The Dark One: Dark Knight (17 page)

     She was fully aware of Gaston’s vows to
protect her and her son, yet she did not trust him.  It wasn’t him personally,
but simply more her nature.  She did not trust any man’s word, no matter who it
was.  Besides; the Dark Knight had betrayed his king to fight with the
usurper.  Mayhap the man’s word was as rotten as a corpse.

     He confused her tremendously.  His
reputation was sinister, yet the man she had grown to know over the past few
days was anything but.  True, he could strike fear into the heart of men with a
mere look, but he had been nothing but gentle and chivalrous to her.  The
paradox was enough to keep her awake nights.

CHAPTER SEVEN

     The next day dawned bright and hot as
expected.  The stonemasons were at work early on the troop house and Remington
awoke to sounds of labor in the bailey.

     She lay in bed a moment, slowly awakening,
realizing that she had slept well and her mood was already light.  It had been
a long time since she had woken up thinking forward to the day ahead with
pleasure.

     She took a quick bath with scented water,
drying herself vigorously and brushing her hair until it crackled.  Donning a
fresh surcoat of pale green satin, short sleeve and with a square neck embroidered
in gold, she moved to Dane’s room to awaken her son.

     But Dane was already awake.  In fact, he
was gone and Remington was pleased that her son was so industrious this day as
to rise before her and see to his small chores.  With that in mind, Remington
bustled on her way with a whistle on her lips.

     The day was looking brighter already.

     Dane was up, very well.  He had been up
before the sun rose and had proceeded to the lake to catch fish.  He loved to
catch fish, for no other reason that he felt a sense of accomplishment.  Armed
with a small pole Oleg had helped him fashion, he had already caught two fish
when he was joined by another prospective fisherman.

     Gaston crouched down next to him, silently
watching the surface of the water.  The bugs were rampant in the humidity,
swarming atop the water.  He peered into Dane’s bucket.

     “Two fish already,” he remarked. 
“Excellent.  By noon you should have caught enough fish to feed my entire
army.”

     Dane grinned.  “There aren’t that many fish
in this lake.”

     Gaston lifted his eyebrows.  “Oh, I would
not say that.  ‘Tis a big lake.”

     Dane glanced at him shyly before returning
to his task.  Gaston watched the boy a moment, thinking of his own son whom he
had not seen in a year.

     He had seen Dane leaving the fortress at
sunrise, heading for the lake.  Curious, he had watched the boy for some time
from the top of the tower, the little dot next to a pool of blue. His own heart
ached for the simple things in life, the things he had never enjoyed because of
his profession.  True, he had fished as a boy, but his life was dedicated to
his training.  Always his training.

     His whole life had been dedicated to kings
and battles.  He’d never longed for anything else because he enjoyed his work. 
Yet ever since he arrived at Mt. Holyoak, he had experienced a strange sense of
emptiness, as if there were more to life than war and politics.  Being a
soldier most of his life, he had no idea what ‘more’ might be.

     Seeing Dane retreating to the peace of the
lake under the rising sun gave him his very first inkling that, mayhap, he was
not as content as he had originally thought.

     “Do you come here often?” he asked the boy.

     Dane nodded.  “Almost every day in the
summer.  In the winter it is too cold, and the fish do not bite.”

     Gaston nodded in understanding.  “By God, I
cannot remember the last time I fished.  I must have been a lad, just a bit
older than you.”

     “Did you fish with your father?” Dane
asked.

     Gaston drew in a thoughtful breath.  “Nay,
I cannot remember ever fishing with my father.  He was a very busy man.”

     “My father never fished with me, either,”
Dane said, playing with his line.  “He said it wasn’t a man’s sport.”

     Gaston sat down on the grass, resting his
arm on his bent knee.  “I would not agree with that.”

     Dane was pleased to hear that.  He sat
silently for a few moments, a thousand thoughts running about his busy head. 
“How did you get to be so big?”

     Gaston grinned in a rare gesture.  “I was
born tall, I suppose.  But I built my strength through years of practice and
training.”

     Dane turned to look at him with wide-eyed
innocence.  “You are as wide as a door.  Do you eat a lot, too?”

     He shrugged.  “I eat enough.”

     Dane was still watching him intently,
gazing at legs bigger than he was.  “Why do they call you the Dark Knight?”

     Gaston’s smile faded as he plucked a piece
of grass.  “Because I always dress in black, I would guess.  Mayhap I remind
them of death.  People will call you what they will and there is naught you can
do about their whims.”

     “I heard some of our men-of-arms say that
you were the devil’s friend,” Dane said.  “Are you?”

     Gaston’s brow furrowed.  “Hardly, Dane.  Do
not believe everything you hear.  Make your own judgments, lad.”

     Dane absorbed his words, turning back to
his fishing.  His thoughts were coming faster than his mouth could express
them, typical for a seven-year-old boy.

     “I am glad you are staying here,” he said
after a moment.

     “Will you leave when my father returns?”

     Gaston thought on his careful reply.  “Your
father is a prisoner, Dane.  Do you know what that means?”

     Dane nodded solemnly.  “He’s in jail.”

     “Correct, he is,” Gaston said.  “And as
long as Henry is our king, I do not believe that your father will ever return. 
Does this distress you?”

     Dane pursed his lips in thought.  “My
father wasn’t very nice.  I like you better.  Will you stay here forever,
then?”

     Gaston gazed at the impish face, at
Remington’s eyes.  “I would like to, yes.”

     “But what about me and my mother?  Will you
let us stay here with you?” he asked.

     “If you would like to, I would be happy to
have you stay,” Gaston said evenly. 
I would like you to be mine.

