The Dark One: Dark Knight (33 page)

     It certainly made them sit up and take
notice.  Patrick sprayed his wine all over the floor at the boom, his eyes
widening in surprise.  Antonius, who had been balancing his chair on two legs,
almost fell over had Nicolas not reached out and grabbed him.  The loudness,
the rowdy manner coming from the sisters was beyond believing.

     They were not even singing; they were
yelling at the top of their lungs.

Oh!  We serve the lord, his keep, his hold

We love to eat, to piss, to scold

They call us bawdy.  Hiyo!  ‘Tis an art.

In honor of our new mistress, a ceremonial fart.

     They put their tongues between their lips
and let out the most obnoxious sound ever heard.  The entire room burst into
screaming laughter, tankards banging so loud on the tables that it was
difficult to hear. The room was full of rabble-rousing men, demanding more of
the song.

     Gaston could only stare at the four women
near the hearth, barely comprehending what he had just heard.  Absently, his
hand went to his head in utter disbelief and beside him, Trenton erupted into
giggles.  Mari-Elle, however, was not amused.

     “My lord.” she hissed.  “Are you going to
allow them to continue to insult me?”

     Gaston did not answer as they started in
with another one of their roaring “Oh’s.” The “Oh.s” seemed to get louder and
he could hear Rory at the head of it.

Oh! Welcome to our humble fortress and keep

Do not let the shit in the bailey stick to your
feet

Enjoy your visit, my lady, we pray

Do not let the door hit you in the arse should
you

Decide not to stay.

    
The room went wild with screaming, riotous men
voicing their approbation.  The four sisters smiled and curtsied swiftly before
dashing off the floor and into the kitchens.  Gaston watched them go, laughter
such as he had never known threatening to spill forth.  When he looked at
Mari-Elle’s reddened face, he wanted to laugh all the more.

     Patrick and Antonius had to excuse
themselves; they were too far gone to control their laughter and risked being
rude by abruptly leaving.  Nicolas had his napkin up in front of his face,
shielding him from everyone’s eyes.  The mood of the room was still one of
hysteria.

     “Do not you feel honored, Mother?” Trenton
asked, still giggling.  “They sang a song to you.”

     Mari-Elle’s thin face was taut.  “Some
song,” she put her napkin down stiffly.  “My lord, if you will excuse me, I
would like to rest.  I find I am not feeling well.”

     Gaston gazed impassively at her.  “Rest
while you will.  I will seek you out shortly.”

     Angrily, she rose and quit the room. 
Gaston was thankful that Remington and her sisters were nowhere in sight.  He,
however, was most interested in seeking out Remington and discovering her
reasons for disobeying him, even if she and her sisters had performed
brilliantly.

     “Arik, take my son in hand,” he rose from
his chair.  “I have something to attend to.”

     “No doubt,” Arik lifted an eyebrow.

     Gaston ignored the remark and disappeared
into the kitchens. 

     The nervous servants pointed him in the
direction the sisters had taken and he followed swiftly.  He wound his way out
of the kitchens and came upon a small staircase.  Realizing they had retreated
to their chambers, he went after them.

     Remington was in her room stripping off the
coarse garment and girdle, giggling to herself.  Dane and Charles were in
Charles’ room after quickly informing Remington that Lady Mari-Elle’s room was
a minefield.  Feeling wicked, but gratified, Remington set about removing the
scratchy servant’s garb.

     She did not stop to think of consequences
because she did not think there would be any.  She so terribly feared Guy’s
wrath, but somehow, she did not fear Gaston’s.  It was difficult to explain,
but she knew he would never hurt her, or shame her in any way, no matter what
she had done.  With him, she felt…. free.  Free to be herself.  Free of fear. 
Even if she had been sly and naughty!

     The door to her chamber swung open and
banged loudly against the wall.  Startled, she whirled around to see Gaston
looming in the doorjamb.  And he did not look pleased.

     She suddenly wondered at the wisdom of her
actions, but she did not back down.  “My lord?” she greeted innocently.

     His gaze was hard.  He waited a moment
before stalking into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.  “Would you
mind telling me what that was all about?”

     She was clad in a peasant’s blouse that
hung to the middle of her thighs and nothing else.  Her lovely legs, exposed,
drew Gaston’s hot gaze.  She took a step back as he moved in closer and took a
deep breath to bolster her courage.

     “We…I wanted to catch a glimpse of your
wife, my lord,” she said evenly.  “Since she did not know who I was, I saw no
harm in serving the nooning meal to satisfy my curiosity.”  She looked into his
hard face and felt a chill of fear shoot up her spine, and her bravery waned. 
“Are you terribly angry?”

     “Angry that you disobeyed me when I ordered
you to stay in your rooms, aye,” he put his hands on his hips.  “Angry with
your performance downstairs?  I should be.  It was certainly bold and insolent
enough.”

     She turned away from him, her head
lowered.  “And I do apologize for provoking your fury, my lord, but when Oleg
told me of the things your wife had done with my…your house, I was quite
incensed.”

     “Ah, then you lied to me,” he said.  “You
did not simply want to sate your curiosity, you wanted to exact vengeance.”

     She turned to him, half-pouting and
half-defiant.  “Aye, I did.  She does not belong here.”

     He looked at her a moment before pacing to
the bed, sitting lightly on the edge.  He extended his hand to her and pulled
her between his thighs.  Relieved he wasn’t going to spank her, she ran splayed
fingers through his hair, remembering the passion from the night before with
great happiness.

     “I understand your feelings, Remi, but she
is my wife and I alone will deal with her,” he said softly.

     Rebuked, she refused to meet his eye but
continued to stroke his hair.  He watched her angelic face, remembering how
tremendously drawn he was to her as she acted the serving wench.  She was far
too beautiful and sweet for a common servant; even Mari-Elle had known it.

