The Dark One: Dark Knight (16 page)

     “Damn,” he muttered, pushing himself off
the tree.  “Where’s Antonius?”

     Arik looked about weakly. “I do not know,”
he replied.  “But look; Nicolas and Rory are standing within a few feet of each
other and have yet to raise their voices.  Amazing.”

     “Not really when you consider they spent
the night together.” Gaston was concerned regarding the whereabouts of his
knight and the lady.  “I guessed they would either kill each other or emerge on
pleasant terms.  I am pleased it was the latter.”

     Gaston wandered out from underneath the
tree, his trained eyes roving the little dell they were in.  Much to his
relief, he saw Antonius and Jasmine sitting under a tree on the crest of a
small rise not too far away and he scratched his head, irritated with himself
for jumping to conclusions.

     But truth was, he did not care what his men
did on their own time.  He was not a meddler; the fact of the matter was he did
not want Remington to be angry with him should something unfavorable happen to
her sister.

     With a disgusted shake of his head, he
turned back for Arik and the tree, wondering what other food was in the basket.

     Remington suddenly let out a loud scream
and he whirled, his body instinctively preparing for battle when he saw that
she had gotten too close to the edge of the lake and Charles had pulled her
in.  He relaxed, smiling faintly as he watched her sputter and attempt to climb
out of the lake.  With every step she took, her young cousin would pull her
further out into the water.  Dane yelled happily in his cousin’s favor.

     Remington was up to her waist when she
grabbed hold of Charles’ fair head and dunked him under the water.  He came up,
sputtering and grabbed her before she could escape.  Remington found herself
completely submerged by her cousin and son, but not before Rory and Skye jumped
in to the rescue.  Within seconds, the water was churning with a good-natured
family brawl.

     “You are smiling again,” Arik stood next to
Gaston, watching the goings-on.

     Gaston made sure his smile vanished;
truthfully, he had not realized he was grinning.  He disregarded Arik’s
presence and walked to the edge of the lake, watching Remington and Rory
obliterate Charles.  He was a strong young lad but no match against the two of
them.  Skye was hauling Dane from the water just as Charles conceded defeat. 

     “Mercy, Mercy, I beg you,” he pleaded.

     Rory dunked his head under once more and
quickly pulled him back up.  “Swear on the Bible that Remington and I are the
most powerful and cleverest women in the realm.  Swear it.”

     “I do.” Charles declared in mock fear. 
“You are the most powerful, brutal wenches in all of England.”

     “And because we are so powerful, we are
also infinitely merciful and we shall spare you any further drowning,”
Remington said, sloshing into the shallow water.  Her dress was clinging to her
like the skin of a grape; drawing looks of distinct interest from Patrick and
Arik.

     Gaston saw the looks and was seized with a
tremendous sense of possessiveness.  The woman wasn’t his in the least but he
was swept with the urge to cover her from lustful eyes, including his own.  He
absolutely agreed with his knights’ silent opinions.

     He went back to the tree and snatched up
the blanket that lay upon the ground.  Remington had emerged from the lake like
Venus, pulling at her wet surcoat and laughing with her sisters when he came up
upon her and threw the blanket around her body.

     “What…what are you doing?” she asked as he
wrapped her tighter than a babe in swaddling.

     “You shall catch a chill,” he mumbled.

     “In this heat?” she shook her head.

     He wasn’t listening to her.  He turned to
his men.  “Mount up.  We return.”

     The gaiety of the mood was quickly dulled
by his abrupt manner and sharp orders.  Remington watched, puzzled, as his
knights did as they were told.  Patrick even took Rory with him, mounting her
wet body behind his and smiling at her when she mumbled something in his ear.

     Skye, Charles and Dane were already
trekking up the small incline away from the lake, turning to the path that led
back to Mt. Holyoak.  Nicolas, on his huge charger, rode several paces behind
them.  Antonius did not mount his destrier as ordered; instead, he and Jasmine
began to walk back to the keep at a leisurely pace.  It would seem the party
was over.

     Remington was irritated.  Why did he
disband their picnic so abruptly?  His manner was curt and harsh and she
received a sharp impression that the Dark Knight had somehow returned, but she
had no idea why.

     He was fumbling with his destrier several
feet away and she tossed the blanket off, folding it carefully.  He did not
acknowledge her in any way as she put the blanket over her arm and waited
politely for him.  After a minute or so, she began to feel distinctly ignored
and she was shocked to realize she was actually hurt.  What had she done to
make his attitude change so quickly?  Moreover, why should she care about his
attitude toward her?  Had the man lulled her into a false sense of security by
being kind to her, kind enough so that she would reveal her darkest secrets,
and now he was bored with her?

     Hot humiliation shot through her.  Damn
him.  Well, she would not be treated like the day’s entertainment, forgotten
after the newness had passed.  Quickly, she turned and began to walk back
toward Mt. Holyoak alone.

     She had just entered the trees when he rode
up beside her.

     “Do not you want to ride?  It’s terribly
hot to walk,” he commented.

     “No, thank you, my lord,” she said stiffly,
wishing he would go away.

     The dress was drying but it still clung to
her skin, and his eyes roved over the delicious curve of her delicate
shoulders.  With the horse still moving, he dismounted with the ease of a
gymnast and resumed walking beside her.  He felt her irritation but had no idea
why she was annoyed.

     They walked in silence the entire way
back.  Remington refused to look at him or even acknowledge his presence.  The
trekked up the road to the keep and were about to cross the bridge when he
stopped her.

     “Nay,” he said quietly.  “Wait a moment.”

     She looked up at him, annoyed all over
again, when she saw he was looking into the outer bailey.   The soldiers were
lined up, waiting for the next wet woman to run the gauntlet.  Between Rory and
Skye, they had quite a show and they waited with anticipation for the grandest
lady of all to see if she, too, was wet.  It was the best entertainment they
had seen in a long while.

