The Dark One: Dark Knight (56 page)

     His manner was relaxed and confident,
helping her to feel more confident, too.  Timidly, she brushed the breastplate
of his armor with the tips of her fingers.  “You look as you did the very first
time I saw you.  You were the most terrifying sight I had ever beheld.”

     “And now?”

     She smiled, brightening her pale face. “You
are the most wonderful, powerful, and magnificent sight I have ever beheld.”

     He straightened, latching his helm to the
lip of his breastplate.  “Compliments for me?  Am I not still terrifying?”

     “Not to me, my love,” she whispered.

     He could feel the emotions raging from her,
mingling with his own and making his chest tighten.  Gently, he touched her
cheek with a gloved finger, wishing he could do much, much more.

     “I shall return,” he said, his voice
hoarse.  By God, if he did not miss her already.

     Remington heard his footsteps fade down the
hall.  Even though he had been unconcerned about the entire situation, fear
still clutched her. The fact that she had just smiled at him not moments before
did not prevent hot tears from filling her eyes as she stared into the space of
her chamber.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

     Mari-Elle had to be buried at Mt. Holyoak. 
The heat at early August was oppressive and the body had begun to deteriorate
terribly.  Just after sunrise on the second day after Gaston's departure, Lady
de Russe was buried in the small grove of oaks where generations of Guy's
family had been buried.  Located on the edges near a large oak, it was a
peaceful enough spot.

     Remington, although still weak, attended
the funeral.  Dane, Trenton, Rory, Jasmine, Skye, and Charles stood silently as
the priest from Boroughbridge performed the mass and lay to rest the woman's
evil soul.

     Remington kept glancing at Trenton as he
stood beside the casket, wondering if he still blamed her for his mother's
death.  She hoped not; she would certainly like to befriend the boy and did not
want his hatred preventing it.  Moreover, she was to be his stepmother someday
and she did not want to spend the rest of her life dealing with her bitter
stepson.

     Dane stood next to his friend as the priest
threw symbolic dirt over the grave and intoned the words concluding the
ceremony.  Sir Roald was one of the four knights Gaston had left behind in
charge of Mt. Holyoak, and he moved forward out of the shadows with a few
others to lower the casket into the grave.

     Remington watched the knight who almost
died protecting her.  His chest wound was recovering slowly, sapping his
strength, and he moved sluggishly these days.  He smiled pleasantly at
Remington as he moved about his duties, yet she couldn't help but feel guilty
that she had caused his pain.

     The funeral disbanded, two of the knights
already barking orders to Mari-Elle's household to prepare to depart.  Their
wagons were packed and waiting for them in the outer bailey and Remington knew
Gaston had left explicit orders to rid Mt. Holyoak of his dead wife's staff as
soon as the funeral was concluded.  She watched the sobbing ladies and servants
make their way back toward the keep under the watchful eye of Gaston's knights.

     Trenton was still standing over the grave,
watching Sir Roald and the other men bury his mother.  Dane was trying to lead
his friend away, but the boy wasn't listening. Taking a deep breath for
courage, Remington stepped forward.

     “Trenton,” she said gently.  “The cook has
made some wonderful berry tarts, just for you. Would you like to go inside and
have one?”

     He blinked at the grave before turning to
look at her.  Gaston's eyes gazed back. “I am... I am not hungry.  Mayhap
later.”

     She was greatly relieved that he did not
lash out at her from the first.  “I understand.  But it is terribly warm
already.  Why do not you and Dane go swimming?  You can play sea battles.”

     Trenton was still looking at her and she
could see the inner workings of his young mind.  “Are you going to marry my
father now?”

     She choked on her tongue.  Out of the
corner of her eye, she could see Sir Roald paying attention to the
conversation.

     “Nay, Trenton, not now,” she said; it was,
after all, the truth.  She wasn't going to marry him this very second. 
Quickly, she looked to her son.  “Dane, take Trenton and have the cook pack you
some food before you go swimming.  Charles, why do not you go as well?”

     Charles was lingering a few feet away.  He
moved forward, standing behind his young cousin. “I'd like that.  It's too hot
in the tower anyway.”

     Trenton turned to look at the young man. 
He'd seen him only twice and observed him openly. “Why do you stay in the
tower?  Are you being punished?”

     Charles smiled.  “Nay.  'Tis my laboratory
where I perform experiments and feats of learning.”

     Trenton's eyes widened slightly; it was the
first emotion he had shown. “What kind of experiments?”

     “Great stuff.” Dane exclaimed.  “We can
make things explode.”

     Life came back into Trenton's face.  “Really? 
Can I see?”

     Charles glanced at Remington, who nodded
thankfully.  Motioning the boys with him, they headed back toward the keep.

     Her sisters joined Remington on the walk
back.  Oleg and Eudora were several paces behind, walking Mary between them and
Jasmine kept turning around to smile at her daughter.

     “She's so beautiful,” she gushed quietly.

     Remington glanced at Mary, then to her
mother.  She had never seen Jasmine so happy or radiant. They all knew of
Antonius' unconditional acceptance of the child and his intent to marry
Jasmine.  It was only rumor, though, for he had yet to formally ask for her
hand.  That was most likely because he would have to ask Gaston, and Gaston had
already promised to be hard on his knight.  He was jesting, of course, but
Antonius still had yet to work up the nerve.

     The same went for the other two knights who
had formed a fondness for the remaining Halsey sisters.  Patrick and Rory were
inseparable, and Skye worshipped Nicolas.  Gaston felt the talk of marriage
between the younger sisters and his knights was premature, but Remington
disagreed.

