's twin.
Compounded with the fact that the duke of Warminster was in love with her, it
all complied to make an entirely perplexing situation. It wasn't any of his
business, of course, but somehow he found himself mixed up in it all.