The Dark One: Dark Knight (19 page)

     Remington did not realize she was holding
Gaston’s hand, although he had never been more acutely aware of anything in his
life.  “As much as I appreciate your concern, I am quite content to remain here
at Mt. Holyoak,” she said.  “However, Rory is another matter.  She is most
distressed with recent events and has been difficult to deal with.  Mayhap you
could take Rory back to Crayke Castle for a time, at least until she gathers
her wits.”

     Gaston groaned inwardly; the sweet,
innocent expression was indeed a façade.  She had succeeded in throwing him off
his guard and now was publicly saving Rory from his wrath.  By sending her off
with Brimley, she would escape his punishment.  God damn, if she wasn’t a
clever opportunist.

     “Just Rory?  How are Jasmine and Skye
faring?” Brimley wanted to know.

     “Well, my lord, well,” Remington said.  In
other words, they were not in trouble with the Dark Knight.  “I believe Rory is
the only one in need of change.”

     Gaston’s fingers drummed on the table as he
listened to her, sly little wench.  He realized she was caressing his hand with
her fingers and he was torn between relishing the feel of her and wanting to
take her over his knee.

     Brimley looked somewhat pleased. “Very
well, then. If it’s very well with Sir Gaston, we will be taking Rory when we
leave.”

     Remington gave Gaston her most radiant
smile, pressing her other hand into his large palm.  “My lord?”

     He rolled his eyes to her in a knowing
gesture.  He
knew
exactly what she was up to and he wanted her to know
it, too.  A black eyebrow lifted slowly like a great raven’s wing.

     “If she chooses to, she may go,” he said
with veiled irritation.

     Remington squeezed his great hand quickly
and let it go.  “Thank you, my Lord.  I shall find her to deliver the news.”

     Gaston passed a glance at Arik as Remington
bounded from the room.  Arik gave him such a knowing gaze that he tore his eyes
away.  If Arik was unaware of Gaston’s tender feelings toward Remington, he was
fully alerted now and Gaston cursed himself for being so careless.

     For the fact that Gaston was showing human
emotion had Arik beyond surprise.  Overwhelmed was an apt term.  The man
allowed himself no feelings at all except for those beneficial to his cause,
emotions of anger and determination and triumph.  Never, ever had he seen the
man
gentle
.  The Dark Knight was not a title synonymous with gentleness.

     Disoriented, he tried to focus on the
meeting at hand.

     Gaston did not mince words.  He told them
of his mission, to keep the peace in a land filled with Yorkist sympathizers
and to maintain his seat.  It was no longer Guy Stoneley’s fortress.  It now
belonged to the Dark Knight, and he fully intended to use its power should the
need arise. 

     Brimley absorbed the information, not
surprised.  The afternoon passed as Gaston had hoped, calm and informative. 
But Brimley was frank; every baron and feudal knight in Yorkshire and the
surrounding shires were loyal to Richard and Anne.  It was not a boast, merely
a statement of fact, and Lord Brimley furthermore ventured that Gaston was
going to have his hands full of rebels for some time to come.  And then the key
question came. 

     “To whom do you swear your loyalty, my
lord?” Gaston asked. He appreciated the baron’s frankness, without anger.

     Brimley fixed him in the eye and Gaston knew
what he was going to say before the words came out.  “I am a Yorkist, sir.  I
shall always be a Yorkist.”

     “A Yorkist is no longer king,” Gaston said
evenly.  “It would be a waste of effort to be loyal to a dead man.”

     “We cannot change loyalties as easily as
you, my lord,” Walter said.  It was the first time the man had spoken.

     Gaston met his gaze steadily.  Walter
leaned forward, setting his goblet down.  “I have been sitting here for the
better part of the day listening to you act as if you have been loyal to Henry
your entire life when, in fact, you have been serving Yorkists for twelve years
or better.  Your cowardice doth disgust me, my lord, turning coat and betraying
your king.”

