The Dark One: Dark Knight (48 page)

Slowly she approached,
her eyes growing used to the dark and she could see that the figure was almost
buried in the coverlets.   She rounded the bed on the far side of the figure,
not wanting to be too close to him lest he lash out and strike at her for
surprising him.  But even as her pleasure filled her, it suddenly occurred to
her that the figure on the bed was far too small to be her husband.

Cold, complete fury
flushed her veins even as her brain tried to deny what she was seeing and
suddenly she ceased to think as a rational being.  All she knew was that this
wench in her husband's bed had most likely received the seed of life she so
desperately wanted.  No wonder Gaston had been uninterested in her if he had a
bitch to bed. This small body sleeping peacefully after sucking her husband’s
seed dry was beyond contempt and Mari-Elle was filled with the fury of hell.
She would show no mercy.

She suddenly remembered
the dagger in her hand.  With a small, hysterical cry issued from behind,
clenched teeth, she brought the dagger high and jumped onto the bed, descending
on her prey like a carnivorous hunter.  Her revenge would be mindless and
swift.

Remington heard the cry,
for it had awakened her.  Suddenly the bed was being jostled and she
instinctively threw the covers down from her face to see what in the hell was
going on.  The last thing in the world she expected to see was Mari-Elle
descending on her like an avenging demon, the dirk in her right hand glittering
evilly.

Terror shot through her and she let out a scream of
her own, trying to roll away, but the weight of the crazed woman on the
coverlets severely hampered her free movement.  From the corner of her eye she
could see the blade coming down and instantaneously she felt the searing pain
of penetration in her upper right chest, the heat of agony flooding through her
like the fires of Hades.

Both women screamed
loudly as contact was made and Mari-Elle let go of the dirk, leaving it imbedded
near Remington's collarbone.  Gasping with fury and the panic of what she had
done she flopped wildly off the bed and made a mad scramble to the door.

     The room was full of shrieking, horrible
gasping noises and Remington fell off the bed and Mari-Elle tripped to the
floor in her haste to leave.  She staggered to her feet, glancing behind her at
the woman struggling beside the bed, the only thing filling her mind was to
escape.  She could scarce believe what she had done, yet she did not regret
it.  With any luck, the whore would bleed to death before Gaston returned and
take the secret of who stabbed her to the grave.

     Remington's right arm was useless but she
tried to rise, afraid that Mari-Elle was going for a more deadly weapon. 
Bleeding all over Gaston's sheets, she pulled herself to her knees long enough
to see that Mari-Elle was bolting for the door.   Struggling to her feet, she
clutched at the canopy frame as she attempted to pursue, knowing there was no
possible way she could stop her but making the try all the same.  Her loss of
blood was making her desperately weak and her head swam with shock, but she had
to break free of the room and find help.

     Help was already coming in the form of
Rory.  Having heard the screams, she shot out of bed and was barreling down the
hall when she saw Mari-Elle stagger out of Gaston’s bedchamber. Shocked at the
apparent state of the woman, she rapidly closed the distance to see if she
could be of assistance when Mari-Elle suddenly grabbed hold of a spear that was
in a crafted iron display stand and thrust it at her.

     “Get back!” she hissed.

     Rory was truly surprised, wanting to assure
the woman that she only wanted to help, when Remington suddenly stumbled
through the doorway.  Covered in blood, there was no mistaking the hilt that
protruded from her shoulder and the flame of understanding shot through Rory
like a bolt.

     “You bitch!” she snarled, torn between
wanting to rush to Remington's side and wanting to charge Mari-Elle. “I shall
kill you for this!”

     Mari-Elle thrust the spear at Rory again
and the redhead took advantage of the weak attempt. Grabbing the spear, she
yanked as hard as she could and disarmed the woman.

     Mari-Elle yelled and ran with Rory in hot
pursuit.  Remington, struggling to push herself off the cold floor, watched her
sister run after the woman and tried to stop her, but she could no longer
speak.  All of her energy was sapped, draining away even as tried to stand. 
She did not know why she was trying to stand, for she had no idea where to go.
It wasn't as if she could go in search of Gaston with a knife sticking out of
her.

