The Dark One: Dark Knight (53 page)

     From experience, he knew Gaston was
emotionally attached to no one, save his distant son. He had no friends, only
loyal vassals, and Arik had never seen him respond to a woman in any way. 
Except this woman.  It was astounding to say the very least.

     He smiled at his lord.  “Hopefully that
will not be necessary.  If anyone can procure an annulment, you can.”

     Gaston did not respond, lingering on his
confession and his future.  He felt strangely vulnerable; yet, his heart was
lighter than he could ever remember. In fact, he had never felt this good about
anything in his life.

     “Not a word to anyone,” he finally said. 
“This will not become public knowledge until I myself inform my vassals.”

     Of course,” Arik replied, deciding to see
to the preparations below first-hand. But before he left, he slapped Gaston on
the shoulder.  “But I have a feeling your mightiest battle yet lies ahead.”

     Gaston raised an eyebrow in resignation. 
“And Pope Innocent will prove to be a powerful adversary should he not see
things as he should.”

     Arik snorted a chuckle and moved for the
ladder.  Gaston paused only a moment longer before following, his mind moving
from Remington to the tasks at hand, still amazed at the course his life was
taking.  The unexpected twist of the past few weeks left him wondering if he
might wake up at any moment and discover it all to have been a dream.

***

     Henry's new recruits arrived in droves. 
Gaston stood back, scrutinizing every man as Arik, Antonius, Patrick and
Nicolas directed and sectioned off groups of men, settling some, lecturing
others.  Mass, organized chaos at its very best and Gaston watched with
satisfaction at all he was master over.  Aye, he would train them well, as
Henry expected him to, reinforcing the north so that there would never again be
any threat of rebellion from Yorkist loyalists.

     The noise level was incredible. One thousand
men filled the double baileys of Mt. Holyoak like water filling a lake,
covering the grounds completely as Gaston's knights worked with feverish,
precise organization to place them.

     Divided up into companies, each of Gaston's
thirty-five knights was in charge of a company of 30 men, more or less.  These
new soldiers had a company leader, a comrade of their choosing with whom they
were allowed to communicate with regarding commands or questions.  This company
leader would then in turn act as liaison between the knights and the troops. 
Never were the soldiers allowed to speak directly to the knights unless
permission was given, and under no circumstances were they to speak to Gaston. 
He was their liege, their trainer, and their god.

     It was a very exacting hierarchy that they
were sworn to adhere to under penalty of severe punishment.

     It had always been thus in Gaston's theatre
of training.  That was why his men were considered the very best in the realm. 
As with everything else in Gaston's life, it was either black or white. You
obeyed or you were punished; there was no in between, no excuses, and no
failures.

     The afternoon drug on in the oppressive
heat as the new recruits were settled and given food. Gaston would not work
them this day because they had been traveling since the night before, but he
would demand them to an early sleep.  He would order them up well before dawn
to begin their regimens.

     He immersed himself in his duties, although
he had not forgotten about Remington.  He would like to be there when she
awoke, but item upon item pressed itself until he lost track of time. Well,
mayhap if he could not be there when she awoke, then he would absolutely see
her for before supper.

     Remington slept a good deal of the
afternoon, especially in the heat.  Dane was in the company of his aunts,
leaving Eudora free to tend to Remington exclusively.  Even after she awoke,
not a word was said about the night's events, nor Mari-Elle's sudden death. 
Eudora had heard all of the rumors, of course, but she would not repeat them to
her mistress.  The lady had had enough sorrow and woes in her short life, and
if she had indeed found a man that cared for her enough to kill for her, then
Eudora was happy for her.

     Jasmine wandered in toward the waning hours
of the afternoon and dismissed the old servant. She seemed pensive and distant
and Remington lay on her side, watching her sister's wispy form as she gazed
out over the bailey.

     “They say he killed his wife because of
what she did to you,” Jasmine finally said.

     “She died without his help, Jassy,”
Remington replied softly.  “It was purely coincidental.”

     Jasmine shook her head.  “He's so big,
Remi.  Does not he scare you?”

     Remington smiled faintly.  “Nay.  He's as
gentle as a kitten.  You mustn't fear him, either.”

     Jasmine shrugged, her blue eyes watching
the activity below.  I have never seen so many soldiers in my life.  There must
be thousands, at least.”

     Remington shifted slightly, wincing with
the pain.  “What's wrong, Jasmine?”

     “Wrong?  What do you mean?” Jasmine said. 
“I mean that you are not usually this solicitous,” Remington said plainly. 
“What are you thinking, sweetheart?  Are you afraid because you heard that
Gaston killed his wife?”

     “Nay,” Jasmine insisted.  “If he did, she
deserved it for what she did to you and I applaud him. Antonius said he should
have killed her long ago for the shame she brought him.”

     Remington realized then that Gaston's
secrets were not merely between them.  His knights knew of Mari-Elle's
indiscretions and she was not surprised that Jasmine had been told.

     “Do not….do not repeat to anyone what you
have been told, Jassy,” she said softly.  “Gaston is a proud man and what his
wife did humiliated him terribly.  He hated her a great deal.”

     “So did the knights,” Jasmine sniffed. 
“Just as our household hates Guy.  Why couldn't the hand of God snuff out Guy's
life the way Mari-Elle's life was taken?”

     Remington almost blurted the physical
reasons as to why Guy could not have died in the same manner, but she held her
tongue.  “He's out of our lives forever, Jassy.  That should be sufficient.”

     “I know,” Jasmine turned slowly to face her
sister, her expression veiled.  “Which is why...are you sure he shall never
return?”

     “We have Gaston's word,” she said softly,
and then added hesitantly.  “And do you want to know why?  He's going to London
to petition the church for an annulment to my marriage.  He wants to marry me,
Jasmine.”

