The Dark One: Dark Knight (20 page)

     He seated himself and resumed eating. 
Remington was served by a wench, politely digging into her food under the
intense gazes of her sisters.  Even Rory had entered the room behind her and
stood in the corner with the other two, whispering and staring.

     Nicolas had not noticed Rory yet; his back
was to her and he was buried in his meal.  Remington wished Rory would go away
until the storm blew over, but true to her nature, she would not hide.  She was
still angry at her sister for disobeying her wishes to go with Lord Brimley.

     She was entirely silent; so was he.  They
ate in silence, neither one looking at the other for the duration.  Dane,
however, kept up a running conversation.  He grilled Arik on the arts of war,
the skill of the bow, anything he could think of, but he was so refreshing that
the knight did not mind. He answered the young man’s questions politely.

     Somehow the conversation turned to
entertainment, singing and other skills well-bred nobles were supposed to be
well versed in.  Dane looked proudly at his mother.

     “My mother can play the flute.  Did you
know that?” he announced.

     Remington froze in mid-chew, choking down a
large bite as attention turned to her.  Dane smiled happily.  “She plays like
an angel.  Do you want to hear her?”

     Remington coughed.  “I do not think so,
Dane.  Not tonight.”

     “I think I would like to hear you,” Gaston
said quietly.

     Her eyes snapped to him.  “I…I really do
not want to, my lord.  I have not played in some time.”

     He studied her a moment.  “Later, then.  I
will insist upon it.”

     Her gaze was guarded, wary.  The minstrels
that had played the evening before were entertaining again, having stayed one
additional night by request of some of the knights.  They struck up their
instruments again, much to the delight of the men.

     Remington had eaten her fill and waved for
her trencher to be taken away.  Dane, next to her, continued to eat as much as
the men and was being a delightful conversationalist.  She thought it
surprising that he was actually enjoying himself; usually he was fairly reserved. 
But these giant men brought an excitement out in him and she could see that he
held absolutely no fear of them.  His admiration won out all over.

     Guy did not like conversation at meals,
which explained Dane’s quietness.  It was too easy to provoke his father and he
ate his meals in fear of being slapped.  But these knights, these men among
men, wanted to hear what he had to say and he was in boy-heaven.  He did so
want to be like them, like Sir Gaston.  Not his father.

     The minstrels sang and told jokes like they
did the night before and Remington sat back in her chair, listening to them yet
acutely aware of Gaston next to her.  She could see his massive hand out of the
corner of her eyes, gripping his cup.

     She stared at the back of his hand,
remembering that it had grasped her this afternoon with such gentleness for all
of its size.  And lord, was it big.  She was positive if he splayed his hand,
it would outstretch the perimeter of a trencher.  Gaston was by far the largest
man that had ever lived, in her opinion.  He was as wide as the doorframe and
just as tall.  It was difficult to comprehend such size, but for all of his
mass, his face was entirely handsome.

     Remington blinked; aye, he was handsome and
it was about time she realized it.  She had always known it, but she was not
ready to admit it to herself.  To think of him as handsome would open yet the
gate for other emotions she had never experienced yet was terrified to know. 
She had spent so many years masking her emotions that she was unwilling to
allow them to surface.

     She turned her head slightly and found
herself staring at his profile.  He was far more than handsome; he was sensual,
virile, and masculine.  Beautiful.  Could a man be beautiful?  She wondered.

     The minstrels struck up a slow ballad,
traditional and lovely.  A few of the more drunken knights grabbed the nearest
serving wench and drug them out into the center of the floor, breaking into an
elegant dance.

     Antonius rose, smiling at Remington as he
moved away from the table.  She thought to herself that he looked much like a
Roman god, sculpted and elegant.  It took her a moment to see that he had gone
directly to her sister and instantly the two of them were gliding across the
floor.

     Before Remington could react, Nicolas and
Patrick had the same idea and soon Rory and Skye were traipsing the stone as
well, swung giddy by their knights.

     “Mummy.” Dane tugged on her arm.  “Mummy.”

     She tore her eyes away from the scene and
looked at her son.  “What is it?”

     “Arik has a sword he says I can have.” Dane
was twitching with excitement.  “Can I see it?  Please?”

     She was torn.  He looked completely
delighted and she found it difficult to refuse him.  God only knew the boy had
had so little excitement out of life.

     Jasmine’s blue dress swung by and caught
her attention, for a second until Dane tugged on her again.

     “Very well, very well,” she agreed, looking
to Arik.  “Take good care of him, my lord.  He’s just a boy.”

     “Mummy.” Dane protested weakly.

     Arik smiled and put his hand on Dane’s
shoulder.  “Beg your pardon, my lady, but he is nearly a man grown.  However,
for your peace of mind, I shall watch him like a hawk.”

     Remington watched the two of them retreat
from the hall, leaving her alone with Gaston.  They had yet to say one word to
each other.

     The dance suddenly livened and the
delighted shrieks of the women filled the hall as they were swung about by
their partners.  Remington could see Jasmine laughing happily into Antonius’
arms and she felt her protectiveness turning into confusion.  Was Gaston
right?  Was she too overprotective?

     Nay. She told herself sharply.  She had to
protect her sisters from those who would do them harm, supposedly chivalrous
knights included.

     And Jasmine, somehow, most of all.  She was
the most vulnerable; the most bitter.  And she was the only sister to bear a
bastard from her sister’s husband.  The child was nearly two years old now and
living with a family in Boroughbridge.  It had almost killed her sister to give
up the blond-haired girl and Remington was sick every time she thought of
little Mary.

     She had to protect Jasmine.

     She suddenly stood up.  “’Tis time we
retire for the night, my lord.  Thank you for permitting my son and I to dine
with you.”

