The Dark One: Dark Knight (28 page)

     “Dane,” Gaston said sternly. “Knights do
not act like spoiled children.  They do what they are told without question. 
You do not want me to think that you cannot follow orders, do you?”

     Dane stood straight.  “Nay, my lord.”

     Gaston nodded curtly, pleased that the
child was reasonable. The group left the tournament arena and met with the
wagon where they had left it.  Rory, Dane and Skye piled into the front of the
wagon while Antonius helped Jasmine mount her little palfrey.  Remington was
moving for her own bay mare when she noticed the animal favoring its right
foreleg.  Concerned, she called to Gaston.

     “See here,” she pointed to the leg.  “I
think she’s lame.”

     Gaston ran a trained hand up the horses’
fetlock, feeling the telltale bump in the tendon.  He checked the hoof for any
other outward sign before straightening.

     “Indeed she is,” he said.  “You will have
to ride in the wagon.”

     The wagon bench was already full with her
son and her sisters, and the small bed was filled with bolts of material. 
Gaston and Patrick shifted the bolts around but there was barely enough room
for her to perch her bottom on the end of the wagon bed.  It would be
uncomfortable at best.

     Remington hopped up on the end of the wagon
and tried to get comfortable when Gaston reached out and pulled her off.

     “You shall ride with me,” he said.

     A bit reluctantly, she allowed him to lead
her over to Taran and she stood next to the horse while he adjusted the
saddle.  Taran, smelling Remington, nudged her with his great nose.  She put
her hands on the huge head.

     “Hello, Taran,” she crooned.  “I have
missed you, too.”

     Gaston watched the two out of the corner of
his eye.  “You are going to spoil my horse if you keep on and he shall be no
good to me.” 

     “Keep on what?” she asked.  “I am doing
nothing but showing him affection.”

     “He is a warhorse, not a kitten,” Gaston
put his hands around her waist; they completely encircled her and then some. 
Gently, he lifted her onto his saddle.  Putting his foot firmly in the stirrup,
he mounted heavily behind her.  Settling Remington into a comfortable position,
he made sure everyone was ready to leave and spurred the horse forward.

     Darkness fell quickly and so did the
chill.  Dressed in rose silk, Remington was quickly cold and Gaston retrieved
her cloak from the wagon.  Wrapped in the thick woolen garment, she was soon
warmed by the hard iciness of his chest armor biting into her.  Making the best
of it, she settled back against him for the long ride home.

     Gaston rode broodingly, feeling Remington’s
softness before him and it made him miserable.  What in the hell was he
thinking?  How could he tell Remington those things?  True nonetheless, but he
couldn’t believe he had told her his innermost feelings.  Yet she had responded
in kind and he knew she felt the same way, no matter how confused they both
were.  He was elated and forlorn at the same time.

     They had been on the road a couple of hours
when Dane began to wail.  Concerned, Gaston reined in Taran to a halt.

     “I can’t sleep when the wagon is moving,”
he cried.  “My stomach hurts.”

     “He is prone to motion sickness,” Remington
told Gaston softly. “Especially when he is tired.”

     “Can he make it to Mt. Holyoak?” Gaston
asked.  “We have another two hours at the most.”

     She shrugged.  “I doubt it.  He shall be
vomiting the rest of the way if we continue.  Unless he walks, of course.”

     “It will take all night if he walks,”
Gaston said flatly.  “I suppose we had better stop for the night, then.”

          Remington nodded quickly.  “We can use
the bed of the wagon to sleep in, and the material for shelter.”

     Gaston was already in motion, ordering the
soldiers to take the wagon from the road and set up a makeshift camp.  Dane and
his aunts were delighted with the prospective adventure.

     Patrick and Jasmine gathered pieces of wood
and soon there was a roaring fire illuminating the campsite.  Gaston’s men had
succeeded in turning the bed of the wagon into a delightful cozy hovel, using a
few other bolts of material for shelters.  Breaking out the bread and wine they
brought with them, the hastily erected camp was a happy little place.

     Dane was dancing around and being generally
loud, not at all like the young boy who had declared his illness not an hour
before.  Gaston eyed him suspiciously; not at all sure that this wasn’t part of
a greater scheme to prolong his trip to the faire.  As he set up a hasty
perimeter for the night, the ladies and Dane warmed themselves by the fire and
threw bits of bread at each other.  It was a fun sense of adventure that they
all felt, spending the night under the stars.  To the men, it was nothing
special nor unusual.

     Fortunately, Dane wore himself down after
his busy day and passed out cold in the back of the wagon.  One by one his
aunts joined him until the wagon bed was full.  Remington did not think much of
it until she made her way to the wagon to go to sleep and discovered there was
no room left.

     Gaston came up behind her as she tried to
figure out what she was going to do about sleeping arrangements.  “It appears
that you are left out,” he said softly.  “But my men have made a couple of
shelters that should prove satisfactory.”

     In truth, she wasn’t at all concerned.  She
knew Gaston would look out for her.  In fact, she wasn’t at all tired, either. 
The moon above was bright and she did not feel like sleeping.  She felt like
staying up all night next to Gaston, even if they did nothing more than sit in
silence. 

     “Are you going to sleep or are you going to
stand guard,” she asked him.

     “I shall stand guard for a while,” he
said.  “That is why Patrick and Antonius are trying to get some rest, so that
they can relieve me in a few hours.”

     She glanced over at the two knights, lying
down on the earth not far from the fire.  “Where are Sir Roald and the other
soldiers?”

     “Around,” Gaston’s eyes grazed the dark
forest.  “Probably resting, too.  Why do not you get some sleep as well?”

