The Dark One: Dark Knight (41 page)

     “I beg you, my lord, show some compassion. 
Would you traumatize Trenton further by a divorce and then my death?” her voice
was shaking.  “He would be devastated.”

     Again she brought Trenton into the
conversation and he was angry.  “Leave him out of this.  This is not about him;
it is about our sham of a marriage.  You will grant me an annulment, or
anything else I ask for, or I shall get it anyway and leave you destitute.  The
choice is yours.”

     Clever tears sprang to her eyes and she put
her hand to her mouth to seal off her sobs.  “Please do not be so cruel!”

     “I am not.”

     “You are,” she let out a sob.  “You are as
black as your namesake, Gaston.  How can you show so little pity for your dying
wife?”

     He rolled his eyes in exasperation and
turned away from her.  He was tired of her, of arguing.  He wasn’t used to
being denied his wants or desires.

     Mari-Elle rose, extending a hand to him
beseechingly.  “You said yourself that you will ever be grateful to me for
bearing Trenton.  If you truly mean that, my lord, then show me the
consideration due the mother of your son.”

     He glared at her.  “What consideration?”

     She sniffled delicately.  “Allow me to stay
until my strength returns, allow me to try and redeem myself in your eyes.”

     He shook his head.  “I do not want you
here.”

     “I know,” she said quickly.  “And I
understand your reservations.  But after being poisoned upon my arrival in
addition to my ailment, I am truly too weak to travel home. Mayhap you will be
gracious and allow me to stay for a short period of time.  And, also, mayhap I
can prove to you in that time that I am sincere in my desire to strengthen our
marriage.  Please, Gaston?”

     He was furious and frustrated, and
thoroughly tired of her lying and pleading.  He suddenly swung to face her, his
face dark.  “I will allow you one week to recover and after that you are gone. 
I will hear nothing of reconciliation, and I will have my annulment.  Do you
comprehend me, madam?”

     “You cannot mean that,” she whispered.

     “Aye, I can, and I do,” he returned
snappishly.  “I want your acknowledgement that you understand what I am telling
you.”

     She closed her eyes against his loathing
stare.  “I understand, my lord.”

     “Excellent,” he stood back from her. 
“Return to your room, now.  And if you are so weak, I do not expect to see you
out and about until the day of your departure.”

     She fully understood the order and
indicated such with an obedient nod.  Silently, she quit the room, yet she knew
the battle was not over.  She had only just begun.

***

     Remington couldn’t sleep that night to save
her life.  She tossed and turned and twisted, angry with Gaston for having
loved someone else.  He had never told her that he loved her, so she had no
reason to think he was anything more than extremely fond of her.  Sure, he
wanted to marry her, but he mentioned two specific reasons why; children and
wanting a lovely woman to come home to.  He never said anything about love.

     She sat up in bed, beating at the pillows
before throwing herself down on them again.  They still did not feel right and
she jumped out of bed altogether, pacing to the window.

     The night was cool and the moon was bright,
casting silver light on the scene below.  She could see the sentries on the
walls, torches moving about as they went on their rounds.  Somewhere, a night
bird gave song.

     There were suddenly very heavy boot falls
in the corridor outside and she knew it was Gaston returning to his chamber. 
Her first reaction was to run to her door and open it, but she reined herself. 
She was too angry with him, too confused for her own good. Certainly she had no
right to be angry that he had loved another woman, but she was hurt and enraged
just the same.

     The boot falls passed her room and went
down the hall.  She heard a door slam and knew he had retired for the night.

     Remington sank onto her silk chair, hot
tears springing to her eyes.  Irate or no, she had hoped he would at least say
good night to her, but apparently he had forgotten about her.  Damn him.  She
sat back in the chair and wiped her tears away angrily, having no idea why she
was feeling so confused.  At least with Guy, she had known what to expect. 
With Gaston, she felt as if her brain was mush.

     She heard a distant door creak open and
again there were boot falls in the corridor.  Her heart jumped into her throat
as she realized it was Gaston once more, hoping he would knock on her door but
knowing he was most likely going about his business.  Even in the middle of the
night the man seemed to have duties.  She wondered if he ever slept.

     She startled sharply when she heard soft
raps at her door.  Fighting the urge to run and throw it open, she took her
leisure crossing the room, purely to make him wait.  Slowly, she undid the
latch, hoping it would show him that she was not at all eager to see him.  The
door creaked open and she peered up at him.

     “What is it, my lord?” she asked calmly.

     His face lacked any humor whatsoever.  “Let
me in.”

     Silently, she complied.  He entered her
room dressed in snug leather breeches and a black linen shirt, the sleeves
rolled above the elbow.  Remington had to draw in a sharp breath; he looked
absolutely magnificent.

     He went directly to her wine decanter and
poured himself a full cup of wine.  Draining it, he poured himself another. 
Remington began to forget about her own insecurities when she saw how upset he
was.

     “What’s the matter?” she asked softly.

     He drained the cup and still poured himself
more.  Turning, he let his eyes rove over her from her feet to the top of her
chestnut-auburn hair.  “Come here.”

     She obeyed, wrapping her arms around his
narrow waist and hugging him tightly.  He held her with one arm, the cup in his
other hand.  They stood there for several long moments, simply content with the
feel of each other.  He drank only half of his third goblet of wine before
setting it down, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her aimlessly toward
the window.

     She clung to his neck, feeling his warmth
and strength course through her.  So what if he did not love her; she could
live with his great affection and attentions.  Mayhap in time she could make
him love her a little.

     “Mari-Elle is being most uncooperative,” he
said after a moment, cradling her in his arms and rocking her softly like a
babe.  “She says she wants to reconcile our marriage.”

