The Dark One: Dark Knight (34 page)

     “But you took me,” she traced her finger
along his lower lip.

     “Believe me when I tell you it was simply
by chance,” he said.  “I never planned it, at least not at first.”

     She perked up.  “Not at first?  When,
then?  When did you know?”

     He looked at her a moment.  “After your
sister put charcoal on Nicolas’ cup and you were terrified that she had
booby-trapped the entire table.  You practically tore the table apart looking
for tricks with this wild look on your face,” his hand moved over her shoulder
tenderly.  “I knew then that I would have you.”

     She smiled.  “I thought you were going to
crucify Rory.  We were terrified of you; my sisters still are.”

     “And you are not?” he asked with feigned
outrage.

     Her smile faded.  “I fear Guy more than
you.  The man knows no mercy, no compassion, no gentleness.  He strikes for no
reason, without warning.  He is an animal.”

     Gaston’s face hardened.  “And the animal
fears me more than God.  He shall never touch you nor see you again, Remi, I
swear it.  If I have to get down on my knees before Henry to plead for his
unending imprisonment, I will.  I shall kill him if he sets foot outside of the
Tower.”

     She believed him.

CHAPTER TEN

     Gaston sought out Arik to find out where
exactly his wife had been housed.  Arik personally led his liege to the
northern wing, a seldom-used portion of Mt. Holyoak.  All of Mari-Elle’s
household had been roomed here and Gaston passed by several people he
recognized from Clearwell.  He ignored them here, as he ignored them there.

     He had not even reached his wife’s room and
he could hear her shrieking.  His veins ran cold; this was the same woman he
knew and despised.  His resolve to get rid of her strengthened ten-fold as he
quickened his pace down the hall.  He would not listen to that irritating voice
any longer than he had to.

     The door to her chamber was open partially
and he shoved it open the rest of the way as he barged in.  Mari-Elle was in
the process of reaming one of her servants, a poor girl getting her ears boxed,
when she caught sight of her husband.

     From what he had seen of her at the nooning
meal, he half expected her to turn instantly sweet and subservient in a
desperate ploy to throw him off his guard.  But he was not surprised when she
turned to him like a wild animal, her eyes bulging.

     “At last!” she cried.  “You have arrived,
my lord.”

     He raised his eyebrow and gave her an
intolerant look.  “You will not be so glad when you hear what I have to say.
Dismiss your women.”

     Mari-Elle let out a desperate gasp,
dramatic to say the least.  “My lord, they are trying to
kill
me,” she
began to weep exaggeratedly.  “You have an assassin within your midst.”

     He scowled; he had no time for her
ridiculous stalling tactics.  “Dismiss your women, Mari-Elle.”

     Suddenly she doubled over and grabbed her
gut, moaning in pain.  He watched her curiously as she disappeared into a small
alcove and he could hear her snapping at a servant and grunting.  He passed a
glance at Arik, still behind him.

     “This is going to take all day if she keeps
this up,” he grumbled.  “Be on your way, man.  I can handle her myself.”

     “Are you sure?” Arik quipped seriously.

     Gaston twisted his mouth drolly and Arik
snorted in response, exiting the chamber.

     Mari-Elle was grunting and cursing like a
barmaid and Gaston’s patience was nearly at an end, but he reined himself. 
Drawing in a deep breath for strength, he crossed his arms and planted his feet
apart, waiting.

     It took several minutes, but Mari-Elle
re-emerged from the alcove looking the least bit pale.  She swallowed hard,
holding a handkerchief to her lips as she weaved across the room to the wine
decanter.

     “Someone is trying to kill me,” she gasped,
pouring herself a dose of wine.  “I have been poisoned.”

     He frowned intolerantly.  “What are you
talking about?” 

     She took a deep drink before answering,
distraught.  “Someone has poisoned me.  My stomach is in knots and…. and
everything is coming out of me as quickly as it went in.  I am slowly dying, I
tell you.”

     He did not believe her for a moment and
raised his eyebrow to let her know just that.  She caught his look.  

     “To make matters worse, my room has been
sabotaged.” She rushed to her bed as fast as her shaky legs would take her and
threw back the covers.  Seeing nothing, Gaston peered closer and noticed a fine
sheen on the covers and pillow.

     “Honey.” Mari-Elle informed him.  “I ruined
my best dressing coat with it.  And this,” she bent down and picked up a pair
of slippers next to the bed, turning them over; honey poured out.  “I put my
feet in this slime.”

     Gaston watched the honey dribble to the
floor and knew exactly who was responsible.  He put his hand over his mouth
casually so Mari-Elle would not see his twitching lips.

     “But that’s not the worst of it,” Mari-Elle
went on dramatically. “The assassins saved the best for last.” She suddenly
threw open her bed robe and from the neck down she was a lovely shade of
yellow, saffron yellow.  “The tub was filled with steaming water when I retired
this afternoon from the nooning meal and like a fool, I got in it.  Now look at
me.”

     Gaston closed his eyes; he had to or he
would giggle like an idiot.  He quickly turned away from his wife so she would
not see that he was struggling for composure.  “Cover yourself, madam, so that
we might talk.”

     Angry and upset, Mari-Elle did as her
husband ordered, and moved for the nearest chair.  “You have evil within your
midst, Gaston.  A killer who has sworn me to death.”

     As soon as her bottom hit the chair, it
collapsed as if it were made from rotted wood.  Gaston spun around when he
heard the crack to see Mari-Elle sitting on a pile of wood and silk.  Out of
obligation, he moved forward to help her up, but not before she grabbed a piece
of broken wood and hurled it at the wall in her fury.

     “I swear if I will not have someone’s head
for this!” she yelled, tossing another piece of wood.  “They shall not get away
with any of this!  I swear vengeance; vengeance, I say!”