     “When do you think they'll return?” Skye
asked as they mounted the hill.

     “Gaston seemed to think it would not be
long,” Remington said. “Mayhap today or tomorrow.”

     “I hope so,” Skye said wistfully.

     Remington and Jasmine smiled at each other,
hearing the longing in their sister's voice.  Only Rory kept her mouth shut.

     What about you, Rory?” Remington asked with
a teasing smile.  “Do not you miss Patrick?”

     Rory turned her face away.  “No.”

     The other three sisters burst out
giggling.  “There is no harm in admitting you miss him.” Jasmine insisted. 
“He's a fine, gentle knight.  Not to mention that he is most beautiful with
black hair and green eyes.”

     Rory's head snapped around to her giggling
sisters, her green eyes narrowing.  “He is certainly the most handsome of all
of the knights.  Gaston is far too big, Antonius is too small, and Nicolas
is... well, I'd better not say what he is.”

     A quarrel naturally ensued, though not particularly
hostile.  Each lady was trying to prove to the other that her knight was the
strongest, the bravest, and the most handsome.  Remington thought she had the
best argument by far and actually had Jasmine agreeing with her as they crossed
the drawbridge and under the raised portcullis.

     As they were enveloped by the shadowed
coolness passing through the archway and into the outer bailey, they heard the
sentries on the wall announcing incoming riders.   There were soldiers moving
to protect them as they passed through the bailey, still other soldiers rushing
to the open portcullis.

     The iron grate lowered with a resounding
bang and shouts on the wall initiated the raising of the drawbridge.  The
ladies paused at the entrance to the inner bailey, curious to see if the
approaching men were indeed the army returning.  Sir Roald was up on the wall,
conversing with the sentries and other soldiers and straining to look for
himself.

     “Do you think it's them?” Skye asked
hopefully.  Remington shook her head, watching Sir Roald descend a wooden
ladder and head directly for her.  “We shall soon find out.”

     He came to an abrupt halt in front of
them.  “We have riders approaching, my lady. They are flying the banners of the
holy church.”

     Remington looked puzzled.  “The church? 
Will you let them in?”

     “I have little choice if they are flying
the papal cloak,” he said, but she could tell he was not pleased.  “I would ask
that you and your sisters retreat to the safety of the castle.”

     Remington glanced at her sisters.  “I agree
that my sisters should return, but I would like to remain if I may.  After all,
I am lady of Mt. Holyoak and would know their business.”

     Roald wasn't pleased with her statement,
either, but he agreed.  He escorted Remington to the top of the inner wall
where she could watch the scene unfurl, yet remain in relative safety.

Leaving her in the company of several seasoned
soldiers, he resumed his post on the outer wall.

     Remington waited with the soldiers,
slightly uncomfortable with them but trusting they would not accost her in any
way.  Ever since Gaston had killed the soldier who had grabbed her, the men had
kept a respectful distance.

     It seemed like an eternity before she heard
the distant shouts of the riders outside the wall. Sir Roald called down to
them, waited for a reply, and then responded.  The conversation was most
one-sided, but from what Remington could gather, the party had come to see her.

    
Her.

     She was surprised to say the least.  What
would the church want with her?  She watched with anticipation as Sir Roald
reluctantly ordered the bridge lowered and the portcullis raised.  He turned to
look at her then and she could see even at a distance that he was not pleased
in the least.

     She descended the wall without being told
to do so.  Passing through the inner gate, she nearly collided with Sir Roald.

     “What do they want with me?” she asked
urgently.

     His jaw ticked as he watched the portcullis
go up.  “They say they carry a message from the king,” he looked at her then. 
“And your husband.”

     Remington’s eyes widened.  She swayed back
from the knight, almost falling backward had she not quickly caught herself. 
Her shock, her fear, her natural terror of the man called her husband suddenly
swallowed her up and she took a step away from Sir Roald, shaking her head
slowly.

     “Nay,” she rasped.  “I shall not read it. I
shall not read it.”

     Sir Roald was no fool; he knew that the
lady and his liege were lovers.  But he also knew it was more than a purely
physical relationship, for he could tell by the way Gaston gazed upon her.  The
man was in love.

     He had furthermore heard the rumors of Lord
Stoneley’s cruelty and could read the horror in her face.  Quickly, he sought
to protect her, at least until Gaston could return.

     “You do not have to, my lady,” he assured
her.  “Retreat to the castle and I will deal with the church as best I can.”

     Remington was shaking so badly she could
hardly walk.  She did not want to read any missive from Guy; she wanted to
forget him completely.  Oh, where was Gaston?

     Quaking, she turned away from Sir Roald and
hastened back into the safe innards of Mt. Holyoak.  Her rapid footsteps soon
turned into running pats as she raced up the stairs and tore the length of the
corridor until she reached the confines of her bedchamber.  But even then, as
she looked about the empty room, she was not comforted.  She must find safety,
someplace where no one could harm her.  Panic, fear-borne, was welling in her
chest.

     Gaston made her feel safe.  She wanted him
here, dear God, but he was off fighting another man's battle.  She wanted him;
nay
,
needed him.  Her breathing came in harsh rasps and her body was near collapse
due to her injury and her mental state, but she felt uncomfortable staying in
her own bedchamber. But there was one place she did feel safe, because it
reminded her so much of Gaston.

     The door to Gaston's bedchamber flew open
and was slammed shut with equal force. Remington threw herself upon the bed,
smelling of leather and Gaston, and buried herself under the covers.  Here, she
would hide until he returned.  She would not leave it for a minute.  She wanted
nothing to do with the church or their missives.