     Gaston had been grappling with this type of
attitude for some time now.  He knew what he had done, and he knew his
reasoning, and they were his reasons alone.

     “Suffice it to say that I do not regret
what I did,” he said.  “I am confident that Henry will be a most competent
king, something England has sorely lacked for the past three years.”

     Walter’s jaw ticked but he held his
temper.  “You are the Dark Knight.  You were Edward’s shining star, and
Richard’s most prized warrior.  All of England cowers at your feet, my lord.  I
do not understand how you could have betrayed those who made you what you are.”

     “They did not make me, my lord, and I am
not required to explain my actions to you,” Gaston replied, irritated that the
focus was shifting to him.  “The fact remains that I would like to have your
promise of fealty to Henry, and I would furthermore like your assurance that
there will be no more trouble from Crayke.  Might I have that oath on those
matters?”

     “Why should we swear loyalty to a traitor?”
Walter slammed his fist on the heavy table.  “You have betrayed your king, de
Russe.  How can you sit there and demand our fealty to a bastard with a tenuous
claim to the throne, at best?”

     Gaston’s gaze was exceedingly calm, his
eyes glittering like cold steel.  When he spoke, his voice was so low it was
almost seductive.  “I am the Dark One, am I not?”

     It was a direct question.  Walter faltered
a moment, puzzled.  “Aye, you are.”

     “And I furthermore did not achieve my
reputation by being a fool.  Does that stand to reason?”

     Again, Walter looked confused but nodded
just the same.  “Aye.”

     Brimley and Clive passed glances as Gaston
folded his hands deliberately, focused on Walter.  The air crackled with
uncertainty. 

     “Would you trust me with your life?” Gaston
asked again.

     Walter blinked.  He had no idea where this
conversation was leading and wondered if the Dark Knight had lost his mind. 
Yet as much he hated to admit it, he did indeed trust the man with his
impeccable reputation.

     “Aye,” Walter blinked slowly, with
resignation.  “I would trust you with my life.”

     Gaston sat forward, resting his folded
hands on the table.  When he met Walter’s gaze again, it was if he had reached
out and grabbed the man without actually touching him.

     “Then trust me when I tell you that Henry
is worthy to be our king,” he said quietly.  “I do not give my loyalty easily
nor lightly.  I do not act upon whim.  Know this to be true.”

     Walter swallowed, visibly impacted by his
words.  He met Gaston’s gaze for a moment longer before relaxing back into his
chair.  Contemplatively, he turned his gaze to his father.

     Brimley was looking back at Gaston.  The
silent moment ticked away as each man pondered his own thoughts until Brimley
stirred.

     “I can promise you no trouble from Crayke,
sir, but at this point I can promise you nothing more,” he said.  “We must have
time to sort our priorities on this matter.  You have given us much to think
on.”

     “I can ask for nothing more,” Gaston
replied.  “I would hope that you would speak with your allied barons on this
meeting and assure them of our intentions.  Peace will be met with peace, and
loyalty with sworn allegiance from the crown.  And the support of the Dark
Knight.”

     “And if there are those who would not know
peace?” Brimley asked, his white eyebrows rising.

     Gaston slanted the man a gaze that he was
famous for; it was likened by men who had seen it to Judgment Day. 

     “Then they shall die.”

     Brimley showed no fear.  He nodded faintly
and looked to his sons. “It would seem our visit is ended.”

     Clive and Walter rose, as did Gaston and
Arik.  Brimley faced Henry’s knight with a new respect.

     “In truth, Sir Gaston, I had no idea what
to expect this day,” he said.  “Your reputation paints you to be a mythical
beast of sorts.  I am surprised to see that you are a man of intelligence, not
simply a man of war.  We will speak again.”

     “I look forward to that time, my lord,”
Gaston answered.

     Brimley nodded curtly, knowing the meeting
was ended and anxious to return home.  He felt better exiting the meeting than
he had going in, and that was a positive factor in his mind.  He motioned to
his sons and they quit the solar in a small group.

