The Dark One: Dark Knight (21 page)

     Arik was fully aware of the thin ice he
tread upon.  He was acquainted with the Dark Knight’s temper, and fists, and
took several steps back, crossing his arms thoughtfully.  “If you ask my
opinion, my lord, there is more to it than that.  I would say you were quite
taken with the woman, as I have indicated before.  And she’s scared to death of
you.”

     “Why do you say that?” Gaston demanded.

     Arik shook his head in a helpless gesture. 
“Guy has scarred her terribly, Gaston,” he said. “You have probably seen more
examples of that than I, and it’s obvious that you frighten her.  Not in the
physical sense, but more on the emotional level.  She is attracted to you, I
think, and afraid of her feelings.”

     Gaston looked at his friend a moment, his
great body relaxing.  He turned back to the wall.  “I enjoy her company.  That
is all”

     Something on the wall caught his attention;
Gaston looked over Arik’s shoulder to see Remington on the far end of the
western wall, making her way toward him. Arik swung around and caught sight of
her.

     “I must be going,” he said quickly.

     “Good,” Gaston grumbled.  “I am weary of
your company.”

     Arik grinned and, with a final glance at
Remington, moved for the stairs.  But she called out to him and he paused at
the top, his expression politely inquisitive.

     She was dressed in a flowing robe of icy
blue, layers of silk that swathed her in luxury.  She looked glorious, but her
lovely face was tense. 

     “Have you seen Dane?” she asked Arik.  “He
is not in his room.”

     Arik looked puzzled. “I took him there
myself, my lady, several hours ago.  If he is not there, then I have no idea
where he might be.”

     Remington’s brow furrowed with worry and
her eyes sought out Gaston.  He could see in the bright moon glow that her eyes
had taken on the blue of the robe and he was amazed at the chameleon-quality of
her eyes.  “Have you seen him?” she pleaded.

     He shook his head.  “He is around here
somewhere, Remi.  No one has left the gates since this afternoon.”

     Arik raised his eyebrows. “Remi?” he
mouthed to Gaston.

     Gaston ignored him and went to Remington,
who was in obvious distress.  “Go back to bed.  I shall look for him.

     Her angelic face was tense.  “But he never
strays after dark.  He is afraid of the dark.”

     Gaston put his hands on her shoulders and
steered her toward Arik.  “I have the watch tonight, all night, and nothing to
do.  I shall search for him right now.  Arik, please escort Lady Remington back
to her room.”

     Her soft eyes were pleading as she covered
his massive hand with her own.  “He is afraid of the dark,” she repeated
softly.

     He patted her hand reassuringly.  “I
promise I will not rest until I find him.  Go with Arik, now, and rest
assured.”

     With a sigh of reluctance, she allowed Arik
to take her down the narrow stairs, the only such flight on the wall.  Every
other method of access was a ladder.  Gaston hovered at the top of the stairs,
watching Arik carefully assist her.  When she crossed into the inner bailey on
Arik’s arm, he finally turned away and tried to determine the best place to
look for a seven-year-old boy.

     Unfortunately, Dane was not to be found. 
Gaston searched for two hours on his own and then commandeered a company of
soldiers to assist him.

     Every inch of the walls and bailey were
searched.  Even the half-finished troop house and the sublevels were covered,
but still no Dane, and Gaston began to feel distinctively uneasy.  What if the
boy had indeed run off?  Or worse, taken away?  His thoughts turned to Lord
Brimley’s encampment and he pondered the possibility that Dane was somehow
within the perimeter, be it of his own choosing or against his will.  Brimley
had been, after all, eager to take Stoneley’s family back with him to Crayke
Castle.

     The night went on and still no Dane, and
Gaston began to seriously consider raiding Brimley’s camp in search of the
lad.  But the castle of Mt. Holyoak had yet to be searched, and he would
complete his sweep before moving forward with such a provocative action.  He
had been preaching peace all afternoon; to go charging into Lord Brimley’s camp
with swords drawn would brand him a hypocrite and he was positive that it would
ruin any chances for an alliance.

     Silently, his soldiers moved through Mt.
Holyoak in search of the boy.  Gaston took the most active role in the search,
trying to think like a seven-year-old boy would. He had been lively at dinner
with no outward signs of distress.  So where in the hell would he go?

     Five hours into the search, Gaston was
mystified and upset.  Dane was nowhere within the castle walls, of that he was
sure, and he felt a sense of panic.  He knew without a doubt that Brimley’s
camp was verily close to a strip-search, but he reined his emotions and wisely
ordered two of his trusted knights to assemble a raiding party.  Were he to do
it, he would assemble an overload of men and probably crush Brimley into the
earth.  He ordered the men to form and wait for him.

     There was one place he had not checked, and
that was the family wing.  Aye, he had checked Dane’s room when they first
began the search in the castle, but he had not checked the other bedchambers. 
It was entirely possible that he was sleeping with someone else.

     The corridor was dim as he walked silently
to the first door.  Rory was asleep, spread out over the sheet and was looking
most angelic in spite of her devilish nature.  She was a faintly pretty girl,
more so when she was sleeping.  Quietly, he closed the door.

     Skye and Charles were asleep in their
respective rooms with no company.  Somewhat disheartened that Dane wasn’t with
Charles, he moved to Remington’s door. 

     She was asleep on her side, facing him. 
The faint glow from the hearth illuminated her features gently, making her
appear almost surreal.  By God, if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had
ever laid eyes on.  He felt his heart soften as he gazed at her, fighting off a
roaring river of emotions that threatened him.

     She was lying atop the coverlet, still in
the turquoise robe and he guessed she had fallen asleep waiting for her son to
return.  Even with the fire, there was a definite chill in the room and she
twitched in her sleep, curling up her legs to stay warm.