     Gaston grasped her by the arm and pulled
her to her feet, greatly annoyed when she pressed against him.  “Oh, my lord
Gaston, how comforted I am to know you are here to protect me.  Thank you, my
lord, for being here.”

     He held her away from him quickly and
pointed her to another chair.  “Sit, madam, and shut your mouth.  I will speak
now.”

     Mari-Elle eyed the chair, kicking its legs
and shaking the arm to make sure it was not on the verge of collapse.  Looking
it over and satisfied I was not going to spill her onto the floor, she turned
and settled herself there.  But the moment her backside touched the cushion,
she shot up with a wild screech of pain and grabbed her buttocks.  Whirling,
she identified the sharp nail sticking out of the cushion.

     “By God!” she roared.  “A knife with which
to gore me!”

     Gaston was on the brink of hysteria.  He
eyed the cushion and worked the long nail out, examining it.  Then he tossed it
to the floor carelessly, eyeing his wife.  “You are lucky you did not sit down
with force.  That nail would have pierced you soundly.”

     Mari-Elle looked at him with disbelief; how
could he be so callous?  She opened her mouth to tell him so when she was
suddenly seized with a fit of cramps and had to make a mad dash for the chamber
pot lest she embarrass herself in front of her husband.

     Gaston shook his head, a smile toying on
his lips.  “I will return later when you have control of yourself, madam.” he
called to her sternly.  “I expect to have your complete attention.”

     He left his wife grunting and cursing harsh
enough to raise the roof.

***

     Mari-Elle did not leave by the morning.  In
fact, she was so ill with diarrhea and nausea that she could not get out of
bed.  Remington was a bit disheartened that her plan had not gone exactly as
planned, but she consoled herself in the knowledge that Gaston’s wife would be
gone soon as she was able to stand.  Dane and Charles had gleefully told her of
the tricks and gags they had planted in her room and she laughed herself
silly.  Surely no woman could stand all that had been done to her and not want
to leave.

     Gaston had not come to her that night and
she was terribly disappointed, yet she knew he must have had a good reason for
his absence.  ‘Twas ironic that a woman who used to start with terror at the
sound of men’s boot falls approaching her room was suddenly eager to hear them,
but her life had changed so much since he had arrived that it was almost as if
she were living out a dream.

     Forgetting her discouragement that he had
not come, she dressed in a pretty surcoat and pulled her hair away from her
face, planting herself in a comfortable chair to embroider the hours away. 
Remington did lovely embroidery and was currently working on a piece depicting
a hummingbird and a wild assortment of flowers.

     She worked on it alone in her room, sitting
in the bright sunshine that streamed in through her window.  The morning was
tapering into the afternoon and the day was warm, and she felt a tremendous
sense of peace.  Never in her life had she felt this sort of settled existence;
she lived day-to-day fearing her husband, terrorized by his mere voice or
presence.  It had been no way to live, but live it she had.  With a young son
and sisters depending on her, she had had no choice.

     To be able to sit and not fear what the day
held was truly an answer to prayer.

     In the room adjoining hers, she could hear
Dane and Charles playing some sort of chess game.  Charles was trying to
explain the rules to Dane, who wanted to play it his own way.  She smiled; they
felt the peace, too.

     There was a knock on her door and she bade
the caller to enter.  Gaston swung open the door, drinking in the sight of
her.  She always took his breath away.

     “Greetings this day, madam,” he said
evenly.  “I am pleased to find you in your room, not frolicking about like a
serving wench.”

     She lay her embroidery in her lap, her
entire face brightening.  “Me? Frolic?  I should say not.”

     He twisted his mouth wryly and closed the
door.  “From what I saw yesterday, you frolic with the best of them.  Rory
could take lessons from you.” He moved across the room.  “Speaking of which,
she has been very busy, hasn’t she?  Writing blasphemous songs.  Sabotaging
bedchambers.”

     Remington lifted her eyebrows innocently. 
“I know not what you mean, my lord.  Rory was with me all of yesterday, as you
know.”

     He leaned on the wall next to the window,
his gaze alternately on her seated directly next to him and roving over the
countryside beyond the opening. 

     “I see,” he said.  “Then you know nothing
of the destruction of Mari-Elle’s room?”

     She continued to play the innocent,
lowering her gaze to her needlework.  “I heard from Patrick this morning that
Lady Mari-Elle has had a most difficult time of it.  Ill, I believe he said. 
So ill she is yellow.”

     His eyes narrowed.  “How would you know she
is yellow, considering I did not tell Patrick?”

     Remington’s mouth twitched.  “Isn’t it true
an ill person usually turns sallow?  Yellow, as it were?”

     He eyed her a moment, turning his eyes out
of the window again.  “What did you put in her food that is making her so
ill?” 

     “I did not put anything in her food, my
lord,” she said.  “I was never near her trencher.”

     He pursed his lips irritably.  “Fine, then,
what did Rory put in her food?  Or Jasmine?  Or Skye?”

     She fixed a delicate stitch before
answering.  “I do not know, my lord.”

     “Remi,” he shifted on his huge legs.  “I am
growing weary of this game.  Simply answer my questions, if you would.”

     Her eyes came up, wide and guiltless.  He
felt as if they were sucking him in. “I am answering your questions.  What am I
not answering?”

     He raised a slow eyebrow and she could read
that he was serious.  “You are answering, indeed, but you are giving me no
answers at all.  I want to know who has done this to my wife.”

     She felt as if she had been slammed in the
chest by his massive fists, for suddenly she couldn’t breathe.  Her head went
down sharply and her hands fumbled with the material shakily.  She had no idea
why she reacted so sharply to his words; what had he said?  There was nothing
to upset her other than the fact that he called another woman his wife.