The Dark One: Dark Knight (31 page)

     “You mean Lady Mari-Elle?” she asked
evenly.  “Oleg, inform the lady that we are not allowed from our rooms under
direct orders from Sir Gaston.  If she wants us to attend the meal, then she
will have to speak to the master.”

     Oleg nodded wearily.  “Aye, my lady.”

     Remington sat her sewing down, again, and
stood up.  “What’s the matter with you?”

     Oleg threw up his hands.  “What isn’t the
matter?  The Lady Mari-Elle has brought her entire household with her,
including her own stewards, a cook, and a physician.  They are taking over Mt.
Holyoak and I have been reduced to a common house servant.”

     Remington was outraged.  She clenched her
jaw angrily, pacing the length of the floor to the elderly servant.  “Oleg, I
want you to gather all of our servants and tell them to take to their rooms
until this situation with Lady Mari-Elle can be solved.  I do not want them
serving her, or her household.  Do you understand?”

     “Aye, my lady,” Oleg said briskly, somewhat
relieved.

     “Sir Gaston has promised to send his wife
home this day and I fully intend that the residents of Mt. Holyoak stay out of
her way until such time as she leaves,” Remington continued.  “We have had one
abusive master and I shall now allow my vassals to be further abused by a
spoiled, imperious woman.”

     Oleg crinkled a smile.  “As you say, my
lady.”

     He turned to leave but Remington grasped
him gently to stay him a moment.  “And if the Lady Mari-Elle has a problem with
my orders, you tell her to come and speak to me directly.  I shall tell her
exactly what has happened and why.”

     Oleg was vastly relieved, yet he expected
no less from Lady Remington.  The woman had the courage of ten men.  He quit
the room, full of his message for Lady Mari-Elle. 

     Remington turned to her sister, her face
glazed with a cunning, sinister look.  “That’s right, Oleg; send the bitch to
me.  I shall give her an earful.”

     Rory’s face lit up like the high-noon sun. 
“Can I help you?”

     Remington lifted an eyebrow, pursing her
lips thoughtfully.  There was no mistaking the devious aura about her.  “Gaston
wants her gone and so do I.  Mayhap…mayhap we could make her miserable enough
to leave,” she looked pointedly at Rory.  “You, my lady, are a master of
pranks. Any ideas?”

     Rory was in her heaven.  She rose from her
chair, clasping her hands behind her back with mock thoughtfulness.  “Quite a
few, actually.  I think we could make her life quite hellish.?”

     Remington smiled wickedly, knowing she
shouldn’t be encouraging this action, but feeling her desperation.  True, she
trusted Gaston, but she wasn’t beyond giving him a little help.  Their
relationship was so new, promising such wonder and magnificence that she wanted
this woman out of the way in order to pursue her happiness. Selfish on her
part; absolutely. But for once in her life she felt like being selfish.

***

     Lady Mari-Elle de Russe paced leisurely across the
floor of the large foyer, her expert eyes studying every inch of the décor and
wealth.  Wealth that now belonged to her husband and, to her.  She could see
that Mt. Holyoak was wealthy indeed, not extravagant, but certainly
self-supporting and then some.  She was terribly pleased that King Henry had
seen fit to grant her husband such a prime holding.

     Money, station, and reputation; everything
Gaston had that was hers.  In spite of the fact that he had betrayed Richard,
it mattered not since he was in good standing with Henry Tudor.  And why not? 
His mother was a Tudor cousin and therefore, Mari-Elle found herself in the
prestigious position of being related to the King of England.

     Moreover, Gaston was her partner but she
held no love for him; she never had.  He gave her what she most wanted and
stayed away to allow her to enjoy it; wealth.  Money that kept her supplied
with men, jewels, and clothes.  Her life had been perfect until a few short
weeks ago.