     Jasmine's eyes widened.   “Truly? Oh, Remi,
is it possible? Can he do it?”

     “He says he can, and I believe him,”
Remington said, pleased at her sister's happiness.

     Jasmine smiled hopefully.  “Then I do,
too.  Rory and Skye will be so happy.”

     “Do not tell them, not just yet,” Remington
admonished softly.  “The less people who know, the better.”

     Jasmine nodded, mulling over the
revelation.  Then it made what she was about to ask that much easier.

     “Remi….since Guy will never again harm us,
I….” She struggled with her words, finally deciding to come straight to the
point.  “I want Mary back.  I want to go get her today.” 

     Now Remington was shocked.  “Mary? 
Well....I see no reason why not, Jassy.  But why today? Can you not wait until
I am feeling better so that I may go with you?  I should, you know.”

     Jasmine’s face washed with great emotion
and Remington was sorry she had dampened her enthusiasm.  “I can't wait another
day, Remi. I want my baby back. It has been nearly two long years and I have
never even seen her.”

     Remington was not about to deny her, for
she wanted the same thing.  Mary's second birthday was drawing close next month
and she knew a day did not pass when Jasmine was not thinking of her baby.  The
baby Guy had sired and then forced her to relinquish.  Remington only knew she
would die if Dane were taken away from her.

     “Very well,” she said softly, gazing at her sister a
moment.  “Does Antonius know?”

     Jasmine shook her head shamefully.  “Nay. 
I have not told him.  I have not had the nerve.  I thought it would be better
to let him see the baby and then explain.”

     Remington smiled faintly. “So he has
declared his intentions for you?”

     Jasmine shrugged, flushing.  “He tells me
he cares for me.” 

     “Does he know about Guy?”

     “Aye,” Jasmine whispered.  “I told him... I
had to.”

     “Had to?” Remington repeated, and then
suddenly understood.  “He bedded you?”

     Jasmine nodded.  “I cried the whole time. I
have never….I never knew it could be so tender, so loving. Remi, I have been
raped on a daily basis since I was seventeen.  I never knew the act was meant
to be wonderful.”

     Tears sprang to Remington's eyes, tears of
guilt and pain at what her sisters had been subjected to.  She couldn't stop
what had happened and she was forever cursing her helplessness.  To hear
Jasmine's confession was both wonderful and agonizing.

     “Then get me up,” she said, struggling to
sit.  “I am going with you.”

     “You cannot.” Jasmine rushed to her sister,
wanting to stop her but not wanting to touch her for fear of causing her
further pain.  “You were almost killed last night and…”

     “I was not.” Remington snapped gently, fighting
to a sitting position as the world around her reeled.  “I shall be fine,
truly.  Just….let me sit here a moment and rest.  Get my wine-colored silk from
the wardrobe, please.”

     Jasmine held onto her sister's good arm,
watching her fearfully. She was far too weak to risk a ride into town, yet she
was well aware of Remington's determination.  If she said she was going, then
she was going.

     “Oh, Remi, I do not think....” she
sputtered.

     “My wine-colored silk,” Remington repeated
patiently, the world rocking a little less.  With all the pain that her sister
had been through, she could have been on her deathbed and would have still
insisted to ride into town with her to pick up the child.  She had to do this.

     Jasmine let out a little sigh of fear and
released her sister, moving obediently to the wardrobe and drawing forth a
beautiful silk with gold leafing.

     Good,” Remington said, feeling terribly
weak.  “Now, send one of the soldiers guarding the hall down to the stables and
see that two palfreys are saddled.  Tell him to have the animals brought around
to the side gate, by the kitchens.

     Jasmine stood by indecisively a moment
while Remington struggled gingerly from her torn shift.  She glanced up at her
sister.  “Go.  Hurry, for we want to return before dark.”

     “You do not have to do this,” Jasmine said
softly.

     “Aye, I do,” Remington grunted as she
reached for her surcoat.  “'Twas my husband who caused you this pain,
sweetheart, and I must do what I can to make it up to you.”

     “You do not,” Jasmine insisted gently.

     “I do,” Remington fixed her with a hard
look.  “Hurry up, now, and do as you are told.”

     With great reluctance, Jasmine went into
the hall and sent the nearest soldier on the errand. Pausing for a few minutes
to retrieve her own cloak and heavy shoes, she returned to her sister's room.

     Remington was already half dressed but
could not manage the stays. She stood weakly, gripping the canopy post for
support as Jasmine silently did her stays.

     “You are too weak,” Jasmine hissed when the
last stay was fastened.

     “Go find my hose and shoes,” Remington
ignored her statement, although she indeed felt terrible.  She honestly did not
know how in the hell she was going to ride into Boroughbridge and back.

     Jasmine had to put her hose and her shoes
on for her, as her right arm was nearly useless. Rastus had actually bandaged
it tight against her torso, but she had complained so much about the bindings
that he had removed them.  Swinging loose, she wished the arm were still
bandaged tight because the pain was excruciating every time she moved it.

     Her pain and weakness was making her shake
and sweat, and Jasmine was terribly reluctant to let her go.

     “How are you going to ride a horse with
that arm?” she demanded.

     “With my left hand,” Remington said firmly.
“'Twill be no problem.  Get my cloak, please.”

     Jasmine let out a sigh of pure frustration
and retrieved the matching cloak.  Remington winced visibly when the material
was laid across her shoulders.

     “Remi.” Jasmine protested at the pained
expression.

     “Quiet.” Remington snapped.  “Let us be
gone.  The horses should be ready by now and....”

     “Nay, they are not,” Gaston stood in the
doorway.  Both women swung around, startled at the sound of his deep baritone.
He did not look pleased.