     Dane’s brows drew together distressfully as
he watched his line bob over the water.  The more he stared, the more disturbed
he became.  Gaston tossed aside the blade of grass he was toying with and sat
up.

     “What’s the matter?  Why do you look like
that?” he asked.

     Dane eyed Gaston hesitantly.  “I…I wish you
were my father.  Am I bad for thinking that?”

     Gaston’s heart went out to the little boy. 
He reached out a hand and put it on the sandy head, covering it completely. 
“Nay, lad, you are not bad.  And I am flattered.”

     “But you already have a son,” Dane said
sadly.

     Gaston tousled his hair.  “A man can never
have too many sons.  I shall tell you what; we can pretend, can’t we?  You can
pretend that I am your father, and I shall pretend that you are my son.  It
will be our secret.  Very well?”

     “A knight’s secret.” Dane said eagerly.

     “Exactly,” Gaston replied, standing up.  “A
secret between men.”

     Dane grinned openly at him.  “I won’t even
tell my mother.”

     “Good,” Gaston said with a sharp nod, his
ache for Trenton somehow eased.  “Now, I must be going.  Do not stay out here
too much longer; it is already growing grossly hot.”

     “I won’t,” Dane promised.

     Gaston gave the lad a wink and trudged off
across the grass, back toward the keep.  Dane watched him go, complete
adoration shining in his young eyes.

     The fatherless boy and the boy less father
had a secret.

***

     Remington met Gaston in the outer bailey. 
His heart jumped at the sight of her in the pale green surcoat, showing off her
marvelous figure.  By God, if she wasn’t a lovely sight.  But her beautiful
face was creased with distress.

     “Have you seen Dane?” she asked.  “No one
seems to know where he is and….”

     He put up a hand.  “He is down at the lake,
fishing.  I have just come from him.”

     She visibly relaxed.  “Thank God.  I was
about to launch a search party.”

     “No need, madam,” he took her arm gently
and began to walk with her back toward the castle.  “He likes to fish, does not
he?”

     “And why not?” she craned her neck to look
at him.  “It’s peaceful and serene, away from the chaos and horrors of Mt.
Holyoak.  It is his escape and I encourage it.”

     Gaston was acutely aware of the stares from
his soldiers around them and he felt himself bristle, but maintained his
outward calm.  “I will have Arik make him a better pole.  The man is a master
craftsman.”

     She smiled.  “That would be sweet.  His
birthday is coming in August, you know.  It would be a wonderful present.”

     “Done, then,” Gaston said, wanting to get
her inside and away from lustful stares.  Arik’s words suddenly rang true; what
would happen to her if there were indeed a thousand soldiers lusting after her
every move?  Gaston could see a bloodbath coming, for he knew he would protect
her at all costs.  But the thought of sending her away tore at him.

     “Did you enjoy the pork last night?”
Remington broke into his thoughts.  “I thought you might enjoy the change.”

     He glanced at her with a half-smile.  “I
did indeed.  You are highly perceptive.”

     “I am glad,” she said, and then chuckled. 
“Because the cook informed me this morning that we have nearly three hundred
pounds of pork left that must be eaten within the next day or it will go bad. 
I hope you like pork a great deal.”

     He snorted, amused.  “Look around you,
Remi.  I have six hundred soldiers that will guarantee the pork will be eaten.”

     “You should see the kitchen.” Remington
explained softly, smiling.  “There is so much pork it looks as if a pig
exploded.”

     His grip on her elbow tightened as he
chuckled.  “As long as it does not smell like a sty, I will tolerate a pig
explosion.  But next time, let’s only slaughter one pig, shall we?”

     She shrugged.  “I thought your men would
eat more than they did.  Their appetites were disappointing.”

     “’Tis not unusual in this heat,” he
remarked, casting her a glance.  “I did not see you eat.  In fact, you have yet
to dine with my knights and me.  Why is that?”

     She met his gaze.  “Because I thought you
would prefer the company of your men, my lord.  I am content to make sure your
meals run smoothly.”

     They paused at the doorway to the castle,
looking at each other.  Gaston scratched his chin thoughtfully. 

     “You will dine with us tonight, Lady
Remington,” he said.  “You and your son.  Let the servants take care of the
running of the meal.”

     Remington smiled slowly.  “Is that an order
or a request?” 

     He cocked an imperious eyebrow.  “Take it
as you wish.  Only I expect to see you by my side tonight.”

     Her smile broadened, her dimples deepening
and his heart fluttered against his ribs.  “’Twould be an honor, my lord.”

     He held her eyes a moment, his smoky eyes
openly caressing her.  She was so unlike any woman he had ever met, but he
hastened to change the subject.  The mood was growing far too warm and making
him vastly uncomfortable.  Uncomfortable because he had never before had
feelings of this magnitude.

     “Where is your husband’s cousin?” he
asked.  “I have hardly seen the boy.”

     Remington pointed to the only tower on the
castle of Mt. Holyoak, a massive cylinder six stories high.  “He keeps a room
in the tower, my lord, where he likes to experiment.  He spends most of his
days up there.”

     “Experiment?  With what?” Gaston strained
his eyes against the bright sun.

     “As you have seen, my husband is an avid
reader and has collected quite a bit of material, including Arabic treatises
that delve into alchemy and other sciences,” she folded her white hands in
front of her, gazing into his face with a look that made him sweat.  “Charles
is highly intelligent and he likes to experiment with the recipes in the
books.”

     He wondered if she knew how much her eyes
affected him.  “Has he discovered anything useful?”

     She smiled and shook her head.  “Not yet. 
But he will, I am sure.”