The Dark One: Dark Knight (44 page)

     Gaston glanced down at Remington, but she
was smiling softly at the boys.  “Sit down,” she told them.

     Wet and angry, they obeyed, but they sat
several feet apart from each other.  Remington’s manner was most calm and
patient, delaying Gaston’s natural urge to demand they behave.  Since they were
addressing her, he decided to let her deal with them.

     Her sisters finally reached the little
group, looking curiously at Trenton.

     “Who’s this?” Rory pointed at him.

     “This is Trenton de Russe,” Remington
looked at her sisters deliberately.  “Sir Gaston’s son.”

     She saw the eyebrows go up on all three of
them, turning to look at Gaston at the same time.  He gazed impassively in
return and Remington motioned her sisters to sit.  “Sit, sit.  I am about to
tell Trenton and Dane of our roots.”    

     She turned back to the boys as her sisters
got themselves comfortable.

     “Now,” she said, her eyes lighting up. 
“Trenton, do you know of the Tuatha de Danann?”

     Trenton looked uncomfortable, and bright
little splotches appeared on his cheeks.  “A…a little, my lady.  They are
Ireland’s fairy race.”

     Remington nodded.  “That’s right.  They
existed many centuries ago when the world was a dark, magical place, a place of
dragons and fairies and great wizards.  But they were not originally from
Ireland; nay, folklore tells us that they were from an island even further
north than Ireland.  Before they came to Ireland as conquerors, they made an
alliance with a fearsome race called the Fomoiri.  The Fomoiri were half-man
and half-monster, terrible beings from across the sea, and it was wise to seal
an alliance with them.  The chief of the Fomoiri, a beast named Balar of the
Evil Eye, gave his daughter Ethnne in marriage to the son of the chief
physician of the Tuatha de Danann, and a great relationship was forged.  Or so
the Tuatha de Danann thought.”

     Trenton and Dane stopped all of their
quarreling and were listening quite intently.  She smiled, pleased at their
interest.  Even Gaston was listening. 

     “When the Tuatha de Danann first came to
Ireland, they encountered a race of farmers called the Fir Bolg, whom they went
on to defeat in the battle of Mag Tuired.  Unfortunately the king, a man named
Nuada, lost his arm in the battle and thereby had to forfeit the throne.”

     “Why?” Dane demanded, interrupting her.

     “Because only a whole man can be king.”
Trenton snapped at him as if he were an idiot.

     Dane opened his mouth to retaliate but
Remington continued quickly. 

     “That’s true, Trenton,” she said. 
“Therefore, the throne was offered to a man by the name of Bres, whose mother
was a Fomoiri.  Bres, unfortunately, was a terrible king.  He taxed his people
heavily, throwing the entire country into poverty.  Even the greatest Tuatha de
Danann warriors were reduced to farming to maintain their lives, chopping wood
and tilling the earth.  It was a truly awful sight to behold.”

     “Warriors like my father?” Trenton asked.

     Remington glanced at Gaston; he was leaning
against the tree trunk, his arms crossed casually.  He smiled at her and she
felt her cheeks flush.  “Aye, like your father.  Can you see Sir Gaston tending
the earth like a peasant?”

     The boys shook their head solemnly.  “Why
did not they fight the king?” Dane wanted to know.

     Remington held up a finger.  “Ah, they
would eventually.  But first, they waited while the elders of the Tuatha de
Danann protested and petitioned the king, trying their best to resolve the
problems by peaceful means.  When their pleas did not work, a poet by the name
of Coirpre wrote a song about the king, a song so insulting and slanderous that
the entire population of Ireland began to doubt their king’s wisdom.  As
dissension spread, Bres turned to his fearsome Fomoiri brethrens to help him
keep his throne by force.  Meanwhile, the chief physician of the Tuatha de
Danann had made an arm for Nuada from pure silver, and as a whole man, he could
now make his bid to regain his throne.”

     “A silver arm.” Trenton scoffed.  “It would
not work like a normal arm.”