     Her current lover, Count Luc-Pietre de
Moulors, had been amusing enough to keep her occupied.  He was suave, handsome,
thinly built and witty.  Exactly her type and she considered keeping him for an
infinite amount of time until she discovered her pregnancy. Panicked, she
banished him from Clearwell and set out to make rapid plans.  She had not seen
Gaston in nearly a year and everyone would know the child was not his. To bear
him a bastard would give him reason to send her away, cut off her allowance, or
mayhap even kill her.

     Mari-Elle was clear. She wrote to Henry and
discovered that Gaston had recently been sent north to Yorkshire, to a keep
called Mt. Holyoak.  Mari-Elle packed up her entire household and set out for
Yorkshire, desperate to be with her husband.  She had to convince him that she
had missed him terribly and to beg his forgiveness, to lie with him and
conceive another child.

     Her plan would work perfectly if everything
went according to her schedule.  Much had happened between her and Gaston and
she knew he hated her, and frankly she had not cared in the least until a few
weeks ago.  Now, she could only hope she was convincing when she pledged her
undying love to the man.  He knew her well;
too
well, and she knew he
would take a great deal of convincing.

     Trenton walked beside her, his dark gray
eyes observing his surroundings solemnly. He was extremely tall for his age,
almost as tall as his mother, with his father’s dark features.

     “Father returned hours ago,” the boy said. 
“Why hasn’t he come to see us?”

     “Do not feel badly, dear,” Mari-Elle said. 
“You know your father has never liked children, and he certainly never wanted a
son.  But he will grow accustomed to you, I promise.  That’s why I brought you
here, isn’t it?  For you to get to know your father.”

     Trenton shrugged in the same gesture Gaston
used sometimes.  He knew his father did not like him, but he was proud of his
father nonetheless.  There was a great deal of prestige being the Dark Knight’s
son.  He was torn between hating his father terribly and loving him desperately,
wondering what he had ever done to make his father stay away all the time.

     He was a good boy, with a good heart,
fortunately not damaged too badly by his mother’s devilish ways.  More than
anything, he was simply confused.  His mother did not have time for him, his
father was non-existent, and there was truly no one for him.  He spent his days
at Clearwell playing with his dogs or exploring in the neighboring woods when
it wasn’t too cold, a lonely life for a lonely boy.

     “I believe this keep will do quite nicely,”
Mari-Elle said with approval.  “Far different from Clearwell, is it not?”

     “It is bigger,” Trenton said.  “But not as
well decorated.”

     “That will change,” Mari-Elle said
confidently, already imagining the possibilities. Then, her eyes fell on her
son.  “Let us go and find your father, shall we?  He must be outside somewhere.

     Controlling his nervousness and excitement,
Trenton followed her. 

     They stood on the steps overlooking the inner bailey
for quite a while.  Soldiers and knights whirled past them, but no one stopped,
even when Mari-Elle tried to gain their attention.  Finally, she spied a
familiar head and sent Trenton across the courtyard to Arik.

     “Sir Arik.” Trenton called.

     The knight turned around, smiling at the
lad.  “What is it, young de Russe?”

     “My father, Sir Arik.  Where is he?  My
mother wishes to speak with him,” Trenton said.

     Arik’s eyes rose over the boy’s head and he
stared straight on into Mari-Elle several yards away.  Tall, elegant
Mari-Elle.  She was lovely in a high-bred sort of way, but her face was too
thin for his taste.  Her dark hair was pulled back sharply and arranged with
all sorts of jewels, and her brown eyes gazed haughtily over the courtyard.  He
sighed, feeling his sincere dislike for the woman.

     He looked back at Trenton, forcing his face
to brighten.  “Would you like to come with me as we search for him?”

     Trenton nodded.  “Aye, I would.”

     Gaston wasn’t hard to find.  He was inside
the troop house, watching the final touches being put into the ceiling.

     “My lord,” Arik called to him. “You have a
visitor.”

     Gaston turned sharply, his eyes falling on
his son, a younger version of himself.  He was suddenly sorry he had not sought
out Mari-Elle earlier, if for no other reason than to see Trenton.

     “Greetings, Trenton,” he said, coming
closer.  “I am pleased to see how much you have grown since I last saw you.”

