The Dark One: Dark Knight (113 page)

     She stopped yelling for Hubert, knowing in
her heart he must have met with the cold blade of his opponent. Her heart ached
for the brave man, and for herself as well
. Why, God, did you save me from
Guy, only to meet my end out here in the wilderness? Gaston will never find me
now.

     The man with his hand on her breast
suddenly grunted. His eyes bugged, and blood dribbled from his mouth. Remington's
eyes widened as he fell away from her, dripping blood on her ecru-colored
dress. She glanced up to see Hubert descending, his sword arcing a blinding
streak.

     She cried out as his sword came down inches
from her shoulder and she felt the hands that held her open. She did not
hesitate; she was free and she leapt clear of the fight, tripping over the man
who had so recently touched her breasts. As she struggled over his body in her
hysteria, one glance at the corpse showed a rugged dirk protruding from his
back.

     She fled, although she knew not where she
was going. Only that she had to run, to escape the ambush. She was positive
there were more bandits rushing forward to capture her, to rape and ravish her.
She had to reach safety, wherever it may be.

     Panic clouded her mind as she ran, skirts
hiked up to her knees. Just as she reached the perimeters of the trees, a shout
came from behind her. Someone was calling her name.

     “Remington!”

     She was panicked, as a hunted animal. There
was no earthly way she was going to stop; surely it was a trick. Heart
pounding, she ran even faster for the shelter of the trees.

    
“Remingtooooonnnn!”

     A shadow of sensibility filtered into her
hysteric mind. The roar sounded sincere, somehow... almost gentle, if that were
possible. And the tone was thoroughly pleading. Although she did not want to,
she stumbled to an unsteady halt and turned to the source of the shout.

     Hubert was walking toward her, covered with
gore. She couldn’t see his face through the lowered visor until he lifted it
with shaking fingers. His gray eyes were wide with excitement and fear.

     “All is well, honey,” he said gently. “They
are all dead.”

     She couldn't reply for the moment, still
panic-stricken. He closed in on her, sheathing his sword wearily.

     “Let me see your head,” he said, his voice
a husky whisper.

     She had not realized that her head was
aching terribly. Suddenly, the pain hit her full bore and she whimpered, her
panic fading. Her whole body began to shake.

     “Oh, my God,” her face crumpled, racking
sobs spilling forth.

     He grabbed her head with his great mailed
gloves, inspecting the split scalp directly above her right ear.

     “All is well, my lady,” he whispered again.
“You are safe. I killed them all.”

     She heard him, still terrified out of her
mind.

     Satisfied the wound to her head wasn’t
severe, Hubert tried to lead her away but she couldn’t seem to walk. In fact,
they both seemed to be shaking a great deal, almost too hard to function. But
Hubert was desperate to remove her from the area, away from the memories of
horror. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her back to his horse.

     Remington continued to cry even as he
mounted behind her and spurred the charger onto the road. Behind them, four
dead men littered the quiet countryside, bright red blood staining the sweet
green grass.

     Even after Remington's sobs died and she
fell into an exhausted sleep, Hubert remained deeply shaken. His good deed had
almost turned deadly for both of them, and he would have never forgiven himself
if tragedy had befallen the lady. He could still hear her shouts and her tears,
and the memory cut him to the bone.

     How fortunate he had not been
overwhelmingly outnumbered. It made him ill to think of what might happened if
there had been but a few more outlaws, all intent on killing him and stealing
his ward. Although bandits were quite common to the roads of England, he was
still unnerved by the incident.

     The urge to reach Ripley was greater than
before. Spurring his steed into a canter, his grip on Remington tightened.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

     Sweet, sweet Yorkshire! After passing
through the sheep town of Leeds, Guy was gleeful to finally be entering the
providence of his birth. Even if he was at least a day from home, he was still
drawing close and that fact boosted him considerably.

     He'd had the rest of the night and the most
of the next day to think of the knight who captured his wife. Having no idea
who the man was or where he went, there was truly no way to follow him.
Moreover, the closer Guy drew to Yorkshire, the more eager he was to reach
abandoned Mt. Holyoak.

     Guy spent half the night determining how he
would gain the necessary men simply to defend the place. He was sure his
loyalist allies would provide him with ample manpower until such time as he could
raise his own army, but the fact that de Russe was no doubt close on his heels
worried him. With the size of Gaston's army, Mt. Holyoak could possibly fall
under siege. With no army of her own to defend herself, it would simply be a
matter of time before she was breached.

     He forgot more and more about Remington and
focused on his keep and immediate future. After all, de Russe would assume that
Guy would take Remington to Mt. Holyoak. Guy was still bound for his fortress,
but now without the considerable addition of his wife.

     Guy without Remington would not be worth
the air he breathed. Unless, of course, he lied and told de Russe that
Remington was indeed with him, but forbade any contact between his wife and the
Dark Knight. That would keep de Russe guessing, desperate for a glimpse of his
beloved and making it easier to keep the powerful duke at bay.

     Or…. Guy could steer clear of Mt. Holyoak
and retreat to one of his many allies in Yorkshire. That would throw de Russe
off and keep him guessing all the more. Mayhap after enough guessing, he would
eventually give up and return to London. That in turn would leave Guy free to
move about, free to occupy his keep, and free to search out his wife.
Eventually. But Remington was not the greater priority at the moment.

     An insane, evil man with insane, evil
thought patterns. Guy had no true rhyme or reason for doing what he was doing,
other than in the end, he simply wanted to be free to live out his life at Mt.
Holyoak. All the rest was purely because he liked torturing de Russe and
Remington. And because he was an escaped criminal, the two were also the key to
keeping Henry managed.

