The Dark One: Dark Knight (51 page)

     “Aye,” Patrick nodded, glancing at the
door.  “God's Toes, Gaston, what in the hell went on here tonight?”

     Gaston rolled his eyes in frustration. 
“What in the hell
hasn’t
gone on?”

     He left his cousin shaking his head,
wondering what sort of chaos was overtaking them. Everything seemed normal
until Mari-Elle arrived, but Patrick suspected she would not be a problem after
tonight.  Gaston was a merciful man with those who deserved it; Mari-Elle, in
his opinion, did not.

***

     Gaston met with Arik on his way to the
vault. 

     “I hear you found her,” Arik said gravely. 
“Did you dispose of her yet?”

     “I am on my way,” Gaston replied, grim.

     Arik started to walk with him but Gaston
stopped him.  “Nay, man, I will do this alone.”

     Arik paused.  “Gaston... mayhap I should do
this,” he said.  “After all, 'tis Trenton's mother we speak of and I do not
believe your son will be comfortable with the fact that his father killed his
mother.”

     Gaston pondered his statement a moment. 
“Yet I cannot ask anyone else to do what must be done.  The woman has been a
thorn in my side for thirteen years, Arik.  The shame and cruelty she has brought
into the house of de Russe is mine to bear.  Tonight she tried to kill
someone... she must be punished, and I alone must do it. “

     Arik looked at him, trying to read his
thoughts.  “Are you using the attempt on Remington's life as an excuse to rid yourself
of your hated wife?  Or are your motives more true than that?”

     Gaston's jaw ticked.  “What are you
saying?  That I am being completely selfish in my motives? With Mari-Elle out
of the way, I will be free to pursue my desires?  Arik, I should hope that you
would know me better than that.”

     “I thought I did,” Arik said quietly,
though not accusingly.  “But then I have never known you to be in love before.”

     Gaston's gaze lingered on his tall; pale
friend.  He thought to deny the allegation, but reconsidered.  He was not a
graceful liar.

     “She must be punished,” he said simply. 
“Who is to say that if I set her free, that she will not try to kill again?  I
cannot risk a murderess running amongst us, no matter who she is.  You have
always known my wrath to be swift and severe.”

     Arik nodded, fairly convinced that Gaston's
motives were sincere. Of course, he heartily agreed with him, but his lord of
late had puzzled him greatly.  For his own peace of mind, he felt the need to
pry a bit.

     Gaston continued to the stairwell that led
to the vault. Arik had followed, anyway, although neither one knew why or tried
to stop him. The sharp, acrid odor assaulted their nostrils as they moved to
the first locked cell.

     “The bolt is locked,” Arik pointed out.

     Gaston looked at it a moment.  “No matter,”
wrapping his hands around the thick wooden bolt, he pulled and worked at it
until it weakened.  Grunting with effort, he continued to tug and twist until
the old wooden bolt popped free of the door with a great snap of rotted
splinters.

     The bolt hung loose, swinging on the wall
as it was still attached to the lock, and Gaston opened the door.  Arik shook
his head at the display of strength; the man was beyond believing.

     The cell was dark except for the dim
flicker of the torch.  Gaston could see the figure of his wife huddled against
the wall and put out his hand to stop Arik from following any further.

     Arik understood and stepped back into the
hall as Gaston proceeded in, looming over his wife. He called her name once,
twice, and then finally knelt down beside the slumped form.

     “Mari-Elle,” he said firmly, putting out
his hand to yank her to her feet.

     He gave a tug but she was dead weight. 
Angered, he grasped both her arms and hauled her to her feet and was astonished
to see a great pool of blood on the floor underneath her.

     “Arik,” he snapped.

     Arik rushed to his side, his blue eyes
widening at the blood.  It was everywhere, soaking her skirt, the dirty straw.
Gaston tried to rouse her as Arik searched for the wound.

     “Where is this coming from?” Gaston
demanded.

     Arik was fumbling with the folds of the
surcoat. “I do not see a weapon, or a tear in the surcoat, nothing,” he looked
around the floor.  “Lay her down, Gaston. Mayhap we can discover where she has
injured herself.”

     Gaston laid Mari-Elle on her back.  Her
pulse was extremely weak and the two men scrutinized her closely for damage. 
The blood was saturating her from the waist down, it seemed, and finally Gaston
tossed up her skirts to get a better look.  He was shocked to see that she was
bleeding from her privates, gushing bright red and black clots.

     “My God,” he hissed.  “What in the hell
happened?”

     Arik, having seen his share of blood and
gore throughout his career, was nearly sickened by the sight.  A distasteful
expression creased his face.

     “Mayhap you should send for her physician,”
he suggested.  He certainly did not want to deal with it.

     “There is nothing he can do,” Gaston
replied.  “She’s already dead.”

     Gaston had blood on his hands as he checked
her pulse again.  It was virtually non-existent, but it was still there.  He
shook his head.  “Send for her physician..”

     Arik left the stank, dark cell.  Gaston
crouched beside Mari-Elle, watching her life's blood drain away, knowing there
was nothing he could do and not particularly sorry.  In a sense, he was
relieved; as cruel as the thought was, he was glad that some strange ailment
had claimed her life. It had saved him the trouble.

     Furthermore, when he told Trenton that his
mother had passed on, he wanted to be able to tell him that it was of natural
causes.  Not because his father had wrung the life from her.

