The Dark One: Dark Knight (60 page)

     He shook her so hard that her neck snapped
and she gasped from the shock.  Her wildly constricted pupils suddenly dilated
with recognition, as if suddenly realizing that for a brief moment she had been
truly insane. He saw her start to quiver violently and the tears finally
bubbled forth.  He saw a terrifying panic in her eyes.

     “Kill him, Gaston!” she hissed.

     He did not hesitate.  “I shall do it.”

     She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off
the sobs.  “No, no, do not.  I did not mean it.”

     “I did,” he was gripping her arms tightly,
feeling her pain and terror seeping into his veins.  He couldn't stand seeing
her so terrified; his natural instincts to protect her were running rampant.  “No,
Gaston.” she breathed heavily.  “I do not want to you murder for me.  Let him
rot away in the Tower; let him become fodder for rats.  I could never live with
the guilt if you killed him for me.”

     He felt her shaking violently in his grasp
until he realized it was he who was shaking, too. Fiercely, he gathered her
against his chest, breathing in the faint scent of the perfume he had purchased
for her.

     “It's all right, angel,” he whispered
against her hair.  He had her gripped tightly in his arms, her feet dangling a
good distance off the floor.  “The church will listen to me, and we shall be
married by this time next year.  I vow it on my oath as Henry's Dark One. 
Nothing will stand in my way, not God, nor king, nor your bastard husband.”

     She was sobbing softly in his arms,
frightened and tired.  “I hate him!”

     “I know,” he crooned.  “So do I.”

     They spent a good deal of the evening in
the solar.  Remington had a death-grip on his neck and refused to let go, and
he ended up sitting on the desk and holding her across his lap like a child. 
But he was content to stay there the rest of his life, holding her, keeping her
safe from those who would seek to harm her.

     He found as of late that he was only
content with her in his arms, as if she were the other half of him.  Alone, he
felt as if a great piece of him was missing.

     The evening meal came and went and they
continued to hold each other in the dim room, listening to the crackles of the
banked fire.  Remington had long since fallen into a deep sleep, a catch in her
breathing every so often to remind him of the emotional upheaval she has
suffered. He caressed her gently, staring into the fire and considering exactly
what he would need to do upon his arrival to London.

     He would take Remington with him and seek
out Henry.  After a private audience, wherein he fully intended to explain
everything to his king, he would settle her in a secured portion of the castle
under the protection of his own elite guard, and then he would seek an audience
with the papal legate, Bishop John of Imola.  Unfamiliar as he was regarding
the procedures of annulment, he would seek the bishop's advice and proceed, with
or without the man's blessing.

     Gaston did not know much about Pope
Innocent VIIII, only that Henry had a love/hate relationship with the church,
mostly hate.  But Gaston knew one thing; with enough money and royal
interference, he would have his annulment.  Even if it meant liquidating
everything he had of value as a donation to the church.  He might very well
lose Clearwell and Mt. Holyoak, but he would have Remington and that was all
that mattered.  The rest was insignificant.

     He would beg if he had to.

     And he would have Dane and Trenton, two of
the finest sons a man could have.  Even if Dane was not of his blood, he was of
Remington's and therefore, a part of him.  Ever since he met the boy he had
considered him his own flesh.  It was never his intention to steal another
man's son; it merely became the way of things.

     There was a soft knock on the solar door
and Arik entered quietly, eyeing the both of them questioningly.  He took a
couple of halting steps into the room, his eyes on Remington.

     “Is she all right?” he asked softly.  “What
happened?”

     Gaston was weary, so damn weary he could
barely speak.  “Guy has requested that Remington join him in his captivity, and
Henry has graciously granted his prisoner's request.”

     Arik's eyes widened briefly.  “My God,
Gaston.  What are you going to do?”

     He shrugged slightly, Remington dead weight
against his arms and chest.  “Take her to London as I am ordered to and start
annulment proceedings the moment I arrive.  I shall make her a ward of the
church until the matter is settled.”

     Arik stroked his scratchy face
thoughtfully, moving to sit on the desk beside his liege. He snorted softly
after a moment.  “Hell of a problem, I'd say.  Guy was smart to send the church
as an envoy.”

     “I do not know he did that for certain, but
it was certainly a shrewd move,” Gaston raised his eyebrows in a resigned
gesture.  “Who would deny the church?”

     Arik nodded in agreement.  “Guy is an
intelligent man, Gaston.  I was mildly acquainted with him some time ago and
know him to be cunning and sharp. I have no doubt that having the church bear
his message was a planned move.”

     “But why?” Gaston asked and Remington
shifted at the sound of his raised voice.  He put his huge hand on her head,
covering her ear until she stilled.  “Why would he do this now, one year after
the defeat of Stokes?  In all that time, he had no contact with her and
suddenly he decides he cannot live without her?  I do not understand his
logic.”

     “Mayhap that is not his logic,” Arik
replied softly.  “Mayhap he is angry because another man has his possessions
and he simply wishes to regain a portion of what is his.”

     “But why Remi?” Gaston gazed at the top of
her dark head.  “Why not send for…oh, hell, I do not know.  Why not demand his
plate or coinage, or his personal possessions to surround him?”

     Arik looked at Remington, at Gaston.  His
blue eyes were grim.  “Think, Gaston.  He can pump Remington for information. 
Having been living in the same keep with Henry's Dark One, she would be privy
to privileged information, knowingly or not.  Guy wants to find out what she
knows.”

     Gaston's eyes darkened.  “And being the
intelligent, sly man he is, he is almost certainly linked with a network of
Yorkist spies.  In prison or not, he has most likely not been isolated from his
peers and comrades.  He would be passing them any information for their
resistance.”

     “Exactly.”