     “We love to eat, to piss, to scold?” he
suddenly repeated, and she burst into giggles.

     “Rory wrote the song.” she insisted.

     “’A ceremonial fart?’” he recounted with
disapproval, though he was smiling.  “Really, Remi, how vulgar.”

     “I never said she was a poet,” she
snickered.  “But it was effective, was it not?”

     He shook his head.  “Effective in making
everyone hysterical and provoking Mari-Elle,” he agreed.  “I should not be
surprised with anything you four do.”

     Her expression suddenly went sly as she ran
her hand down the sides of his face.  “Nay, you should not.  With any luck, we
shall have your wife gone by morning.”

     His eyes narrowed.  “What does that mean?  
What else have you done?”

     “Me?  Nothing, my lord,” she said
innocently.  “And how is Trenton faring?  He’s truly a beautiful boy, just like
his father.”

     “My son is well,” he said shortly.  “Remi,
what else have you done?  Why is Mari-Elle likely to leave of her own free will
by morn?”

     She looked annoyed.  “I told you, I have
done nothing,” she insisted.  “May I get dressed now, my lord?”

     His hands moved up the backs of her legs,
almost to her rounded bottom.  “Nay, you may not.”

     “And why not?” she asked, smiling, feeling
the wicked warmth of lust already flowing through her veins.

     He responded by sinking his teeth into the
soft flesh of her neck, drawing the most pleasurable of moans.  He answered
with a low groan of his own accord and the peasant blouse came off.

     He flipped her onto her back on the
mattress, covering her body with his massive frame.  She clung to him, already
parting her thighs and wrapped her legs around him.  His mouth was on hers, his
tongue thrusting into her mercilessly, licking the honeyed orifice.  Passion
that was merely building one moment was instantly full-blown and fierce.

     He left her a brief moment to strip off his
shirt and peel off his breeches and then he was on her again, urged on by her
soft pleading.  His mouth fastened to a rosy nipple, sucking it into a hard
pebble and slipping his hands underneath her back, pulling her up to his lips,
trapping her.

     She was desperate to get him inside her, to
feel the same sensations that rocked her the previous night.  He obliged her,
slipping his huge manhood at her threshold and thrusting slowly and firmly
until he slid his entire hard length into her.

     Remington was incoherent with her need. 
She wrapped her small body around him, her face against his neck, rising to
meet him as he thrust into her.  He was hard and firm, rhythmic, and driving
her to the brink of madness.  The familiar fire in her loins from last night
was raging once again and she begged him to put a sweet end to her torment as
he had once before.  It had been the mightiest of experiences, one she wished
to repeat again and again.

     Yet, even as he moved within her, full and
rock-solid, it was more than the act itself.  It was the simple action of being
held by him, touching his flesh, being touched.  It was
him
, like no one
else.  He cared for her, was kind to her, respected her.  That, as well as the
physical touching, was a most powerful aphrodisiac.

     He growled, his hands under her hips,
lifting her to meet him with tender savagery.  She could do naught but clutch
him tightly, his body so huge and powerful that she felt overwhelmed by his
sheer maleness.  She moved with him, meeting his rhythm, feeling the fire
within her building to a roaring blaze.

     Without his obvious manipulation as he had
done last night, she felt the tremors of release begin and begged him to drive
harder, harder.  He obeyed, bringing her to such a raging climax that she cried
aloud with relief and pleasure, feeling the moment of time where all else
seemed to stop for a brief second, where only her exquisite pleasure mattered,
before beginning the inevitable downslide to complete contentment.  She wished
she could stay there forever, feeling him moving within her like a great
battering ram.

     He felt her convulsions, milking him,
demanding his own release, and he relented, joining in her pleasure.  He swore
he had never climaxed so hard as he continued to move, slowing his actions,
winding down.  Their sweaty bodies lowered to the bed, enveloped by the
softness, and he held her tightly against him in a protective embrace.

     Remington dozed lightly, utterly exhausted
and satisfied.  The feelings were entirely new to her, more wonderful than she
had ever suspected.  His huge hands caressed her back and stroked her hair as
they cuddled contentedly, realizing their relationship was deepening by the
moment.

     “Can we stay here forever?” she whispered.

     “Would that I could, angel,” he kissed her
head, his mind turning briefly to Mari-Elle.  Sex with her had never, ever come
close to this.  It had been a duty.

     She kissed his chest softly, running her
hands lightly over his skin.  “You are so gentle for your massive size,” she
said.  “I would not have thought it possible.”

     “Were I not gentle, I’d most likely flatten
you like a pancake,” he teased.

     She giggled.  “’Twould be a most
pleasurable form of death, my lord.”

     He propped himself up on an elbow, gazing
down on her lovely face.  “You will listen to me know, Remi, or I will take a
stick to you.  I want you to stay in your rooms until I tell you otherwise. 
There will be no disobedience from you on this, madam, in any way.  Am I making
myself clear?”

     She nipped playfully at his lower lip. 
“Aye, Gaston.  I swear to you that I will not leave my rooms.  I shall simply
wait here in bed for you to return to me.”

     He lifted an arched black eyebrow, the same
way he had lifted it the first time she had ever gazed into his eyes.  This
time, however, she reached up and touched his brow.  “If you choose to wait in
bed, then that will suit me.  But know I mean what I say, Remi.  I do not jest
with you.”

     She was gazing at him dreamily, a faint
smile on her face.  “Tell me, Gaston, when you first saw me did you know that
we would be lovers?”

     He signed in annoyance.  She wasn’t
listening to him.  “Nay, I did not.  I do not take lovers.”