The Dark One: Dark Knight (42 page)

     The rumors centered around Remington and
her sisters, of course, harmless tales that were more bothersome than anything
else.  It was obvious Mari-Elle was trying to turn the tide of favor against
the Yorkist wife in hopes that she would vacate the keep.  Mari-Elle wasn’t
truly suspicious or jealous of Remington, but she was threatened by her
presence.  It never occurred to her that she was her husband’s mistress; Gaston
did not have that sort of reputation.

     Her husband, however, would have nothing to
do with her.  She would send for him, seek him out, and when she did manage to
find him he was barely civil.  It was frustrating, especially since the child
in her womb was growing larger and her time at Mt. Holyoak was drawing to a
close.  The time was coming for more drastic measures.

     July was a brutal, humid month and more and
more time was being spent at the lake.  After the morning meal, Remington
packed up Dane and made her way to the inner bailey to seek Gaston out; she no
longer asked permission to swim, only to let him know where she was going. 
More often than not he accompanied her.

     She found him in the outer bailey reviewing
the new recruits.  She and Dane stood patiently by the gates as Arik drilled
and Gaston observed carefully.  Four hundred more men were expected within a
few days and he wanted to have the first class out of basic training.

     She watched him underneath the rapidly
warming sky; his glossy hair slicked back as usual, giving him a hawk-like
appearance.  Rarely, if ever, did he give orders directly to the troops, but
when he spoke it was as if God himself had issued commandments.  They tripped
over one another in their haste to carry out his commands.

     It was impressive and overwhelming, and
Dane soaked it up like a sponge.  He couldn’t wait to start his training, but
Gaston had already warned Remington that contact between them would be severely
limited, and the boy would be housed with the other squires near the stables. 
As his mother, she was not so anxious for him to begin his fostering.

     A boy sat several feet away on the edge of
a hay cart, watching the proceedings intently.  Remington studied the boy for a
moment until she realized it was Trenton.  It was not a difficult discovery,
for he looked exactly like his father.  He sat as still as stone, never
wavering his gaze and Remington could see the hero worship in his eyes, just as
in Danes.

     Dane, however, was growing tired of simply
waiting and dug his inflated pig’s bladder ball out of the basket.  He began to
toss it about as Remington admonished him to be still.  He would obey for a
moment or two, then start tossing the ball all over again.  Inevitably, he lost
control and it went rolling over to the hay cart.

     He dashed over to the wagon just as Trenton
picked the ball up.  He extended it to the owner.

     “Here,” he said.

     Dane took the ball, studying the lad.  He
was a good deal taller than himself, but his face was still babyish.  “Thank
you,” he said.  “I have not seen you around here before.”

     “’Tis my father’s keep,” Trenton said.  “I
will be staying here now.”

     Dane blinked, puzzled. “Your father?”

     Trenton pointed to Gaston.  “That’s my
father.  He’s lord of the keep.  Are you a servant?”

     Dane shook his head.  “My mother is lady of
Mt. Holyoak.”

     Trenton frowned.  “
My
mother is lady
of Mt. Holyoak.”

     Dane scowled fiercely.  “Is not.  My mother
is Lady Remington Stoneley.”

     Trenton scowled back.  “And my mother is
Sir Gaston’s wife.  That makes her the lady of Mt. Holyoak.”

     Dane threw down the ball at the challenge. 
In spite of the fact that Trenton was a good head taller than he was, he shoved
him anyway.  “Sir Gaston loves my mother and she is still lady of Mt. Holyoak.”

     Trenton was back in his face and shoved him
so hard he fell to his bottom.  “You are a liar.”

     “Am not!” Dane scrambled to his knees and
took Trenton down by the legs.

     Remington rushed over to the two scuffling
boys, yelling at them to cease their fighting.  Gaston heard the beginnings of
the dispute and was already on his way over.  He reached down and pulled the
boys apart by the neck, holding each of them at arm’s length.