     She heard more cries, recognizing Jasmine
and Skye.  The last thing she remembered before sweet darkness claimed her was
collapsing into her sisters' arms.

     Rory chased Mari-Elle to the bottom floor
of the castle, gaining ground rapidly.  Mari-Elle had long legs and was quick,
but Rory was determined as hell to catch her and kill her.  Black murder was
the only thing on her mind as she ran down Mari-Elle like a hunter on a kill. 
She would take great delight in driving the spear through the woman's gullet
like a harpooned fish.

     Nicolas was making his rounds when he
caught sight of Mari-Elle racing toward him like a madwoman.  Deeply confused,
he put out his hands to stop her, but she cried out and veered away from him.

     “My lady!” he called out in concern, trying
to stop her.

     Just as quickly his eyes caught sight of
Rory in chase, wielding a heavy spear with obvious intent.  Shocked, Nicolas
tackled her and tried to disarm her, but she struggled ferociously.

     “Let me go!” she hollered, kicking and
fighting.  “She killed Remington!  Let me go!”

     Nicolas blanched, ceasing his struggles
with her but he continued to grip the spear.  “She….what?  Killed Remington?”

     Rory yanked the spear free from his grasp. 
“Stabbed her!”

     She started to run but he stopped her
harshly.  “Where is she?”

     “Upstairs in the hallway.” Rory ripped free
of his grip.  “Let me go, you bastard.”

     Nicolas took hold of her and the spear;
Lady Mari-Elle was long gone, disappeared into one of the labyrinth of halls
that made up this place.  He knew he had to find Gaston.

     “Go back upstairs,” he ordered tightly. 
“Go to your sister.  I shall find Gaston.”

     Anger flooding over, the severity of the
situation was beginning to settle and hot tears spilled onto her cheeks.  She
wanted to argue, for she herself wanted to kill Mari-Elle, but the overwhelming
need to be with Remington took hold and she let the spear go.  Nicolas seeing
her pain and terror patted her on the cheek.  “Go, Rory.  I shall find Gaston.”

     Obediently, she turned and walked
unsteadily down the hall, finally running.  He waited until she mounted the
stairs before throwing the spear to the ground in a fit of emotion.  As he
jogged to the outer bailey, he could only pray Gaston did not run him through
as the bearer of bad tidings.

     Gaston had had enough of death for one
night.  Out of the six soldiers sent to return Sir Derek Botmore, five of them
were dismembered so thoroughly it was as if they were parts to a grisly
puzzle.  The sixth soldier, exhausted from bringing his five companions home,
told a horrible tale of blood and torture and madness.  Gaston heard the man
out but did not ask any questions; the soldier was almost to the point of
madness himself and Gaston would let him rest a bit before grilling him.

     He would not avenge the deaths, for they
came as a direct result of his actions.  Granted, he was doing what he must to
rescue Remington and her sisters, but the constant seeking of revenge had to
stop somewhere.  Unless Botmore attacked Mt. Holyoak, he would make no
provocative action.

     He and Arik were engaged in a leisure
conversation when Nicolas came running up, his armor clanging loudly.

     “Gaston!” he called.

     The two men turned toward the younger
knight, wondering what the rush was about, Nicolas did not give them a chance
to ask.

     “Trouble, my lord,” Nicolas came to an
unsteady halt.  “Your wife has stabbed Lady Remington and....”

     Gaston did not even realize he had reached
out and grabbed his cousin. 
“What?”

     Nicolas met his eyes steadily, although he
was quaking out of fear.  “You'd better go, Gaston. Rory says she's dead.  I
have not seen for myself yet.”

     Gaston's mind went blank.  He was aware he
was running, passing through the darkened baileys with Arik beside him, but
little else.  Even the innards of the castle passed by him in a flash, his mind
neither thinking nor feeling nor hearing anything else but Remington.