     “Why did not you ask him to stay the
night?” Arik asked after the men had left.

     “It would have been too much, too soon,”
Gaston replied.  “They are terribly uncomfortable as it is and I am sure would
prefer the company of the stars to mine.  They already have camp set up in the
woods east of Mt. Holyoak.”

     “What about Rory?” Arik asked, his sly tone
unmistakable. 

     Gaston gazed coolly at him.  “What about
her?  We shall be rid of her if she goes to Crayke and thereby the problem will
be eliminated.”

     Arik shook his head.  “But you were going
to punish her.  Since when do you go back on your word?”

     He was pushing and Gaston knew it.  “You
are not a clever man, Arik.  Do not try to probe me innocently, for you shall
fail.  Now I must make sure our guests get off safely.”

     Arik shut his mouth, although he was
thinking a great many things.  But he knew better than anyone not to voice his
opinions.

***

     Trouble was, Rory did not want to go. 
Remington found her with Charles as they experimented with secret potions and
powder and Rory balked at the suggestion.  She insisted staunchly that she had
not put the eggs in Nicolas’ helmet and refused to take the blame.

     Remington pleaded, yelled and threatened
her sister in an attempt to convince her to leave with Lord Brimley.  Rory
ranted and threatened to return.  She had not done the dastardly deed and she
would not leave simply to escape the wrath of the Dark Knight.

     Remington was flustered and angry at her
sisters’ stubborn nature.  She was trying to save the willful girl’s hide.  It
never occurred to her that Rory did not want to leave for an entirely different
reason, and its name was Patrick.

     Dane joined them later, chewing on a hunk
of warm bread and excited about the fish he had caught.  But one look at the
experiments Charles and Rory were performing made him forget about his
insignificant fish and begged to help.

     Remington was forgotten, as was Lord
Brimley.  With a resigned sigh, she perched herself on a stool and watched the
mysterious research without enthusiasm.

     She fully expected Gaston to ream her for
her shrewd actions.  She saw an opportunity and chose to make the best of it,
pleased with her cleverness, yet Rory was refusing to cooperate.  She was
afraid, but not completely terrified.  Anything Gaston did to her could not be
as bad as what Guy planned for her daily.

     The sun had set by the time Lord Brimley
took his leave of Mt. Holyoak and Oleg ordered up the evening meal of, what
else, pork.  The cook spiced it up with cloves and nutmeg and baked apples to
accompany it.

     Smells of cooking drifted on the warm
evening air, filling Gaston’s nose.  He was hungry for he had missed the
nooning meal and he found his attention focused on the faire ahead.  And he
fully remembered he had requested Remington’s company at dinner, wondering if
she would be conspicuously absent to avoid his anger.  Yet somehow, cowardice
did not suit her.  He could only imagine that she would face his wrath head-on.

     He was not disappointed.  The meal was
already well in hand when Remington appeared, clutching her son’s hand.  Gaston
couldn’t help but straighten in his seat at the sight of her; she was dressed
in a surcoat of wine satin, catching the light and making her rich hair appear
richer.  Dane was well groomed, as befitting a proper young man, his eyes alive
at the sight of so many knights.  It was the first time he had attended a
formal meal and he was enraptured. 

     She headed directly for him, her head held
high.  He rose as she approached, greeting her with a courteous bow. 

     “My lady,” he said, and then looked at
Dane.  “Master Stoneley, a pleasure.”

     “My mother said I could eat with you
tonight,” he said eagerly.

     “Indeed you shall,” Gaston indicated a
chair for Remington.  “Arik, seat our young friend.”

     Arik moved down a seat, allowing Dane to
sit next to him.  He smiled at the lad’s enthusiasm.

     Gaston helped Remington into her chair,
smelling the floral scent until he was dizzy with it.  Every time she moved,
every time she tossed her hair, he was assaulted anew and thought it a most
wonderful smell.