     They were still shouting at each other and
Trenton had a cut on his lip.  Gaston gave him a good shake.

     “Good men, you will cease this fighting,”
he said severely. 

     The boys listened somewhat, but they were
still huffing and glaring at one another.  When their struggles slowed, Gaston
let them go and crossed his arms critically.

     “May I ask, then, what that display was all
about?” he asked reprovingly.

     “He started it.” Dane yelled.

     “Did not.” Trenton responded.

     “Dane.  Trenton.” Gaston snapped.  “If you
cannot tell me what has caused this argument, then you will both retreat to
your rooms for the remainder of the day.  Is that understood?”

     Dane opened his mouth but thought better of
it.  Gaston eyed his son, silently ordering him quiet.  Trenton obeyed,
reluctantly. 

     “Now,” Gaston started again.  “Dane, why do
not you tell me why you were scuffling with my son?”

     Dane tore his eyes away from Trenton and
stared at Gaston as if he had just announced he was Jesus Christ.  “He’s…. he’s
your son?”

     “Aye, he is,” Gaston answered.  “Did not
your mother tell you he was here?”

     “Well….no,” Dane admitted, feeling terribly
hurt for some reason.  It wasn’t the fact that his mother had not directly told
him; he knew something was up by the way they had been kept to their rooms, and
he knew Lady de Russe had arrived.  But he had not known Gaston’s son had
arrived, too.  He was quite enjoying being Gaston’s sole son.

     “Then allow me to introduce you to my son,
Trenton de Russe,” Gaston indicated the larger boy.  “Trenton, this is Lady
Stoneley’s son, Dane.  You two will be fostering together.”

     The boys looked at each other in a new
light; however, it only added to the hostilities.  Dane finally lowered his
gaze, kicking at the ground.

     “Dane, aren’t you going to tell me what
happened?” Gaston prodded gently.

     Dane looked at Trenton and looked at the
dirt again, fidgeting.  “It was nothing, my lord.  We were just fighting,
that’s all”

     “I know you were fighting, I saw you,”
Gaston said, and then turned to his son.  “Trenton?  What happened?”

     Trenton looked a bit sheepish and
shrugged.  “He said his mother was lady of the keep, and I said my mother was
lady of the keep.  And we fought.”

     “I see,” Gaston stroked his stubbly chin. 
“Trenton, Lady Stoneley is chatelaine here.  Do you understand that?”

     Trenton nodded.  “But what about mother? 
She is your wife.”

     “And she is chatelaine at Clearwell,”
Gaston replied evenly.  “It would be far too much work for her to be chatelaine
of two keeps.”

     Trenton looked at Dane doubtfully.  “He
said you loved his mother.  How can you if you are married to my mother?”

     Gaston felt as if he had been struck.  He
did not dare look at Remington; if he had, he would have seen she had gone
completely white.  He found himself swallowing hard.

     “Lady Remington is a valuable asset to Mt.
Holyoak, Trenton,” he said, hoping he could bombard the boy with a lot of
clever words and avoid the real question.  “I appreciate the work she does for
me here at the fortress.”

     “But you sleep in her bedchamber,” Dane
insisted, trying desperately to prove his point to his new enemy.  “And I have
seen you….”

     “Dane.” Remington reached out and grabbed
her unruly son, embarrassed and horrified.  “We will be at the lake, my lord. 
Good day to you.  Good day to you, Trenton.”

     He watched her scuffle off, holding Dane by
the ear.  The boy’s whimpers and grunts faded as they crossed the outer
bailey.  Gaston motioned to one of the knights on the outer wall and two
soldiers were following Lady Remington from the keep.

     He turned to his son, wondering how in the
hell he was going to control the damage.  Trenton was looking at him, quite
confused, and he could see that this was going to take some time.  He put his
hand on his son and steered him over to the hay wagon, and bade the lad to
sit.  He lowered himself next to him, eyeing his son and groping for the
correct words.

     “Trenton,” he began softly.  “You know that
your mother and I do not exactly get along at times.”

