The Dark One: Dark Knight (46 page)

     His grip tightened on her arm as he led her
into the corridor.  The dim hall was cool as he took her down to the master
chamber, a vast, room furnished with heavy, dark furniture.  She took a second
glance at it as he closed the door behind them, seeing that he had brought his own
items with him and had nearly redecorated the entire room.  Heavy furs lay in
front of the hearth and on both sides of the bed, filling the already-musty
room with a more animalistic scent.  There were weapons strewn about, boots,
clothing, and it suddenly occurred to her that the room looked like him. She
could see him, and smell him, everywhere.   

     “It looks a bit different since you were
last here,” he commented, removing the mail tunic he wore and casting it over a
chair.

     “I like it,” she said, sinking down on the
end of the bed.  “It feels like you.”

     He sat down to remove his boots.  “I should
hope so, considering it is my room.”

     She smiled faintly at him.  “I just meant
that the room no longer reminds me of Guy,” she said softly.  “The more time passes,
the more you become a part of our lives and it is easier to forget about my
husband.” 

     He looked at her a moment.  “Do not use
that term to describe him anymore.  When next I hear it, you will be referring
to me.  Only I am worthy of that title, madam, when it pertains to you.”

     He wasn't angry, merely stating a fact. 
She nodded once, slowly.  “Of course, Gaston.”

     He stood up and removed his shirt, leaving
him clad in only snug leather breeches.  Remington felt her chest tightening
and her limbs go warm at the sight of his magnificent chest, surely the most
beautiful piece of flesh in the entire world.  Antonius, as sculpted as he was,
couldn't come close.  Gaston was built like a god.

     He ran his fingers through his hair,
scratching his scalp with satisfaction as he moved to the huge hearth and
stoked it to a roaring blaze.  She could only sit there and watch him; the most
glorious male God had ever created.  She still found it hard to believe he was
hers. Sometimes she wondered if she would awaken from this dream only to find
Guy looming over her, demanding service.  If it were a dream, she would stay
asleep forever.

     When the fire was blazing, he held out a
hand to her.  “Come over here, angel.  The room is cold.”

     She had not noticed; she had been so
involved in watching him and he always made her blood boil.  Obediently, she
went to him and sat on the huge rug next to him.  He took her in his arms and
leaned back against the huge leather-covered chair behind him.

     Content as a fat baby, she snuggled against
him and gazed dreamily into the flames, feeling the thick fur against her legs.

     “What kind of fur is this?” she asked.

     “Bear,” he replied.  “Killed the animal
myself when I was seventeen.  It damn near ate me for supper.”

     She ran her fingers over the soft rug.  “I
have a sheepskin coverlet for winter.”

     “Tell me,” he said thoughtfully.  “Have the
sheep already been shorn?”

     “Aye, they were shorn in April of their
winter coats,” she said.  “They will be shorn again come September.  And then
we will have to deal with the merchants from London as they barter for the
wool.”

     “Yorkshire wool is the finest,” he said. 
“Honestly, I have been focusing so much on the arrival of my new troops that I
have scarce had time to learn in detail the workings of Mt. Holyoak.

But I suppose I will have to leave that to you,
my lady.  Unless, of course, you would rather switch duties with me.”

     She giggled softly, “Can you see me in
front of five hundred men, trying to teach them to hold a sword?  The sword is
as big as I am.”

     He smiled, stroking her arms as he held
her.  The fire spit and crackled, the comfortable smell of smoke lingering in
the air.

     “Is Mari-Elle all right?” she asked, not
particularly caring, but curious all the same.

     “Who knows?” he replied.  “If I am lucky,
she shall die before fall and then I will only have Guy to deal with.”

     Gaston, it is not nice to wish someone
dead, no matter who they are,” she admonished gently. “Heaven only knows I have
been tempted to wish it for Guy, but I am afraid that fate will punish me by
taking away someone dear to me.  'Tis bad luck to wish another dead.”

     His arms held her tighter.  “Nevertheless,
I wish it anyway.  Besides, Fate is a friend of mine and would never betray
me.”

     Pressed against him, feeling his heat, was
the most satisfying feeling she had ever experienced. Never had she simply sat
with her husband, enjoying his company.  Guy was the terror of her life and
there had been nothing to enjoy; there had been no friendship in their
marriage, no respect, no joy.  It existed of fear and intimidation, of pain and
humiliation.

     Sitting with Gaston, it was as if she were
reborn.  She never knew this sort of life existed.

     She was warm, deliciously so with his
massive body and the heat from the fire.  As much as she tried to fight it, her
lids grew heavy.

     “Did Trenton and Dane behave themselves
after I left?” he asked.

     She jolted from her dozing state. “Aye,
they actually played together.  A sea battle, I believe, for they were using
lily pads as boats. “

     “'Twas your battle story that inspired
them,” he said, shifting a little and pulling her closer against him.  “I am
glad to know that there was no more quarreling.”

     “Not to worry,” she said sleepily. “Rory
was watching them and they were too frightened of her to get out of hand.”

     He raised his eyebrows in agreement. “I
would not be hesitant to take that woman into battle with me.  She would be
most formidable. “

     “She knocked out three of Guy's teeth
once,” she said with a bit of pride.  “But he broke her arm for her troubles.”

     Gaston sighed heavily, low and deep in his
chest.  His disgust for the man grew with every new fact that he learned.  He
was silent for several moments.

     “I have decided something, Remi,” he said
finally.

     “What is that, my love?” her eyes were
closed and she was fading fast. 

     “I am going to kill Guy,” he said it so
casually that she did not grasp it for a moment.  “I am going to break every
bone in his body and mention you or your sisters with each snap.   The man will
wish he had never been born.”