     Gaston held Arik's gaze a moment longer
before turning away, a weary sigh escaping his lips. “Once again, she is a
pawn.  I will not allow this, Arik.  I will not allow this man to harm her any
more than he already has, no matter what Henry says.”

     “One would hope that Henry has already
thought of the possible reasons behind Guy's request, outside of unrequited
love,” Arik said with muted sarcasm.  “He must not believe her to be a threat,
knowing that you would not have become personally involved with her or divulged
any crown secrets.”

     They both looked at each other as the
enormity of the statement hung between them.  “Have I changed overmuch since I
met her, Arik?  Am I not the same man you rode into Mt. Holyoak with those
weeks ago?”

     “You have changed, but it is a positive
one,” Arik replied.  “I thought you quite incapable of feelings until you met
lovely Lady Remington.”

     “I thought I was immune,” Gaston mumbled,
burying the lower part of his face in the top of Remington's hair.  “I was
wrong.”

     Arik smiled faintly.  Watching how tenderly
Gaston was holding Remington made him reconsider life in general; he would not
have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes.

     “Do you remember once, years ago, when I
asked you why you did not make friends?” he said quietly.  “Do you remember
your reaction?  You knocked out two of my teeth.”

     Gaston nodded vaguely, the light of the dim
fire reflecting on his face.  “Remington is not merely my friend, Arik.  She is
quickly becoming my life and that scares me.”

     “Why did you hit me those years back?” Arik
pressed quietly.  “What was so terrible in that question?”

     Gaston shifted a bit, mulling over the question. 
“My father was a mighty warrior, a younger son of the Duke of Exeter.  He
married my mother when she was thirteen.  I was their only child, born a scant
year later, and I remember my mother and father well.  Mother was more like a
sister to me and she always called me her very best friend. My father was also
my best friend, taking me everywhere with him.” His look grew distant.  “I was
sent away to foster when I was seven and I missed them more than I could
stand.  When I had been away six months, I received word that my mother had
died as a result of a bad pregnancy. My father followed her in death three
months later, succumbing in a battle.  I swore then and there that I would
never have another friend, Arik.  I did not even like to hear the word because
it reminded me of my parents.  Emotions like friendship hurt too much.”

     Arik was somber, his expression gentle. 
“But you
do
have friends,” he said quietly. “Matthew Wellesbourne is
your closest friend.”

     Gaston shrugged. “He is an exception. We
are alike, Matt and I. He understands me.”

     Arik thought on Matthew Wellesbourne, the
White Lord, as he was known throughout England. He was a good man, a decent
man, having saved Gaston’s life at Bosworth.  Matthew had lost a hand but
Gaston had retained his head. It was the essence of friendship, something few
men ever experienced. Gaston’s fear of emotional attachment did not seem to
include Wellesbourne.

     “I remember when you lost your parents,
although I did not know you well,” Arik murmured.
“I remember a little boy crying all night long into his straw pillow and
suddenly emerging the next day looking like the devil's apprentice.  I have
never seen such... hardness on one so young.”

     Gaston stared into the fire a moment before
turning his attention to Remington.  “I thought I was holding to my vow quite
well until I met Lady Stoneley.  Now it is as if all of the emotions I spent my
life fighting off are suddenly manifesting themselves. I could not deny my
feelings for her if I wanted to.”

     “Aye, you could, but you do not want to,”
Arik teased lightly.  “And I do not blame you. I am very pleased, Gaston, to
see that you are allowing yourself to love.”

     He did not know what to say; he was already
embarrassed with his emotional blubbering. “Which is why I cannot let her go.”

     Arik's smile faded. “You have to face the
very real possibility that the church will not grant her an annulment, Gaston. 
What will you do then?”

     He drew in a long breath through his nose
as if contemplating the realism of it. “I will kill Stoneley and marry her
anyway.”

     “I asked you not to,” Remington whispered,
raising her head.  She turned slightly to look at Arik.  “Greetings this eve,
Arik.”

     “Greetings, my lady,” Arik responded,
clearing his throat and standing from the table.

     “How long have you been awake?” Gaston
chided her gently.

     “Long enough. How could I sleep with you
two making so much commotion?” she unwound her arms from his neck and winced. 
“Ouch.  I have no feeling left in them.”

     He gently helped her to stand and took to
rubbing the circulation back into her arms.  He rubbed her so vigorously that
her whole body began to shimmy from side to side and they both laughed.  He
gathered her against him, both of them facing Arik.

     “Well? Why are you still standing there?”
Gaston demanded lightly.

     Arik fought off a smirk.  “Awaiting orders,
my lord.”

     “Get out.  That is my order,” Gaston
watched his second move obediently toward the door and called out after him. 
“Prepare a guard of one hundred and fifty of my elite warriors.  I would also
take eight knights with me, including Patrick and Antonius.  You and Nicolas
will have command of the fortress.”

     “Aye, my lord,” Arik swept from the room
with a lingering glance to Remington.

     “I shall kill him for looking at you like
that,” Gaston said into her neck.

     She was still tired, leaning against him. 
“Take me to bed, my lord.  I am exceedingly weary.”

     He rose behind her.  “I shall escort you to
my bedchamber, my lady, but you shall be doing very little sleeping.”

     She grinned.  “You would take advantage of
a weakened, crazy woman?”

     He pursed his lips thoughtfully.  “Aye, I
would.”

***

     True to his word, he did take advantage of
her.  From the moment he lay her upon his bed until the sun rose, they never
stopped making love.  Remington could do very little with her weakened right
arm, and Gaston was perfectly content to do all of the work himself.  He
caressed, teased, touched, and penetrated, feeding off of the sounds of
pleasure emanating from Remington's lips.