The Dark One: Dark Knight (27 page)

     “I saw you.  I saw you!” he yelled
enthusiastically.  “You fought off all those men by yourself.”

     Dane almost bashed into him but he reached
down and caught the excited lad with gentle hands.  “Well, I did have some
help,” he said, looking up from the boy to find Remington standing in front of
him.

     Dane was babbling about the battle but all
Gaston could do was gaze back at the boy’s mother.  Her sea-crystal eyes were
liquid as she stared back into his smoky gray orbs, her face completely soft
and utterly captivating.  He read no fear, no terror, only trust and
admiration.  And pride.  He definitely read pride.

     No one had ever been proud of him.
Mari-Elle was only interested in the benefits of his reputation, his kings had
only been interested in what his strength could accomplish. No one had ever
taken
pride
in his work, his skill. Except Remington; he could read her
face.

     Still gazing at Remington’s face, he passed
Dane off to the nearest sister. “Take him a moment and remain here.  We shall
return shortly.”

     He reached out and took Remington by the
hand, pulling her with him as he took long strides down the avenue.  She nearly
had to run to keep up with him.

     “Where are we going?” she asked.

     He glanced down at her and smiled, and her
heart did flips in her ribcage. He did not answer her but continued to lead her
to the end of the street and took a sharp turn to the left.  He slowed his pace
a bit for her as they wound their way around carts and people, and Remington
was thrilled out of her mind that he was holding her hand. She wanted everyone
to look at them and think that they were together; a pair.  In love. 
I want
you to be my husband
.

     She recognized the perfume merchant’s shop
and Gaston pulled her inside, pulling her against his chest as they waited
patiently for the merchant to finish with another customer.  When the
shopkeeper saw them, his face brightened.

     “Ah, good knight, I see you have returned
with your wife,” he said happily.  “How may I serve you?”

     “I was sampling a scent earlier,” Gaston
said in his rich baritone voice.  “I would purchase it for my…wife.”

     He felt Remington stiffen, turning to look
at him questioningly.  He gazed back at her emotionlessly.

     “Ah, yes.” the man was already moving for
the pretty pewter vial, inlaid with common stones.  “A fine scent.  I have soap
and oils that are the same….”

     Gaston did not let him finish.  “Wrap them
up, then, all of them,” his gaze moved back to Remington.  “I would have my
wife smelling wonderful.”

     “As wonderful as she looks, no doubt,” the
merchant said, busily wrapping the goods in pretty cloth.  “May I say that she
is the most beautiful woman I have seen today.  You are a very lucky man,
indeed, my lord.”

     Gaston should not have allowed it; he was
actually permitting himself to live a lie, for the briefest of moments.  He
would have given his soul to the devil for the lie to have been truth.  His
arms went tighter around Remington, her back to his chest, and he felt her cave
into him.

     “She is the most beautiful woman you have
ever seen,” he told the merchant pointedly.  “Not just this day, but any day.”

     The merchant and Gaston began to bargain
over the price, but Remington was living in a world of frozen time.  He
continued to hold onto her and she continued to let him, drawing strength from
his massive size and potency. She fully realized that he was beginning to treat
her like a whore, a kept woman, but she did not care. It was no worse than
being an abuser’s wife.  At least Gaston made her feel safe, honored,
respected.  Her inner self, the neglected, beaten wife, demanded to be allowed
the fantasy of being the Dark Knight’s wife, if only for a moment.

     They left the merchant’s shop, Gaston
clutching one hand and her purchased bundle in the other.  She watched him as
they proceeded down the street, studying his strong profile.  He completely
overshadowed her naïve senses.

     He caught her stare, knowing she expected
answers.  Honestly, he did not know what to say. Only that he wished his lies
had been truth.

     “Thank you for the perfume,” she said
softly.  “It was terribly expensive.”

     “You are worth every pence, madam,” he
replied, avoiding her eyes.

     She was quiet a moment.  “Why did you say
what you did?”

     He felt cornered, uncomfortable.  He
cleared his throat.  “Why did I tell the man that you were my wife?  Because it
would have been far more complicated to explain our true relationship to him,
and furthermore, it was none of his business.  Suffice it to say I made up a
convenient story.”

     His tone was steady, almost callous, and
Remington felt a tremendous letdown.  Convenient, did he say?  As convenient as
she was to him, aching and vulnerable and hurt?  She yanked her hand free of
his grip and came to an abrupt halt, thrusting the cloth bundle at him.

     “Here,” she said shortly.

     “Here what?” he looked at her outstretched
hand. 

     “I cannot accept this expensive gift,” she
said stiffly.

     He put his hands on his hips.  “And why
not?  I bought it for you.”

     Hurt was joined by anger and she began to
twitch.  Her stormy eyes met him.  “I cannot be bought, my lord.  If you will
kindly take your perfume back.”

     “Bought?” he repeated, growing annoyed. 
“Remi, what are you talking about?”

     She almost threw the perfume at him but
controlled herself.  A look of great pain crossed her face.  “Why do you toy
with me, Gaston?  You kiss me, hold me tenderly, buy my lovely gifts, call me
your wife when you know perfectly well our relationship will never end in
matrimony,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, her eyes imploring.  “What
is it you want from me?  I do not think I understand your attentions.”

     He was unbalanced by her words.  By God, he
wasn’t sure of his own feelings; how could he explain them to her?

     “I…I am not sure I understand, either,” he
said quietly.  “All I know is that I want to be with you, I want to see you
smile and hear your laughter.  For the first time in my life I have found a
woman I can care for and I shall be damned if I am going to lose you.”

     “
Lose
me?” she repeated
incredulously.  “Gaston, I am not yours to lose.”