     Her eyes opened and she blinked at the fire
a moment.  Then, she sat up and looked at him. “You are going to murder him?”

     “I prefer to call it justice,” he said
evenly.  “I will make him pay for everything he has done to you and your
family.”

     Her eyes widened.  “Gaston…why must you do
this?  He is away from us, locked up for the rest of his life.  Why must you
kill him? “

     “To avenge you,” he said simply.

     She looked gravely concerned and thoughtful
and he watched her furrowed brow, knowing how distasteful murder was to a
lady.  Her puzzled eyes met his.  “Did I somehow ask this of you? I never meant
to ask that you commit murder on my behalf.”

     “You did not,” he said.  “But I would
punish this man who has been punishing you for simply being his wife.  I must
right what he had wronged.”

     She wasn't at all comfortable with his
declaration.  “As much as I love your devotion and chivalry, I would wish you
to stay the hell away from London and from Guy.  I want you to stay here, with
me, forever.  Let God punish him for his sins, Gaston.  To be rid of the man is
enough for me.”

     “Well said,” he said, running his fingers
lightly over her hair.  “But I must go to London to see Henry if we are to
obtain an annulment, and while I am there I must see Guy for the same reasons.
So you see, either way I will see the man.”

     She looked at him a moment.  “I do not want
you to kill him.”

     His face hardened.  “Why not?”

     She swallowed.  “I…I have a difficult time
believing in God, Gaston, but I believe that we will be held accountable for
our sins.  I do not want you to burn in hell for murder, and I do not want to
burn in hell for allowing you to carry out your plans.  Guy is not worth losing
our eternal souls.”

     He gazed at her a moment before relaxing
and pulling her back against him.  He could see that she was frightened and
sincere and, truthfully, he had never given much thought to the afterlife. He
did not voice his thoughts, but with all of the men he had killed, he was
already guaranteed a prime spot in Purgatory.  One more would not make or break
him.

     Obviously, she wasn't thinking about the
soldier he had killed in front of her, or Eugene le Tourneaux.  Mayhap because
they were more spur of the moment, not given to plan.  The fact that he was planning
a murder seemed to greatly disturb her, but he looked at it in a different
light.

     Guy Stoneley was a vile bastard who had
humiliated and beaten his wife, a woman whom Gaston just happened to love
madly.  He would do anything for her, including kill, to insure her happiness. 
Anything for you
.

     “We shall not speak of it, then,” he said
softly.

     She did not believe for a minute that he
had rethought his statement.  Gaston de Russe did not say anything he did not
mean, and she was greatly troubled.  It wasn't one reason in particular, but
the entire concept.  She knew the Dark Knight and his reputation, and knew that
killing for him was a natural function of his profession, but she couldn't
bring herself to condone the killing of her legal husband.  Murder, for
whatever reason, was wrong.

     She turned into Gaston, pressing her body
as close as she could, her face in the smooth skin of his chest.  He enfolded
her tighter, his huge arms almost completely obscuring her torso.

     The fire crackled and hissed, filling the
silent room, as they were lost to their own thoughts.  In spite of their
individual opinions about the future of Guy Stoneley, to be together as they
were was the most natural, heavenly thing in the world.  Gaston felt as if,
somehow, he was whole when he was with her.  She fit against him as if she had
somehow been carved from the spot and the void had never healed, instead,
waiting for her to fill it once again.  It was beyond anything he had ever
experienced.

     He thought she had fallen asleep but her
head came up, her half-lidded eyes gazing up at him.

“Make love to me,” she
whispered.

His lips came down,
brushing hers gently.  “Are you sure you are not going to fall asleep in the
middle of it?

She stiffened and tried
to push him away, though it was in good humor.  “If you do not want to, then
say so.  I will return to my own bedchamber.”

He grinned. “That day
will never come.”

She closed her eyes as
he grazed her neck with his gentle lips, his stubble scratching her. His kisses
grew hotter and she clung to his neck, half-laying on his reclined body.  His
hands roved over her promising curves, delighting in her form, eager to remove
her of her garments so that he could touch the silky skin.  She had the most
remarkable skin.

With a groan, he rolled
her onto the bearskin, his fingers working the stays of her surcoat. His mouth
was probing hers, tongues clashing and tasting.  After a moment, she realized
he was having difficulty with the stays and she pulled back.

“Might I help you with
that?” she teased, already bending her arm behind her and unhooking the seam.

He looked sheepish. “I
am not as adept as some,” he mumbled.  “I have had little practice removing a
woman's surcoat in the heat of passion.”

“I am glad,” she said,
pulling the surcoat off from her shoulders.  “That means you have not felt
desire such as this very often.”

“If at all,” his mouth
plunged to the milky-white of her shoulder, tasting her sweet flesh.

She gave herself over to
him, acutely aware of every sensation, every touch.  His huge arousal brushed
against her thigh and she opened her eyes long enough to-see that he still
retained his breeches.

In a flash, her hand
moved down and yanked the fastener, releasing his waistband.  He came back up
to her hungry mouth, grinning in between kisses;

“My lady is bold this
eve,” he growled.  “Might I help you with that?”

He was so large that her
arm was too short to effectively remove his breeches. She smiled as he raised
himself from her long enough to pull them down. “I have had little practice
removing men's trousers.”

“I am glad,” his entire
body, sculpted and superbly muscled and taut covered her, his arms winding
about her body fiercely.  She instinctively wound herself around him, her arms
around his neck and her legs wrapping his rock-hard thighs.  His erection
rubbed her inner thigh, the cleft between her buttocks, driving her insane with
need.