     He moved into the room silently, folding
the great coverlet up from the ends and wrapping it around her, tucking her in
firmly.  He was bent over her, covering her shoulders and smiled when she
sighed contentedly, like a child.  His hand, with a mind of its own, smoothed
the hair on her head, feeling the silken strands between his fingers.  His
nostrils, not to be left out of the experience, demanded to smell her hair and
he lifted the curls to his face, inhaling deeply.

     He stood there a moment and gazed upon her,
memorizing every line of her face and feeling the most marvelous, peculiar
emotions he had ever sampled.  By God’s Bloody Rood, she was only a woman.  Why
on earth did he react to her as if she were something more incredible than life
itself?

     Because she was different.  He had only to
look at her and know that.  He had only to look at her and realize he was in
the mighty grip of something far more powerful than he was.

     He ran his index finger down her silk cheek
and stood up, moving for the door.  As much as he would have liked to have
stayed and gaze upon her all night, he had more immediate duties pressing. 
Dane was still missing and he had to find him.

     He closed the door softly and paused a
moment, defining his thoughts.  It suddenly occurred to him that there was one
bedchamber he had not checked - his.  He almost decided not to, knowing it to
be a waste of time.  Yet, something told him to check for his own peace of
mind.  After all, he wanted to be able to say he had looked everywhere for Dane
when he cut into Brimley’s camp bent on destruction.

     His room was dark; even the coals in the
hearth were black.  A quick glance about the room told him there was nothing
there except emptiness and he was in the process of closing the door when his
eyes came to rest on a foot.

     A small foot, which in turn was attached to
a small body, lying in the folds of his coverlet.  Sighing with relief, he
moved back into the room and peered down at Dane, sound asleep, clutching the
small sword Arik had given him.

     Gaston’s mouth twitched with a smile at the
small boy snoring so contentedly, having no idea of the uproar he nearly caused. 
Gaston realized he was a good deal more relieved than he thought possible at
the sight of the lad, gratified that he had not come to any harm.  He rather
liked the little fellow.

     He debated about waking him but thought
against it.  He would, however, return him to his own bed.  Carefully, he
leaned over and gathered the child against his mighty chest and, Dane stirred.

     “What...what…?” he sputtered.

     “Hush, Dane,” Gaston’s voice was low.  “I
am taking you back to your bed, lad.”

     Dane blinked, suddenly remembering where he
was.  His wide eyes focused on Gaston.  “I was waiting for you.”

     “Waiting for me?  Why?” Gaston asked.

     “To show you the sword Sir Arik gave me,”
he said, hugging the sword to his body.  “He said I could have it.”

     Gaston pretended to study the sword
intensely.  “Aye, a fine weapon indeed.  Perfect for a young man to begin his
training with.”

     Dane yawned, holding the sword as if he were in
possession of the Holy Grail. He mumbled something sleepily as Gaston carried
him out into the hall and back to his room.

     Remington heard a faint sound in her son’s
room and was instantly awake. She tossed the coverlet off, not even stopping to
think how she became wrapped in it, and dashed across the bedchamber through
the adjoining door to Dane’s room.

     Gaston was laying him down upon the sheets
when she burst in and he shushed her sternly.

     “He’s just gone back to sleep,” he
whispered, pulling the covers over the boy.

     She gazed down at his sandy head a moment,
blinking sleep from her eyes.  Gaston stepped back, watching the boy snuggle
down into the thick mattress.  Groggily, Remington also moved away from the bed
and stumbled over her own feet.

     Gaston caught her as she tripped, holding
her against his hard body to steady her.  She grabbed onto him, although she
did not realize what she was doing.  Holding her to him felt to be the most
natural, pleasant thing in the world and his arm went around her shoulders of
its own choosing.

     “Where was he?” she whispered.  “What is he
holding?”

     “I found him in my bed,” Gaston said
quietly.  “He was waiting for me to return so he could show me the sword Arik
gave him and fell asleep.”

     “Arik gave him a sword?” Remington looked
doubtfully at her son.

     His arm squeezed her lightly.  “Do not
worry so.  It is quite dull, as it was Arik’s when he was a lad.  ‘Twill be
perfect when he begins his training.”

     She looked up at him, startled. “You would
still send him away from me to foster?” she asked, her voice growing louder. 
“You told him that you would consider allowing him to remain here.”

     He shushed her again and moved her into her
own room, quietly closing the door.  When he turned around to face her, she was
sitting on the edge of her bed surrounded by the voluminous skirt of her robe. 
The picture was breathtaking and he did, indeed, take a breath.

     “And I am considering it,” he said patiently.
“But all young men are sent away to foster when they reach seven or eight years
of age. You are aware of this Remi.  You want your son to grow up to be a
strong, fine man, do not you?”

     “He must be sent away to foster in order to
attain those qualities?” she shot back softly.  “Gaston…he is all I have.  I do
not want him to be sent away.”

     He put his hand on his hips, not answering
her for a moment.  “We shall talk about it later. Go back to sleep now.”

     She continued to sit there and look at him,
sadness in her face. He gave her a brief flash of a smile and moved for the
door.  He had a company of men waiting for him in the bailey that he was
anxious to attend to.

     “Gaston?” she said softly.

     He paused, his hand on the latch.  She
offered him a timid smile.  “Thank you for finding him, truly.  You did not
have to go through so much trouble.”

     “He is my vassal and his welfare concerns
me,” he replied.  “Goodnight.”

     She stood to show him from her chamber as a
proper lady would, assuming he would move out of her way when he saw her
approach.  But he did not, however, and she nearly walked into him.  Startled,
she craned her neck back sharply to look at him and was met by eyes of molten
steel, shrouded in smoke.

     “I would thank you for dancing with me this
eve,” he said quietly.  “You are a delightful dancer.”