     He gripped her shoulders, his mailed gloves
biting into the soft flesh of her arm.  “Listen to me well, madam.  I shall
never let you go.  You and I and Dane will live at Mt. Holyoak for the rest of
our days and I will love you both as if you were mine in the eyes of God and
our king.” His hand reached down and raised the cloth package she held.  “This
was not meant to buy your favors as one would a whore, Remi.  It was meant as a
token of my affection for you.”

     Her eyes were wide.  Slowly, she shook her
head.  “Oh Gaston…I simply do not know.  I am so confused.”

     He raised her hand and kissed it softly. 
“So am I.”

     They proceeded to the next street and met
up with the rest of their party.  Jasmine and Skye took great delight in the
perfume as Dane latched on to Gaston again.  Gaston took the boy’s hand as they
went on their way.

     The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully
enough.  Dane purchased a puppet modeled like a jester and a wooden cart and
horse.  Skye purchased ribbon for her hair and Jasmine bought a lovely quartz
crystal bowl.  Only Rory could not be persuaded to purchase frivolous things,
instead admiring beautiful swords with Patrick and Antonius.  Remington and
Gaston hung together, yet few words were spoken between them.

     As the sun was lowering in the sky, herald
trumpets were heard from the direction of the arena and Dane’s curiosity was
piqued.

     “What’s that?” he demanded of Gaston.

     “I believe the start of the tournament is
being announced,” Gaston replied.

     “Tournament?” he turned to his mother
eagerly.  “Can we go watch the tournament, Mummy?  Can we?”

     “I do not think so,” she said.  “It has
already been a full day and we must get started back home.”

     Dane’s face fell.  “But I have never seen a
tournament.  Can we just stay a little longer?”

     Remington glanced at Gaston.  “My lord?”

     He shrugged.  “I suppose we can watch a few
minutes of it.  As it is already, we shall be riding for an hour in the dark.”

     Leaving two soldiers to guard the goods in
the wagon, Gaston took Dane and the rest of the group to the tournament field. 
Already, the knights were taking the field to the loud cheer of the crowd and
Dane peppered Gaston with hundreds of questions, all before they even sat
down.  Dane sat between his mother and the knight, his eyes wide as saucers as
he watched the gaily colored knights ride by on their massive chargers.

     There was a good deal of pomp and ceremony
to the beginning of the competition.  Eight knights of local Yorkists houses
paraded in fine armor and bright banners and the crowd in the lists roared with
approval.  Remington recognized a few of the houses, including Sir Derek, and
she caught on to the excitement of the crowd.

     “Have you ever competed in tournaments, my
lord?” she asked.

     “More than I can count,” Gaston replied,
scrutinizing a particular knight as he blew by.

     “Did you win?” Dane asked.

     Gaston smiled at the boy.  “More than I
lost.”

     One of the knights seemed particularly
interested in Remington.  He ran his charger by three or four times, finally
reining the snorting animal in front of their group.

     “Are you promised, my lady?” he pointed his
gloved finger in Remington’s direction.  “I am in need of a favor.”

     She did not know he was speaking to her. 
She looked around, at her sisters, and they all shrugged at each other.  But
Gaston knew exactly who the knight was speaking to and rose to his feet.

     “She is,” he boomed.  “Be on your way.”

     The knight continued to pause in front of
them.  “My lord de Russe?”

     Gaston had enough encounters for one day. 
He crossed his arms threateningly.  “Who asks?”

     The knight drew up his visor.  “Sir Hubert
Doyle, my lord.  I served with you.…”

     “Under Edward,” Gaston finished for him; he
recognized the knight.

     “Aye,” the knight smiled.  “’Tis good to
see you again, my lord.  I heard what happened at Bosworth and I would like you
to know that my support is with you.”

     Gaston eyed him coolly.  “You did not serve
Richard, did you?”  It was more a statement.

     The knight shook his head.  “In good
conscience, I could not, my lord.  I pray that you are not offended by this.”

     Gaston sat back down, waving the man off
with a faint flick of his hand.  “Good day to you, Doyle.”

     Sir Hubert closed his visor. “I apologize
for my rash statement to your lady wife.  I did not recognize you; in truth, I
was looking only at her.”

     Gaston looked at Remington; her eyes
widened slightly.  Lying to the merchant was one thing, by fibbing in front of
her sisters and Gaston’s knights was quite another.

     “I fault you not, man,” Gaston said.  “She
is the only woman in the world worth looking at.”

     The knight gave him a smart salute and
charged off, leaving Remington flushed; she did not care to look at her
sisters.  Dane stood up, watching the knights congregate at the end of the
field.

     “Are they going to fight now?” he asked
Gaston.

     “In a moment,” Gaston replied, looking past
Dane to his mother; her cheeks were still flushed.

     The tournament got off to a fast start. 
The first three rounds ended quickly, with the losers being unseated in the
joust quickly.  Rory and Skye turned into rowdy saloon wenches, cheering and
yelling their lungs out for the knights whose colors they liked best.  Gaston
tolerated their screaming, knowing how the cheers from the crowd always
supported him, but Patrick was having jealous fits over Rory’s attentions. 
Behind them, Jasmine and Antonius sat conspicuously close and snickered.

     The sun began to hang low in the sky and
Gaston sent a couple of soldiers to retain supper for the ladies.  The men
returned with roast chicken and sweetened carrots that were quickly devoured by
Dane and his aunts.  Remington did not have an appetite and politely watched
the jousting bouts in front of her.

     “I am afraid we must be going,” Gaston
finally said, hating to spoil Dane’s fun.  “But we shall be riding in the dark
and I would like to get on our way.”

     Remington agreed silently, pulling Dane
along behind her.  The boy did everything but kick and scream; he begged,
pleaded, and drug his feet as his mother led him out of the lists.