     “What?” she pulled her face from the crook
of his neck, a shocked expression.

     “Exactly my reaction,” he said drily.  Even
shocked, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  “She claims she is
dying, if you can believe that, and she seems to be intent on patching the
ruins of our marriage before she passes on.”

     Remington scowled in outrage.  “That’s
ridiculous.  She does not look as if she is dying, Gaston.  She’s as healthy as
I am.”

     “I agree and I told her so, but she claims that
Rory’s little gag with the crushed apricot seeds has left her quite weak and
has only served to aggravate her life-threatening condition,” he sighed,
resting his forehead against hers.  “I told her she had one week to recover and
get the hell out of my keep.  I shall seek and annulment with or without her
consent.”

     “Oh, my love, I am so sorry,” she
whispered.

     “As am I,” he said.  “But ‘tis no matter. 
She shall not stand in our way, I promise you.”

     She kissed his cheek softly, burying her
face in his neck once again.  She did not know what to say to him.  An
annulment was along the lines of an act of God, and she did not believe in
miracles.  In fact, she seriously doubted there was a God who could create men
as terrible as her husband.

     Yet; Gaston believed it possible, and she
clung to his belief.  He was her god now.

     He held her, caressed her, his mind moving
ahead to London and Henry.  The king was already creating quite a bit of
trouble within the church for his demands that ecclesiastical immunities be
dissolved, that priests and clergy be held accountable to the laws of government
as normal men were.  For Henry to go to the papal legate on Gaston’s behalf and
demand an annulment might add more fuel to the strained fire.

     He was well aware of the problems of
Henry’s relationship with the church, but he would do what he had to do to
achieve his ends.  It was either that or murder both Mari-Elle and Guy
Stoneley.

     He shook his head at the thought, disgusted
that he had even considered it.  Mayhap he had learned lessons in politics from
Richard after all.

     Remington lifted her head to smile at him
and he brushed his lips on hers, suddenly very fatigued.  He had her back and
all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms the rest of the night, to forget
about the most eventful day for a while.

     The adjoining door suddenly creaked open and
Dane was in the archway, sobbing softly.  Both Remington and Gaston looked to
the little boy.

     “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked her
son, sliding from Gaston’s arms. 

     “I….had a….dream,” he sobbed, rubbing his
eyes.

     She took her son in her arms and brought
him to sit with her on the bed.  Gaston sank down beside them.

     “What dream?  What was so awful?” she cooed
gently.

     “Father.” he blurted.  “I saw father, and I
saw you, and he was trying to kill you.”

     Remington kissed the top of his crying
head.  “Battles and lords and sieges.” she admonished Gaston softly.  “Now he’s
having nightmares of death.”

     He raised his eyebrows and put his hand out
to the boy.  To his surprise, Dane left his mother and cuddled up in Gaston’s
arms.

     “You shall protect her, won’t you?” Dane
sniffled.

     “Of course,” Gaston said gently.  “But it
was only a dream, Dane.  Dreams can’t hurt us.”

     “But sometimes my dreams come true.” he
insisted.  “This one will, too, and you have to save my mother.”

     Gaston gave Remington a disbelieving look
and was puzzled to see that she looked entirely calm and agreeable, even.  She
met Gaston’s stare and gave a reluctant shrug.

     “He has on occasion, dreamt of things that
have come to past,” she said softly.  “Ever since he was old enough to tell us
of his dreams.”

     Gaston lifted an eyebrow to tell her
exactly what he thought of that nonsense.  She looked away.

     “Dane, your father is not going to kill
your mother, I promise,” he said.  “Do you think you can go back to sleep now?”

     The little boy shook his head.  “I want to
sleep in here with you.”

     Gaston and Remington looked at each other. 
“This is my bedchamber, Dane, not Sir Gaston’s.”

     “I know that, but he sleeps in here with
you, and I want to sleep with the both of you,” he squirmed from Gaston’s arms
and dove under the coverlet of the bed, tossing about.

     Gaston and Remington watched him with
astonishment for a moment.  So the boy was intuitive as well as having
prophetic dreams, Gaston thought wryly.  He reached down and tugged off a huge
boot, and Remington looked at him with surprise.

     “What are you doing?” she asked.

     He yanked off another boot.  “I am going to
sleep in here with you and Dane,” he stood up, bare-footed, and swept his arm
in the direction of the dozing boy.  “After you, my lady.”

     Hesitantly, she stood up and removed her
robe, revealing a thin white nightshift, as fine as spider’s web.  She heard
Gaston groan.  “By God’s Bloody Rood, madam, how am I expected to sleep with
you wearing such a provocative garment?”

     She looked down at her shift.  “It covers
everything, my lord.”

     “Covers, aye, but you can see right through
the damn thing,” he pointed out.

     She looked up at him, a sly smile playing
on her lips.  “Shall I put the robe back on?”

     “Hell no,” he moved around her and pulled
back a corner of the coverlets.  “Now get in there before I do something
drastic.”

     “Pray what?” she teased innocently.

     He gave her a stern look and bent close to
her ear.  “I will show you later after Dane has been placed in his own bed.”

     With a smile, she climbed into the bed next
to her son.  Half asleep, Dane snuggled close to her as Gaston eased himself
onto the mattress on the boy’s other side.  Remington held Dane, and Gaston
held them both.

     Morning announced itself sharp and clean.

***

     The next few days were strange at best. 
Mari-Elle kept to her rooms, as she had been ordered, but her servants were all
over the keep, drilling soldiers for gossip and planting rumors of their own. 
In no time, the quiet solitude of Mt. Holyoak was darkly tinged with enough
idle talk and hearsay to fill a moat.