     Gaston’s jaw ticked as he took the blanket
from Remington’s arm and wrapped her gently in it, his eyes never leaving the
soldiers.

     “Wait here a moment,” he said, his voice
low.

     Curious, Remington did as she was asked and
watched him cross the drawbridge with loud, deliberate steps.  By the time he
was over the bridge and passing under the portcullis, the men saw him coming
and were scrambling to disband.

     Gaston stopped as soon as he passed under
the archway, his hands on his great hips.  Remington couldn’t see his face, but
she could see the soldiers scattering as if the devil had just appeared and
demanded their souls.

     It was truly astonishing; he had not said a
word yet hundreds of soldiers had leapt to do his bidding in a panicked rush. 
Remington was stunned at what had happened, watching him with wide-open eyes as
he returned to her.

     “What…what happened?” she asked.

     “Nothing,” he replied, taking her arm
underneath the blanket. 

     Perplexed, she allowed him to lead her
across the drawbridge and into a now-vacated bailey.

***

     Dinner was a festive occasion that night. 
A band of traveling minstrels had sought shelter for the night and began
providing music and dancing at an early hour.  The knights entered the hall
listening to the music, pleased with the welcome addition to their meal.

     Remington and her sisters did not eat with
the men, as had become custom ever since their arrival.  Instead they stood
back in the shadows and made sure no man wanted for anything.  The servants
were very busy with the room full of knights and the roast pork was a huge
success.   Remington had specifically ordered two fat pigs killed because she
thought Gaston might be sick of mutton. 

     She watched him from her perch in the
corner, studying his profile.  If she were forced to admit it, she would have
confessed the man to be incredibly handsome.  There was a tremendous sensuality
to him, as well, something that made her go weak every time he looked at her,
but she had no idea that it was his sex appeal that made her limp.  She thought
it was her healthy fear of the man and his reputation.

     But she did not think of men in terms of
handsome.  They were simply men, a necessary evil.

     The minstrels were a lively group of six
older men, very accomplished at their art.  They were traveling to Raby Castle,
just east of Durham, for the Earl of Hamsterley’s birthday celebration at the
earl’s request.  As the meal progressed, they sang and performed several bawdy
skits, much to the delight of the knights.

     Remington ignored the ribald jokes as she
perused the room, making sure all was running smoothly.  At one point, however,
she drew the attention of the loudest minstrel of all and he made a dash for
her.

     “Ah.” he exclaimed loudly.  “The most
beautiful serving wench in all the land.”

     Remington saw him coming and tried to
escape him, but he happily captured her arm and pulled her towards the center
of the room.

     “Look what I have captured.” he crowed with
delight.  “The goddess Aphrodite in the flesh.”

     The knights were well into their wine and
began chanting “flesh, flesh.” and banging their tankards against the table.

     The minstrel wasn’t trying to be
deliberately cruel or embarrassing, merely lively.  But Remington was mortified
at the attention.

     “She is lovely, is she not?” he asked gaily
and was greeted by a roar of approval.  He then turned to Remington.  “Can you
dance, lass?  Dance with me.”

     Remington was having a terrible attack of
nerves.  She shook her head firmly and tried to pull away from him, but he held
her tight.  Yet her mortification was of good-humored sort; she wasn’t truly
panicked.  But she wished terribly that the man would let her go.

     “Aye, you can.” the minstrel encouraged her
loudly, supported by the cheers from the knights.  “Dance with me.”

     She was a bright shade of red, even more so
when the minstrel handed his mandolin to his comrade and took her in his arms. 
She stiffened; her panic was quickly becoming real at the closeness of his
body.

     “I do not want to dance,” she begged in a
whisper.  “Please let me go.”

     Again, the man was not trying to be cruel. 
He smiled encouragingly at her.  “Just once around the floor, lass, and I shall
leave you be.  I promise.”

     She did not want to do it; she did not want
to be held close to him.  Visions of drunken Guy popped into her head,
demanding the same thing of her. 
Dance with me,
he would slur. 
But
take your surcoat off first so that I might feel your nakedness.

     She was on the verge of panic, the verge of
tears as the minstrel tried to pull her stiff body into a comfortable
position.  But suddenly there was a massive body next to them, as tall as he
was wide, and the minstrel’s arms were removed.

     Gaston was between them, facing the
musician.  “Lady Stoneley does not wish to dance, artisan.  Choose another.”

     The minstrel shrugged good-naturedly and
spied another woman who would do just as well.  Gaston took Remington by the
arm and quickly escorted her to the edges of the room.

     He could feel her shaking terribly in his
grip as he leaned her against the wall.  His eyes were gentle.

     “He meant no harm,” he said quietly.  “Are
you very well?”

     She nodded, trying desperately to get a
grip on herself.  “Fine, my lord.  Thank you for intervening.”

     “My pleasure,” he said softly.

     He moved back to his men, resuming his seat
and leaving Remington alone to calm her breathing.  She was so embarrassed and
shaken that all she wanted to do was throw up and cry, in that order.  But she
would not allow her emotions to grip her so completely, and she forced herself
to re-focus on her duties in the hall.

     The rest of the evening was pleasant and
uneventful.  She knew how badly Dane and Charles wanted to attend the meal with
the knights, but she would not allow them to mingle with the warriors.  She was
terrified that the young boys would be in danger around the drinking, hardened
men and she had no desire to see them hurt.  As much as they hated it, she
confined them to their rooms but she was convinced it was for the best. 
Besides, as male relatives to a prisoner of the crown, she felt them to be
particularly vulnerable in the presence of the Dark Knight and his men.