     He reached out and put a hand on her arm. 
“Sit down, Remi.”

     She turned to him sharply.  “I…we have had
a full day, my lord.  My sisters are tired.”

     “Nay, they are not,” he tugged on her arm
and she plopped back into the chair.  “They are enjoying themselves as you
should be.”

     She stumbled a bit, glancing nervously at
the dancers.  He sat forward in his chair, his great head by her shoulders. 
“You do not know how to enjoy yourself, do you?”

     She peered at him over her shoulder.  “You
are the one without a sense of humor, my lord.  Not I.”

     “Eggs in a knight’s helm is not humorous,”
he said flatly. 

     Her lips twitched.  “I disagree.”

     His gaze raked over her.  “You were most
calculating this afternoon, madam.  I had no idea you were so sly.”

     She turned her attention back to the
dancers.  “I know not what you mean.”

     “Yes, you do,” he studied her profile, her
flawless skin.  “I should punish you as well as your sister for going against
me.”

     She raised an eyebrow and looked at him
impatiently. “Lock us both in the tower?”

     It was a saucy statement and he raised his
eyebrows in response.  “I was thinking more of locking you both in the vault
for thirty days.”

     “What?” she gasped, turning her full
attention to him. Gone was her flippant attitude.

     “Unless,” he held up a finger quickly. 
“Unless you are prepared to do penitence of my choosing.”

     “Penitence of your choosing?” she repeated,
puzzled.  “What in the world would that be?”

     His eyes twinkled and she was greatly
confused.  “A dance, my lady,” he said softly.  “One dance will spare you and
your sister my wrath.”

     Her mouth opened, dumbfounded.  Then she
was frightened.  “A
dance
?” she repeated.  It wasn’t that she did not
like to dance, but that meant that he would have to…hold her.

     Arms around her only meant pain and
humiliation. She hated to be touched as a result of her husband’s abuse and as
Gaston had learned, she quickly turned into a hurricane of terror when
cornered.  But thoughts of Gaston’s arms flooded her mind, arms so strong and
beautiful that they made her feel faint.  She had slept in his arms, better
than she had slept in years.

     He stood up, holding his hand out to her
just as another slow ballad began. She gazed up at him and he could read the
terror and hesitation and smiled gently.

     “Dance with me, angel,” he said softly. “I
promise I shall be gentle.”    

     She did not want to be held by anyone…but
the thought of his arms around her brought unfamiliar feelings of warmth and
comfort.  Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her
to her feet.  The next time she looked at him, her eyes were welling with
confused tears and he stopped.

     “Oh, Remi, forgive me,” he whispered.  “I
will not make you do something you are uncomfortable with.”

     To his surprise, she stood firm.  “Nay, I
will dance with you,” she sniffed, dashing away the tears.  But he wasn’t
moving, instead, he was pulling her chair out again.  “Gaston, truly.  I shall
dance with you. I think…I think I need to dance with you.”

     His eyes studied her closely to see what
exactly she meant. Weakly, she smiled.  “I have not danced in years. I think I
need to dance this night.  If not with you, then with someone else.”

     “Like hell,” he stood his full height. “You
will dance with me and me alone. I forbid another man to touch you.”

     He led her out onto the dance floor and
took her in his arms with infinite tenderness.  She stiffened instinctively,
but forced herself to calm, giving in to his warm arms.  With great skill, he
swung her into the group of revelers.

     They danced three dances together.  Color
flushed Remington’s cheeks and she found it hard to believe that she was
actually enjoying herself, but she was and it was all of Gaston’s doing.  He
was a wonderful dancer and she was growing more enchanted with him by the
minute.  He could make her laugh; make her feel as if she were the most
beautiful woman on earth.

     The same minstrel who tried to dance with
her the night before tried to cut in on Gaston, who sent the man cowering with
an icy glare.  Remington laughed, cradled in his arms, thinking that someday
she might even like being held by a man.  It was certainly easy to tolerate
Gaston.

     Arik found Gaston on the outer wall late
that evening, well after the castle had retired for the evening.  The world
around them was still but for the crickets chirping in the trees and the soft
whistle of the wind over the landscape.  Above, the nearly full moon bathed the
land in a silver glow.

     “What are you doing?” Arik came upon him
where he was leaning over the ledge of the wall, inspecting the grounds below.

     Gaston flicked his hand in the direction of
Brimley’s camp, a half mile in the distance.  “Watching.”

     “Any activity?” Arik could see the faint
glow from the pyre. 

     “None,” Gaston replied.  “Seems they are
all sleeping like babes.  They
must
trust us.”

     Arik smirked. “Fools,” he turned his back
on the wall, leaning back and looking up to the sky.  “I heard you convinced
Lady Stoneley to dance tonight.”

     “After much pleading and coaxing,” Gaston
confirmed.  “She not only looks like an angel, she dances like one.  In fact,
there is not one thing about the woman that is imperfect and at times she makes
me feel most inferior.”

     Arik looked at him, gushing like a smitten
boy.  He had never seen him so…open.  He should have been thrilled for him, but
he found he was skeptical instead.

     “You are quite taken with Lady Stoneley,
aren’t you?” he asked carefully.

     Gaston shrugged.  “I enjoy her company if
that’s what you mean.”

     “It is not what I mean and you know it,”
Arik said.  “What was it you told Antonius?  Keep your mind on your business,
not on Lady Stoneley?”

     Gaston’s jaw flexed.  “Your point being?”

     Arik looked at him a moment.  “She is
married, Gaston.  And so are you.”

     Gaston stood up, angrily. “I do not need
you to remind me of that fact, my friend, for I am only too aware of it,” he
snapped. “I enjoy Lady Stoneley on a conversational level and that is the
extent of it.  I have no time for mistresses.”