     Remington smiled at the boy and held up a
finger.  “But remember, Trenton, the Tuatha de Danann are a fairy race.  With a
little magic, anything is possible.  As I was saying, Nuada prepared to regain
his throne.  However, he needed help.  The help of the most powerful warrior in
the kingdom.” Her eyes widened as she embellished her story with a great deal
of animation.  “A great feast was held at Tara, the palace of the kings, and
the very greatest warriors in the land were present; Ogma, In Dagda, men who
had conquered Ireland long ago.  But the mightiest warrior of all had yet to
arrive; Lug.”

     “Lug?” Trenton repeated.  “Who is he?”

     “The best warrior in the whole world!” Dane
told him eagerly; he loved this story with a passion and knew every twist and
turn. 

     His mother smiled at him as Trenton piped
up.  “My father is the best warrior in the whole world.”

     Gaston pushed himself off the tree trunk and
sat behind Remington, leaning back on an elbow. “But this was hundreds of years
ago, Trenton.  For their time, they were the greatest.”

     Remington feeling him, turned to look into
his gentle face.  Discreetly, she snuggled back against him.  His hand inconspicuously
rested on her thigh, under the folds of her surcoat.

     “Lug was the son of Ethne and the chief
physician’s son, Cian.  He was perfect in every way, handsome and strong, brave
and powerful,” she glanced at Gaston with a grin.  “Just like Sir Gaston! Nuada
demanded that Lug lead the battle against the Fomoiri and Lug agreed with a
specific plan; everyone had duties that would, together, bring down the
terrible Fomoiri.  Goinbniu, the smith, made all of the fearsome weapons;
Coirpre, the poet would humiliate the enemy through his songs, and Ogma, the
champion of the gods, would supply the armies.  In Dagda, the all-mighty
protector of the Tuatha de Danann, would strike down hundreds with his massive
war club, and the chief physician Dian Cecht would bring the slain Tuatha
warriors back to life by casting them into a magic well.  Lug himself stayed
out of the battle until he caught sight of his grandfather, Balar of the Evil
Eye.”

     The boys let out a collective groan at the
mention of the hated enemy.  Rory made a terrible fuss and pretended to swoon,
to which Jasmine swatted her on the behind.  Remington shook her head at her
sisters’ theatrics, preparing to finish her story with great flourish.

     “Balar obtained his nickname because those
who were unfortunate enough to look upon it were guaranteed destruction.  Lug
could see that Balar’s soldiers were preparing to open their lord’s eye by use
of a great handle attached to the lid and he knew he must act swiftly or all
was lost.” She paused and snickered when the boys made a terrible fuss over an
eyelid with a handle, making terrible faces.  “Quickly, Lug took his slingshot
and sailed a stone into Balar’s eye, driving it clear through his skull so that
it came out the other side and gazed upon his own troops.  With the defeat of
the enemy guaranteed, the Tuatha de Danann warriors beat the Fomoiri back into
the sea and never saw them again.  From that day on, the Tuatha de Danann ruled
Ireland.

     Trenton and Dane were still caught up in
the great tale, their innocent eyes wide with excitement.  “Is that all?”
Trenton asked, waiting for still more.

     “I am afraid so,” Remington replied,
feeling Gaston’s hand caressing her leg.  “My mother said that she was a direct
descendent of Nuada, the Tuatha de Danann king.”

     Dane actually took a deep breath; he had
been holding it nearly the entire time.  “I like that story.  Tell us some
more.  Tell us about Perseus.”

     Remington begged off.  “Mayhap later.  I
think you boys have heard enough glory for one day.”

     “You can never hear enough glory,” Gaston
murmured behind her.

     ‘You are not helping,” she whispered back.

     He smiled broadly and sat up, tossing away
the piece of grass he had been fiddling with.  “Do not bother Lady Remington
anymore, lads.  She has been gracious enough to tell you one magnificent story
this day and you should be grateful for it,” he pointed to the lake.  “If you
intend to swim anymore, you had better do it now before the sun sets further.”