     She died as he sat and watched.  When the
physician arrived twenty minutes later, the man did not look at all surprised. 
In fact, when he saw the state of his mistress, he slowed his movements
considerably and seemed to take his time drawing forth his instruments and
potions.

     Gaston watched the thin healer, rising as
the man ducked beside the body and examined her quite thoroughly.  Arik and
Nicolas had accompanied the physician and stood crowded in the doorway as the
careful investigation was completed.

     The moments passed slowly and the smell of
urine was sharp to the nose as the knights waited for the healer to complete
his task.  Finally, the aged man stood up and began to replace his instruments.

     “Well?” Gaston asked.  “What killed her?”

     The physician looked at the Dark Knight,
the man of whom stories had been told and retold. He was incredibly massive and
fierce-looking, and the physician did not blame his wife for taking smaller,
less-threatening lovers.  Surely a man this size had a voracious, violent
appetite.

     Dooley was also very aware that the child
that had killed Lady de Russe was not her husband's. However, the woman had paid
for her sins and there was naught her betrayed husband could do to her now.

     “A rupture in her womb, I believe,” Dooley
said evenly.  “Your wife was pregnant, my lord, and sometimes when the child
roots itself too high in the womb, it will rupture the organ and bring almost
immediate death.”

     Gaston was astonished but held his even
expression.  “She was pregnant?” he repeated slowly. “How far along was she?”

     “Two, possibly three months,” the physician
replied.  He could see the shock in the knight's eyes and suddenly had no
desire to take the blame for the woman's indiscretions.  “My lord, she swore me
to secrecy.  I was ordered to keep my mouth shut, and I did.”

     Gaston stared at the man a moment longer. 
“You are sure this is what killed her?”

     The healer nodded.  “As positive as I can
be,” he replied.  “I have seen mishaps such as this before, and bleeding to
death is always inevitable.  I tried to forewarn your wife when I realized this
pregnancy was not normal, but she would not listen.   When I indicated
something was wrong, she ignored me.”

     Gaston was stunned, angered, relieved. Yet
he expected no less from Mari-Elle.  True to the woman’s character, the sport
that she had so loved eventually killed her and he was not sorry in the
least.   In fact he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 
After 13 years of shame and humiliation, it was finally over.

     Without a hind glance, he marched from the
cell.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

     Trenton did not take the passing of his
mother very well.  Even though she had been a less than desirable parent, she
had been the only parent he had ever known and he felt the loss terribly. 
Gaston tried to comfort his son as best he could, but the boy seemed not to
want him around, and that fact saddened him greatly.

     Yet, he was not surprised. He was still a
virtual stranger to his son and he knew Trenton felt very much alone.  He tried
to explain that his mother had died suddenly, of natural causes, but he could
tell Trenton doubted his word.  After everything that had happened between
Mari-Elle and himself, he could understand the boy's reluctance to believe that
his father had not killed his mother.

     As he stood facing his son, he realized he
was greatly relieved to be able to tell the lad the truth that he had had
nothing to do with the woman's death.  Even if he had, it would have been
justified, but he was relieved all the same.  An eight-year-old boy might not
understand adult 'justice'.  Reluctantly, he did as was asked of him and left
his son to grieve alone.

     Remington slept until nearly noon the next
day, running a moderate fever and then feeling lousy when she awoke.  Her
stomach hurt, her entire body ached, and Gaston sat with her while she twitched
listlessly and snapped at Rastus when he changed her dressing.

     Gaston relayed Mari-Elle's death, watching
her lovely face go even paler.  She said nothing after his explanation, not a
question nor a comment, and he could see that she was shocked.  He wondered if
it was because she doubted his story as to the circumstances regarding his
wife's death. She knew he was very capable of killing her himself and he
thought he could read a new sort of fear in her eyes.

     In truth, Remington did not know what to
think.  He had never lied to her before, but she thought the fact that
Mari-Elle happened to bleed to death of a female ailment just when she happened
to be locked in the vault very peculiar.  She did not want to doubt his word,
but the nagging suspicion remained.

     She loved him so much that she believed him
in spite of her reserve.  She did not want to believe him capable of killing a
woman, any woman.  God only knew he had been nothing but tender and gentle with
her.

     The two of them went on to decide it would
best not to let Dane or Trenton know how she had received her wound, and
Remington explained her condition to her son by saying she had accidentally
fallen and hurt herself on the corner of an iron-and-glass table.  If Dane did
not believe her, he did not let on.  There had been countless times where she
had lied about a bruise or a scrape simply to spare him, and she wondered if he
thought mayhap Gaston had injured her somehow.  As much as he loved the Dark
Knight, he was very used to male cruelty and somewhat took it in stride.

     The afternoon progressed on, the heat and
humidity of July miserable.  It added tremendously to Remington's discomfort,
especially with the fever, and Gaston felt truly sorry for her.  Even though
she wriggled endlessly in her attempt to find the impossible cool and
comfortable position, she never uttered a word of complaint.

     Finally, he had had enough watching her
roll about and sent Eudora for cool water and a sponge.  He chased the old
woman away on the pretense he was going to further clean her wound, when in
fact, he was going to strip her down and bathe her all over.  He wanted to, and
she needed something to make her more comfortable.