     He took the stairs like a man possessed. 
With each fall of his boot he could hear the death chant… 
Dead.  Dead. Dead
.
When he finally burst into the upper floor hallway, he was running faster than
he ever had in his life.

     He heard the crying, the moaning, and he
burst into the room from which it emitted.  Rory and Skye were standing around
the bed while Jasmine and old Eudora were tending the body on the mattress.

     He rushed up on the bed so fast he almost
lost his balance and pitched forward. Yet, he could see that his fear had been
for naught as she twitched and cried, testimony to the life still flowing
within her.

     Slammed with indescribable relief to see
that Remington was not dead, it was rapidly dampened by the sight of a knife
hilt protruding from her shoulder.  Blood was everywhere.

     “She won't let us remove it.”  Jasmine was
crying softly, not turning to look at him. She had felt him behind her, hearing
his panic.

     Remington's eyes opened, a sea of color in
a pasty face.  She focused directly on Gaston.

     “No!” she screamed at him.  “Do not hurt
me!”

     His heart broke into a millions pieces and
he took Jasmine by the arms to move her aside so that he could be close to
Remington.

     “Remi, angel, it has to come out,” he said
tenderly, motioning Arik to the other side of the bed.

     “No.” she breathed, a cry of panic, of
pain.  Her eyes rolled closed.  “Leave me alone.”

     Arik moved the women back and gave them all
quiet, concise orders before moving to the other side of Remington.

     “She's not thinking straight,” he whispered
to his second.  “Hold her while I remove it.”

     “Nay,” Arik returned quickly. “You hold
her.  She shall want you to hold her.”

     Gaston looked at him a moment before
nodding curtly.  Arik was astonished at the pain he read in his lord's eyes. 
It was as if this Gaston was someone entirely different from the Dark Knight he
knew.  The Dark One knew no pain.

     Gaston felt ill at all of the blood he was
seeing on her slim body as he braced himself against the side of the bed. 
Gently, his huge hands came down on her arms and her eyes opened again, looking
at him with panic.

     “Gaston?” she whispered urgently, looking
for some sort of reassurance that he wasn't going to hurt her anymore.

     “It’s all right, angel, I am here,” he said
softly, smiling at her encouragingly.  “I shall not leave you.”

     Arik moved toward the hilt of the blade as
Gaston kept her attention.  “It was Mari-Elle,” she told him weakly.  “She came
into your room and stabbed me.  Gaston, she was insane.  Her eyes were wild.”

     His jaw clenched but he maintained his
outward calm.  “Do not worry yourself over her, angel.”

     Remington swallowed hard and he felt her
relaxing under his grip. Her eyes closed lethargically. “I am... tired.  I want
to go to sleep.”

     “Then sleep, my sweet angel,” he whispered,
touching his cheek to hers.  “Go to sleep and forget about this for a while.”

     Arik suddenly gripped the blade and yanked
it free in one clean stroke.  Remington went stiff with the shock and the
agony, spewing forth an anguished scream, but Gaston continued to hold her
tightly.

     “It's all over, Remi, I promise,” he said
hoarsely.

     “It hurts.” she cried softly.

     He smiled sadly, kissing her cheek
tenderly, wishing to God he could take the pain upon himself.  “I know,
sweetness, I know.  Believe me, I know. But it's all over now.”

     She cried softly from pain and fatigue as
Arik quickly examined the wound and then proceeded to bind the shoulder
tightly.  Jasmine, Rory and Skye stood in a terrified huddle at the base of the
bed while Eudora assisted Arik with the bandages.

     When she was expertly tended, Gaston pulled
her carefully over to her left side to relieve any pressure on her right
shoulder.  Shaking and sobbing, she gripped his hand with a death-grip and
refused to let go.

     “Arik, find Rastus and send him up here
with something for her pain,” Gaston ordered softly. “And I want him to check
the wound when the bleeding has stopped.”