     “It was a year ago, my lord,” Trenton said,
trying to control his quivering.  He couldn’t believe he was actually facing
his father.  “I was only seven years old.”

     “And now you are practically a grown man,”
Gaston said with satisfaction.  He looked at Arik.  “What do you think of my
son?”

     “He shall be a great knight as you,” Arik
replied.  “Look at the size of his hands already.”

     Trenton looked at his hands, turning them
over.  “I…I am set to foster soon, mother says.”

     “She is correct,” Gaston replied.  “You
will be fostering here with me.  You and I have been apart far too long,
Trenton.  I would keep you here with me and oversee your training.”

     Trenton’s jaw hung slack.  “I will train
here?  With you?”

     “Indeed,” Gaston replied, wondering of the
boy’s shock was from displeasure or happiness.

     Trenton was stunned.  His gray eyes widened
at his father a moment, but he said nothing.  Truth was, he was speechless. 
Arik slapped the boy affectionately on the back. 

     “Say what you had in mind, lad,” he said. 
“Your father is a busy man.”

     He was always busy, always moving, always
fighting.  Trenton cleared his throat, for he was terribly nervous in his
father’s presence.  “Mother seeks you, my lord.  She wishes to speak with you.”

     Gaston’s face darkened. “Tell your mother
that I am indisposed at the moment and will join her when I am able,” he said
evenly, then paused thoughtfully.  “I have changed my mind. I shall send a
soldier to your mother.  You may stay here with me and help me oversee the
finish of my troop house.  What do you think so far?”

     Trenton was in a daze; his father actually
wanted his opinion? After everything his mother had told him, after everything
he had been led to believe, he was confused and delighted beyond his young
mind’s grasp.  All he could do was nod as his father took him along, explaining
the purpose of the addition.

     Arik watched them slowly walk away, knowing
how terribly Gaston had missed his son and pleased to see them together and
away from the influence of the bitch.

     Turning on his heel, he would deliver the
master’s message personally.

***

     The nooning meal was served with a good
deal of flourish and style.  Mari-Elle’s cook was from Normandy, a talented
artisan that had turned a simple meal into a sumptuous affair.

     Gaston entered the hall last, as was usual, passing a
skeptical eye over the room.  Strange smells from exotic dishes assaulted his
nose and he found himself wishing for the simple smell of mutton.  Trenton,
beside him, caught sight of Mari-Elle first.

     “There’s mother,” he pointed eagerly. 
“She’s waving to you.”

     Gaston clenched his jaw as he focused on
his wife.  Tall, thin, and cold, exactly as he had remembered, except…except
she was smiling. Instantly he went even more on his guard than he usually was.
Trenton ran on ahead and Arik approached casually.

     “Ah, the spider calling to the fly,” he
mumbled in direction of his lord’s ear.

     Gaston’s jaw flexed dangerously.  “Except
this fly is about to quash the spider.  Have you checked on Remington and the
rest of the family?”

     “I sent a couple of knights upstairs to
make sure they were taken care of,” Arik replied.  “I did not want to miss the
entertainment.”

     Patrick and Nicolas joined the small group,
suddenly very conspicuous in the archway to the great hall.

     “She’s turned this meal into a goddamn
courtly affair,” Patrick murmured.  He had always been the most mild-tempered
of Gaston’s knights, but even he had little love for Mari-Elle.

     “Get in there,” Gaston snapped softly. 
“Eat and be done.  We shall not turn this into a social occasion.”

     They wandered into the hall to their usual
places. Mari-Elle had taken the extreme liberty of setting herself next to her
husband and greeted Patrick with overbearing affection. She began to seat the
men around her, her thin face flushed with pleasure.  Gaston stood a few feet
away, his hands on his massive hips as he watched his wife with great disapproval.

     Mari-Elle’s eyes met with his and her
expression grew very soft, loving even.  “My lord husband,” she said in a husky
voice.  “I am so glad to finally see you.”