     “She hates you,” Trenton said with quiet
bluntness.  “I have heard her tell her friends that.”

     Gaston clasped his hands in front of him. 
“I am sorry you have to had heard such things, but whatever she thinks of me,
please know that we both love you a great deal.”

     Trenton pondered his father’s words.  “She
says that you never wanted me, and that you hate children.”

     Gaston felt anger surge through him. 
“That’s a lie, Trenton.  I love you very much.  You are my only son.”

     “Then why are you always gone?” the boy
turned his face to his father, pleadingly.

     Gaston could read the pain and he was
doubly pained by it.  He knew how his absences reflected on his son, because
they reflected on him the same way.  “I am a soldier, Trenton, and I serve the
crown,” he said.  “You know that there had been quite a bit of upheaval within
the past few years and I have been in the middle of it, fighting for our king. 
If I could have taken you with me, I would have gladly, but life on the move is
no place for a boy.  You were much better off with your mother at Clearwell.”

     Trenton lowered his head.  Gaston looked at
the dark hair, the color of his own and wondered what the lad was thinking. 
“Then do you have friends like mother does?” Trenton asked softly.

     Gaston wasn’t quite sure what he meant. 
“Arik is my friend.” 

     “Nay, I mean friends like mother,” the boy
repeated.  “Friends from France, and Spain, men who talk strange.”

     Gaston grasped his thoughts and took a deep
breath to steady himself.  “Nay, Trenton, I do not.  What you mother does is
her own business.”

     “But…but you sleep in Lady Remington’s
bedchamber?” Trenton asked timidly.  “Mother sleeps with her friends, too.”

     Damn, what that bitch had not exposed her
son to.  Gaston felt himself tensing.  “I have my own bedchamber, Trenton.”

     Trenton sat a moment, mulling over the
conversation, and thinking on everything he had ever heard about his father. 
He truly loved his father and over the past few days saw that his father was a
kind and patient man, nothing as his mother had told him.  He was a man who
took time with him and made him feel wanted.  Not even his mother had ever made
him feel wanted.

     The discussion lagged a bit and Trenton
looked at his hands, embarrassed at the entire confrontation.  Gaston rose from
the edge of the wagon.

     “Would you like to go swimming?” he asked.

     Trenton’s head shot up, his eyes wide. 
“Swimming?  Aye, I would!”

     Gaston’s heart squeezed at his son’s
eagerness for something as simple as swimming.  The lad was just like
Remington; so tremendously easy to please, as those who have been abused
usually are.  Though he knew Mari-Elle had never laid a hand on the lad, the
emotional damage she had done was apparent.

     He smiled at his son.  “Come on, then,” he
put his hand on the boy’s shoulder as they crossed the bailey, pausing only
long enough to exchange a few words with Arik.

     Just as they were passing under the
portcullis, they came to face with Oleg and old Eudora, lugging two heavy
blankets between them.  Gaston pointed his finger at the burdens they held.

     “Where are you going with those?” he asked.

     Oleg was extremely intimidated by the Dark
Knight.  Being somewhat superstitious, he half-expected the man to speak with a
serpent’s forked tongue.  “We are taking food to Lady Remington and Master
Dane, my lord.  The lady’s sisters will be joining them shortly.”

     Gaston peered into the baskets.  “By God,
there’s enough to feed my army,” he took the wicker burdens to himself; the
combined weight was barely mentionable.  “My son and I were heading that way as
it was.  We shall make sure the feast is delivered.”

     Oleg nodded hesitantly, clutching Eudora’s
arm and backing away.  Gaston eyed the old man a moment, not puzzled at the
terror he read but annoyed somewhat; he would have hoped that over the weeks he
had occupied Mt. Holyoak that the populace would come to fear him less and
respect him more.

     Oleg and Eudora watched the man and his son
walk down the narrow road that led to the wooded fields below.

     “If I was twenty years younger, I’d have
that man,” Eudora quipped softly.