The Dark One: Dark Knight (2 page)

     Remington gazed back at him a moment;
hearing his words but not yet feeling the full impact. She was expecting to
hear that her husband was returning home; instead, she was hearing something
completely unexpected.  Her mind went to mud and she was having difficulty
understanding him.

     “The Dark Knight?” she repeated.  “Charles,
what are you saying?”

     Charles sighed with exasperation. He was
terrified and distraught and couldn’t understand why Remington wasn’t feeling
the same way.

“The Dark Knight,” he
insisted. “The man who single-handedly won the war for the House of Tudor.
Henry calls him the Dark One. ‘Tis said he is in league with the devil.” He
squeezed her arm. “You have heard of him, Remi. Guy mentioned him to you in his
missives.”

     Remington gazed back at Charles
apprehensively, her eyes widening as realization dawned.  “de Russe?”

     “Aye,” Charles explained, relieved she was
beginning to see the gravity of the situation.  “Sir Gaston de Russe is coming
to Mt. Holyoak.”

     Remington’s mouth went agape with shock.  “My God,”
she breathed. “Why on earth would the man come here?”

     Charles shook his head, his exhaustion
draining his energy now that his news was delivered.  “I do not know.  But he
is coming.  What are we going to do?”

Remington had no idea
what to do. What could they possibly do?  Women, children, and old men up
against the Dark One? 
The Dark Knight!
 The man who betrayed Richard at
the end and fought for Henry Tudor instead, turning the tables at the Battle of
Bosworth, defeating the Duke of Gloucester.

     Fear swept her. De Russe would tear them
apart if they showed any resistance and well she knew it.

     “Did you confirm this information,
Charles?” she asked. “Did you seek out anyone of authority of ask?”

     Charles shook his head. “Nay, I did not.
The knights who gave me the information said they were in de Russe’s personal
guard. Do you know that de Russe has a personal knight corps of forty men?”

     Remington did not care about the Dark
Knight’s personal corp. She was still focused on Charles’ first answer. “Then
you did not verify the information? What if they were lying, Charles?  Mayhap
he is not coming at all.”

     Charles looked deeply hurt that she would
doubt his judgment. “They were powerful knights, Remi.  I believed what they
told me.  Do you not trust me?”

     She had not meant to offend him. “Of
course, Charles - ‘tis the knights I do not trust.  They might have been trying
to stimulate the young man’s imagination.  Is that not a possibility?”

     He shook his head slowly. “Nay, Remi, ‘twas
no falsehood they told me.  I would stake my life on it.”

     Remington stared at Charles a moment
longer. “Did they say when?”

     “They said that he is already riding from
London.” Charles wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. “Henry knows
the strategic power of Holyoak and is sending de Russe to control it.  Since we
sit in the heart of Yorkshire, what better place to maintain peace in an
enemy’s land?”    

     Remington did not know what to feel.  She
was wild with relief that her husband was not returning, yet she was filled
with terror on another matter altogether.  The Dark Knight was coming to Mt.
Holyoak. 

     She had to think this through.  Mayhap
there was something they could do, although she had no idea what it might be.
There was no fighting a man with the devil on his side.  Tearing herself away
from her train of thought, she turned to the old maid beside her.

     “Eudora, take Charles and feed him.  He is
exhausted,” she said, pulling Charles to the old woman.  “I shall speak with
you later, Charles, after you have rested.”

     Charles barely nodded as Skye followed him
and the serving woman inside.  Jasmine and Rory took hold of Dane, retreating
back into the castle, leaving Remington standing a bit bewildered in the middle
of the inner bailey.  Her gaze lingered on the innards of the massive
structure, her mind working furiously. 
What to do, what to do...?
 The
same answer filled her again and again -
there is nothing to do
.

     “Lady Stoneley?” Came an elderly voice.
“What are we to do about the Dark One’s arrival?”

     Remington turned around and realized that a
host of aged male faces were staring at her eagerly - men at arms twice, three
times her age, and old Oleg, the steward. She knew they were expecting answers
from her, answers she was unable to give.

     “Prepare for it,” she said evenly. 
“Prepare Mt. Holyoak as if my husband was returning.  I fear we have no choice
but to welcome Henry’s Dark Knight.”

     The men looked at each other, grunting with
agreement or disagreement, she could not be sure.

     “But he is the Dark Knight.” one of the
older men-at-arms wailed. “Traitorous bastard, he will surely kill us all. I
say we should flee for our lives before he arrives.”

     “Flee where, Henry?”  Remington said
softly, her gaze caressing Mt. Holyoak once more.  “We have nowhere to go.”

     “Surely you have heard stories of this
knight, my lady,” another soldier said solemnly.  “He’s spawned from the very
loins of Lucifer.  He shows no mercy, no compassion, and no emotion.  Some say
Edward had a sorcerer conjure him up.”

     “If he shows no mercy, nor compassion, nor
emotion, then it will be very much like my husband has returned,” Remington
said with bitterness.  “We will simply have to show him great respect and
obedience and pray he shows us some benevolence.  I know of naught else to do,
men; if any of you have suggestions, I am willing to listen.”

     The men looked to each other hesitantly,
waiting for someone brave enough to speak.  Yet it was painfully obvious that
no one was willing. Remington sighed, feeling their fear.

 “Be courageous, then,
and prepare the keep for his arrival,” she said. “I shall not have the Dark
Knight entering a shabby keep.”

     Disgruntled and bewildered, the men
disbanded to do as they were told.  Remington took old Oleg’s arm and together
they walked for the castle.