     Trenton and Dane jumped up, their quarrel
completely forgotten as they hustled themselves back to the water. 

     “My father is greater than Lug,” Trenton
ran saying.

     Remington smiled and turned to Gaston as
her sisters moved away noisily, pulling off their slippers and heading for the
water.

     “I think his father is greater than Lug,
too,” she said softly.

     “And I think Lady Remington is a gifted
storyteller,” he responded softly, his gaze licking over her.  “How is it that
you know that story so well?”

     “My mother used to tell us that story all
of the time,” she said.  “She told us a great many stories that I will pass
down to Dane.”

     He rose on his massive legs. “Now that you
have their attention, I have a feeling they are going to make you tell them
every story you know until they bleed you dry,” he pulled at his simple mail
tunic, the only piece of armor he wore this day.  “As much as I have enjoyed
this, I must return before they send out a search party.  And do not you be out
here overlong, either.”

     “I won't,” she promised, smiling at him as
he started to walk away.

     “I mean it, Remi,” he pointed a finger at
her.  “I shall keep watch from the battlements.  If I do not see you returning
within the hour, I shall come looking for you.”

     “No need, my lord,” she said softly, her
eyes twinkling.  “'Tis my sworn duty to obey your orders, large or small.”

     “I give no small orders,” he rumbled, but
his eyes were smiling.

***

     The evening meal had been ordered by Oleg
and prepared by Remington's regular cook.  Mari-Elle’s servants had been
cleared out of the house and were confined to the second floor wing with their
mistress.  Mari-Elle was distraught and outraged that her husband's soldiers
were treating her as if she were in prison, but there was naught she could do
at the moment. That would come later, tonight.  She may have been struck down,
but she was certainly not out.

     The smells of seasoned mutton filled the
air of the grand hall and Remington resumed her customary place making sure
Gaston and his knights were served and kept happy.  Even Dane and Trenton were
eating at the head of the table with Gaston, seated across the table from one
another, but at least there had been no more fighting.  Remington tried to pay
special attention to both boys, hoping to ease the hostilities.

     She brushed past Gaston on her way to
topping Trenton's goblet with a berry-punch concoction.  He reached out and
grabbed her arm gently, pulling her against his chair.  Their eyes met and
bolts of lightning flew between them, sharp and thrilling.

     “You are paying more attention to these
young men than to the master of the keep,” he said softly.  “I am quite
outraged.”

     She smiled sweetly.  “I shall make it up to
you tonight, my lord. I promise.”

     He released her arm slowly.  “I will hold
you to that promise,” his eyes suddenly moved beyond her to the doorway and she
saw his face tighten.  “Damn.”

     She turned to see Lady Mari-Elle de Russe
strolling into the dining hall, her thin face eyeing Gaston and Remington quite
hostilely.  Remington took a step away from Gaston and curtsied as Mari-Elle
marched up.

     “My lady,” she said.  “We did not know to
expect you for dinner.”

     “Yet I am here,” she said coolly. “You may
seat me.  By my husband, preferably.  Who is this little urchin?”

     Dane looked up at the mean-looking lady,
his eyes wide.  He was sitting on Gaston's right hand and did not want to
relinquish his seat.

     Remington's hackles instantly went up but
she forced herself to calm.  “This is my son, Master Dane Stoneley.  He and
your son were enjoying their meal together.”

     Mari-Elle looked at Gaston.  “Since when do
prisoners share the same table with the conqueror, my lord?”

     “He was invited,” Gaston replied, his voice
low.  “You have not been.  Return to your rooms and take your meal there.”

     Trenton's little face went pale; he could
feel the tension and he hated it. It frightened him when his parents fought.

     “I…I thought I might be able to enjoy my
meal in the hall, since I have been confined to my rooms all day,” she put her
hand protectively on Trenton.  “And I have not seen my son at all.”

     Gaston glanced at Trenton and saw the worry
on his face.  Not wanting to upset his son further, he waved at Mari-Elle. 
“Very well, then, be seated next to your son.”