     “I am not tired,” She moved away from the
wagon and back to the fire.  He followed.

     “You have had a busy day,” he said,
standing next to her as she warmed her hands.

     “So have you,” she looked at him
pointedly.  “You killed two men.”

     She had not said anything about those
events all day and he wondered if it was because she was trying to forget the
horror of it.  He could see plainly that she had not forgotten.

     “I had to,” he replied simply.

     “For me?” she asked.

     “In a sense.  ‘Twas your honor I was
defending both times,” he crossed his arms, staring into the fire.

     “I have never had anyone defend my honor,”
she said faintly. 

     He did not know what to say.  Silently, she
went back over to the wagon and fumbled about.  He continued to remain by the
fire, staring at the flames as he listened acutely to everything around him. 
He had learned long time ago that his sense of hearing was nearly as valuable
as his sense of sight when it came to guard duty

     Remington appeared beside him, her cloak
open.  “Can you smell it?”

     He sniffed the air.  “Smell what?”

     “The perfume.” she insisted, opening her
cloak wide and lifting her chin to reveal her neck.  “Can you smell it now?”

     He eyed her a moment before slowly lowering
his head.  He buried his face in the soft white crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. 
Roses, lavender, and lily of the valley filled his nostrils.  And the scent of
Remington.

     “Aye, Remi,” he whispered against her
skin.  “I smell it.”

     She closed her eyes at the feel of his face
against her; this is what she wanted, what she had planned. It was as close as
she could come to seducing him, for she knew nothing of the art of seduction. 
She could only go with her natural instincts, and her instincts told her to put
on the perfume he had bought her.

     She was suddenly shameless. She was confused,
aye, but she knew how badly she wanted to feel his touch.  Her fear of men, of
being close, was evaporating by the second.  She had never in her life wanted
to be held until this very moment.

     Her arms went around his neck and she threw
her head back, pressing his face into her skin.  All armor and cold steel, he
responded with a fierce passion and clutched her tightly enough to crush her.

     “Remi, Remi, my angel,” he whispered.  “By
God, I want you.”

     She felt his lips roving over her neck, the
swell of her breasts, and hot shivers rippled down her spine, kindling a fire
in her loins the likes of which she had never felt before.  Coupling, however,
still frightened her a great deal and she suddenly pulled back from him as
their heat intensified.   

     His gaze was inquisitive, lusty. “What’s
the matter?”

     She was hesitant to answer him, not sure of
where to begin.  He saw her reluctance and read something else into it.

     “I am sorry, angel,” he said softly.  “I
shouldn’t have done that here in the open, for anyone to see,” he glanced over
his shoulder and took her hand.  “Come with me.”

     She opened her mouth to protest but the
words refused to come forth.  She wanted to tell him of her fear, her reserve,
as he led her into a darkened thicket, but she choked out of pure
bewilderment.  Where on earth to begin?

     They were well secluded from the rest of
the camp when Gaston suddenly went down on his knees, running his hands down
her thighs.  Already, his attentions had her hot but she fought to maintain her
calm.

     “Gaston…,” she murmured.

     “What is it?” his hands were on her ankles,
snaking under her dress.

     Her breathing was coming fast and her
stomach quivered as if she were ill.  She found it difficult to hold a coherent
thought.  “Please.…”

     “Please what?” His hands were gripping her
knees, running down the length of her calves.

     She couldn’t answer him for a moment as his
hands whipped her into a panting frenzy.  His touch was golden and she closed
her eyes to better enjoy it when suddenly they drifted up her thighs and cupped
her rounded bottom.  At that precise moment, she snapped out of her
passion-hazed trance.

     “Gaston!” she gasped, jumping away.

     His brow furrowed and he could see he had
startled her with his bold touch. He dropped his hands from her bottom.  “I am
sorry, angel,” he whispered. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

     Relieved that he understood her hesitation,
she found it easier to speak to him of her reasons.  Her hands moved to cup his
great face. 

     “When Guy took me, it was with brutality
and force.  Never a kind word or a gentle touch, and I grew to hate it.” Her
voice was quivering.  “I still…hate it.”

     He caressed her calves gently, groping for
words.  “Then you and I have something in common.  I have never made love to
anyone I have remotely cared for.  I have always looked at it as a necessary
service,” he swallowed hard; words came difficult to him.  “I do not do it now
because I need to. I do it because I
want
to.”

     She looked hard at him, her fingers tracing
the strong lines of his face.  He saw her eyes beginning to well.  “I am
afraid.”

     “So am I.”

     “And I am married.” She choked in a
whisper.

     “So am I.”

     “What about your wife?” She was starting to
cry softly.

     “She means as much to me as Guy means to
you,” he said gently.  “’Tis only you I care for, Remi. Only you.”

     “Forever?” she breathed, tears falling from
her eyes onto his face.

     “Until I die,” he answered without a doubt.

     Black and white. He had always seen
everything in black and white; black was Mari-Elle and their farce of a
marriage. White was his growing feelings for Remington, overwhelming his
senses.

     She fell against him, kissing his forehead,
the bridge of his nose.  Hot tears from her frightened eyes fell on his face,
bathing him and drilling deep into his heart.

     “I shall be your mistress, Gaston,” she
whispered, her lips on his forehead.  “Just promise me that you will never
leave me and I swear I shall be your whore.”

     He knew how painful it was for her to say
those words, and it was equally painful for him to hear them.  She did not
deserve the title, the connotation, and his heart was nearly bursting with
anger and regret and happiness, everything he could possibly feel was a
swirling mass in his chest.

     His hands came out from under her surcoat
and he clasped her face between his huge hands, still on his knees.