     Once, during the first months of his
captivity, he had entertained the thought of a rebellion against Henry.
Carefully worded missives were sent between he and his allies that indicated
such an uprising would be substantial, but from what Guy had seen and heard
during his incarceration, it would not have been successful. There were too
many powerful people supporting Henry.

     Guy had had enough of war, to be truthful.
A selfish man, his attention had turned from rebellion to merely regaining his
keep. He wondered if talk of rebellion still filled the Yorkshire circles, but
he did not care anymore. He simply wanted to return home.

     Dane had no meaning in his life. Neither
did his young cousin, Charles. And he had long forgotten about his wife's
sisters. He had a new future ahead of him, and he faced it with eager
anticipation.

     It took him nearly the entire day to reach
Wakefield, just south of Leeds. Another five or six hours would have him at Mt.
Holyoak, depending on how well his horse withstood the vigorous pace. So far,
the animal had done very well and Guy was confident he could reach his keep
before the next morn.

     He had long since dumped the papal tunic
and pieces of too large plate armor. Lightened, he drove the destrier onward.

     Just north of Leeds he stopped to water and
rest the animal. Under normal circumstance, he would not have cared if the
horse had fallen and died under him, but he had to rely on this particular
steed if he was going to make it to his destination. Aye, he would ride to Mt.
Holyoak first, just to see his beloved fortress for himself. But after that, he
was torn between riding for Knaresborough Castle or Summerbridge Castle. Both
housed valuable opposition allies, men he had been in contact with since his
imprisonment.

     Certainly Keith Botmore was closer, but
Douglass Archibald of Summerbridge was more of an ally. Botmore was only
interested in Remington, Guy thought, but an ally nonetheless. Trying to decide
between the two seemed to occupy him for the moment.

     Guy was preparing to mount again when there
was a commotion of riders on the road. Out in the dead of night, he knew they
were either robbers or cutthroats. As he scrambled into the saddle, one of the
men shouted at him to hold.

     He was outnumbered and his horse was
exhausted as it was. Anymore hard running on the animal's part and he would
find himself walking the rest of the way. Confident he could talk his way out
of any situation, he did as he was bade.

     The riders swarmed around him, swallowing
him up. Guy remained impassive, controlling the fear that sweated him. One of
the knights rode alongside and scrutinized him.

     “Identify yourself.”

     A poor knight, riding north in search of a
fortune,” Guy lied humbly.

     Another knight rode alongside, studying him
intently. Guy tried to avert his gaze, yet his natural reaction was to meet the
open stare. After a moment, the knight spoke.

     “Remove your helm.”

     Guy's first thought was that he had run
into a hoard of Gaston's men. Knowing it would be useless to refuse, he did as
he was commanded.

     “Stoneley.” One of the men gasped.

     There was no use in pretending otherwise.
Eyes hard, Guy lifted his gaze to silently challenge all men present. “Who do
you serve? De Russe?”

     One of the knights shook his head. “Nay, my
lord. We're Lord Lowrie’s men.”

     “Of Harewood House?” Stoneley felt his
whole body run hot and cold with relief. He knew Baron Lowrie well. “What are
you doing so far from home?”

     “'Tis the old feud, my lord,” the knight
replied. “The skirmish between Harewood and Bramham has been going on for as
long as anyone can remember. Earlier this eve, one of Bramham’s men slipped
into Harewood and stole off with Lowrie's youngest daughter. Thirteen, she is.
We have already burned half of Bramham, but she's not there. Lowrie's frantic.”

     The man had five daughters. How could he
worry so over one? But Guy nodded, greatly relieved that he was not the subject
of the search. He was very eager to be on his way.

     “Ye have not seen anyone, have ye, my
lord?” the other knight asked hopefully.

     “Not a thing,” Guy replied honestly. “Well,
good men, I must be on my way.”

     “Say, we heard ye were locked up in the
White Tower after Stokes,” the same knight mentioned. “I see the Tudor released
ye?”

     Guy gazed at the man a moment, seeing the
possibilities of useful information. “So it would seem. How goes all in
Yorkshire during my absence?”

     “The same,” the other knight replied.
Botmore, Brimley, Ingilsby, and Tarrington; all the same. Except for Botmore,
of course. He hasn't been the same since the Dark Knight killed his son.”

     “Killed Derek?” Guy repeated, surprised.
“How did that happen?”

     “We heard Derek was raiding Mt. Holyoak,”
the knight replied confidently. “Sir Gaston de Russe killed him for
trespassing.”

     Guy lifted an eyebrow in thought. “Is that
so? Fortunate that he has vacated the keep, which I have returned to claim.”

     “He has not vacated it entirely,” the
knight shook his head. “He keeps about a hundred men stationed there. Brimley
oversees the fortress while the Dark Knight is in London,” he peered closely at
Guy.  “Did the Tudor not tell you this when he released you?”

     Guy did not know what to say for the moment.
But he rebounded instantly. “Of course he did. I plan to stay at...
Knaresborough until de Russe evacuates his men from my keep,” he gathered his
reins hastily, eager to be gone. “Allow me passage, good men.” They parted for
him, watching as the weary brown destrier pounded down the road once more. He
was well out of range when the first knight turned to the second.

     “I never thought I'd see him again,” he
mumbled.

     “The man stenches of the devil,” the second
said. “Lowrie told tale of what he did to his wife. Say, I heard she left with
the Dark One as his concubine. I heard the sisters were all killed.”

     The first knight shrugged. “Who knows?
Mayhap they are all rumors and lies. Mayhap he isn't as bad as everyone says.”