     “What are we to do, my lady?” Oleg asked. 
“Having the Dark One here will be far worse than Sir Guy.”

     Remington’s mouth tightened into a thin
line.  “Somehow I doubt that.  I have lived in hell for nine years, Oleg, and
cannot imagine this man will make my life any worse.”

     “You seem too willing to be complacent,”
Oleg commented.  “I know for a fact you have much more fight in you than you
are showing.”

     Remington shrugged.  “What good will it
do?  I could, conceivably, evacuate the castle.  But to where?  And for how
long?  Meanwhile, our people will starve and with winter approaching, they
would most likely freeze to death.  Nay, Oleg, I am convinced that there is no
use to run and hide.  We would escape right into our own deaths.”

     The old man bobbed his head in reluctant
agreement. “So we do nothing but prepare the keep for the man like a god
returned?”

     Remington paused at the entrance to the
keep, facing the frail old man who ran the castle so beautifully.  “I am afraid
so, Oleg,” she sighed. “I would not want to tweak the nose of the most feared
knight in all of England.”

     Oleg lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “I
fear for our future, my lady.  I have heard tales of this Dark One.  Some say
he is a stone statue come to night, only to be resurrected by the light of
dawn.”

     “Unless the man flies into the bailey with
the wings of a bat, I shall not give in to fear,” Remington smiled, trying to
alleviate the tension. “If he pulls a pitchfork from ‘neath his cloak, or
sprouts a speared tail, then I shall be a-feared. Otherwise, he is just a man
like all others.”

     Oleg shook his head with apprehension. “God
save us all.”

     Remington took his arm again. “We have much
to accomplish, you and I. ‘Tis best we get started.”

     “As you say, my lady,” Oleg mumbled as they
disappeared into the damp, cool innards of the castle.  “Your will shall be
done.”

     He did not sound as if he meant it.

CHAPTER TWO

     He wasn’t merely big; he was monstrous. He
wasn’t simply dark in color, but dark to the very bone.  Descended from the
Normans on his father’s side granted him that inheritance, but his mother was
Welsh and he bore the dark gray eyes of the Welsh.  To look at him was to look
into the darkness that was in every man.

     It did not help matters that he dressed
entirely in black. There was no other color as far as he was concerned.  Men
who wore colors were undeserving of male parts. He was disgusted with knights
who were intent on gaily decorating themselves in brilliant hues; they might as
well have turned in their spurs and donned a dress.  Even his banner, a massive
bird of prey clutching a lion in one claw and a mighty sword in the other, was
entirely in black, gray, and white. But that’s what Gaston’s life was - it was
either black, or it was white. There was no in between.

     Which was why he betrayed his king. Oh, he
knew well the implications of his actions.  But he had gone with his inner
senses and turned on a man who had killed his nephews to gain the throne, an
unscrupulous monster of a man who would stop at nothing to rule England. Gaston
had served his predecessor and brother, Edward IV, for many years.  When
Richard assumed the throne, by murder, Gaston had sworn fealty. He convinced
himself that family politics were none of his business and that he was only a
warrior.

Richard depended on the
man tremendously, and was expecting victory at the battle of Bosworth until
Gaston had had enough of the man and turned on him; he had convinced others to
turn on him, too. When Richard had threatened Gaston and a very close friend of
Gaston’s, Matthew Wellesbourne, it had been the last nail in the coffin. Tides
were turned and England was destined for a new king.

     He had been labeled a traitor, the very
worst of humankind to walk the earth. But Henry Tudor loved him and Gaston had
had his reasons for doing what he had done. There was no one to answer to but
himself, although his pride had taken a beating. Everyone knew of the Dark Knight,
the premier Knight of the Garter who had defended Edward and then Richard. But
when he brought about the fall of Richard, the term Dark Knight took on a whole
different meaning.

     The sky above was as dark as he was as he
rode north-northwest toward the mighty fortress that was Mt. Holyoak.  He had
heard tale that Guy Stoneley had built it with the particular desire to have
the most fortified, most impenetrable fortress in all of England and by many
accounts, he had succeeded.

     The fact of which pleased Gaston immensely.
Aye, he had a fortress already - Clearwell Castle sat near the Welsh Marches
north of Gloucester, nestled in the soft desolate hills. A hellish place, it
could be, bleak and cold most of the time, which is why he left his wife there.
 He hoped that mayhap she would become sick of the place that she would leave
him forever so he would be free of the bitch. He did not care where she went,
so long as she left their son.  He’d kill her with his bare hands if she took
Trenton away from him.

Henry had ordered Gaston
to secure Mt. Holyoak, and secure he would.  But he would also claim it as his
own and make his own life there, far from his wife.  He would send for Trenton
and together they would live in peace and happiness. At thirty-seven years, he
was coming to the point in his life where he was thinking on retiring from his
profession. After all, he had been a knight for seventeen years now and had
etched out an indelible reputation. There was no more need to put fear into the
hearts of England at the mere sound of his name; he had accomplished all that
he had set out to do.

     Gaston looked forward to retaining Mt.
Holyoak. If it even lived up to half of what he had heard, then it would indeed
be a pleasure to assume command. With Henry on the throne and the country more
or less calming, he would concentrate on training men for Henry’s royal army
and settling down to a life of relative non-violence, he hoped.  Henry expected
Gaston to maintain a tight hand in Yorkshire, and maintain he would.  He
sincerely hoped the Yorkists were intelligent enough not to try something
stupid, for he was weary of fighting.  A definite change for the Dark One.

     “How much longer?” the knight by his side
asked.