The Dark One: Dark Knight (65 page)

     “That's better, love,” he whispered.

     “Gaston?” she called out softly as he moved
for the door.

     He paused, plopping his helm on.  “What
would you name our son?” she asked.  She had to ask; what if he did not return
and she had not asked him?  She shivered involuntarily.

     “I... I do not know,” he looked
thoughtful.  “I have not thought on it.  What would you name him?”

     She shrugged and he smiled, latching his
helm.  “Think on it, then. I will expect several prospects upon my return.”

     She nodded, giving him a wan smile.  He
quit the room and she heard his footsteps fading down the hall until they
vanished.  Exhausted and distraught, she fell back on the bed and drifted into
a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

     On the second day since Gaston's departure,
Remington was ready to climb the walls. Word had come back to Arik that Gaston
and his army had engaged Botmore at Crayke and the baron was proving to be a
handful.  Worried and sickened, Remington tried to occupy herself with various
projects, anything to keep from worrying.

     Arik proved to be a delightful companion. 
When he wasn't out training the troops, he was with her constantly and she
enjoyed his quick wit and conversation.  He would play games with her and let
her win, she was sure, but he acted the complete gentleman always.

     Father de Tormo kept to himself much of the
time, spending his hours in the solar chronicling his visit to Mt. Holyoak and
his subsequent discoveries.  Remington was glad he was able to keep himself
occupied, for she had her own problems to deal with.  She did not want to even
think of London until Gaston returned to her safely.

     Nicolas and Rory had another go-around
right after Gaston left.  Rory sabotaged the taper beside his bed with a
concoction of Charles' doing so that when he lit the end, it exploded with a
loud bang and sent wax sailing all over the room.  Nicolas was furious and,
frankly, frightened as hell and wandered the castle bellowing for Rory.  He
found her in Skye's room.

     Rory was wise as well as mischievous.  She
planted herself snuggly in her sister's room so that the enraged knight could
do nothing but smile sweetly at his love and glare at her sister in the same
breath. Rory laughed at him silently when Skye's back was turned and he mouthed
violent threats.

     The heat of August was sticky and again the
ladies turned their attention to the relief of the lake, as they had on so many
occasions. Taking Arik and Nicolas with them, they packed food and retreated to
the coolness and the shade that the little glen had to offer.

     Rory, Skye and Jasmine plunged into the
water, taking Mary with them. Nicolas stood at the edge of the water, watching
them with a smile on his face. He hated water and refused to go in, even when
Skye splashed him until he was soaking.

     Arik and Remington watched from under the
shade of the huge oak tree. The heat was draining on her and she simply wished
to sit and rest, content to watch the others play for the moment.  Arik chewed
on a green apple.

     “Your sisters are part fish,” he commented.

     She smiled faintly.  “Sometimes I wonder,”
she gazed at his blond head, his angular Nordic face. “Will they return soon?”

     Arik chewed thoughtfully. “Mayhap. If the
skirmish was small, as it was at Templehurst.”

     She did not feel comforted. “Gaston is a
magnificent warrior, is he not?  He is invincible.”

     Arik turned to look at her over his
shoulder; he could read her fear like a book. “He shall return, Remington. Have
no doubt of it. He loves you far too much not to.”

     She flushed slightly and lowered her gaze.
“You have known him a long time, have not you?”

     “Since we were seven,” Arik replied, still
looking at her. “I have never known him to show soft emotion. No love, no
tenderness, little kindness or compassion. I am constantly amazed at the depth
of emotion I read in his eyes when he looks at you. You, madam, have done the
one thing throngs of knights and soldiers have failed to do for thirteen years;
you have brought the Dark One to his knees.”

     Her head came up in mild alarm. “'Twas
never my intention, Arik. I would never intentionally weaken him.”

     “I did not mean to imply that you had. I
simply meant that you have managed to achieve a far greater feat than any war
ever has. You have tamed Edward's Dark Knight.”

     She looked at him. “I do not want to tame
him. I only want to love him.”

     He chuckled softly. “Do not be offended by
my words, Remington. I meant them as a compliment.”

     She wasn't offended, but she was puzzled.
She shook her head at him. “Stop talking like that. You embarrass me.”

     He tossed the apple core and sat up. “Why
is that? I merely seek to commend you. And tell you how glad I am that Gaston
found you.”

     She grinned shyly and threw a piece of bark
at him.  Hit in the head, he brushed at his hair while she continued to pelt
him. With a good-natured scowl, he moved out of her firing range.

     “Aren't you hot in that armor?” she asked.

     He shrugged. “I do not notice it. It is a
part of me.”

     “It looks terribly uncomfortable,” she
remarked. “Why do not you remove it and go swimming? Unless, of course, you are
afraid of the water like your fellow knight.”

     Arik made a wry face. “We have been through
this once before, I believe. I do not swim.”

     She giggled, but as she relaxed, she
suddenly realized how very tired she was. Swimming suddenly lost its appeal and
the thick humidity seemed more cloying than ever. Strange that all of a sudden
she should feel so terrible. She shifted uncomfortably, aware that she suddenly
had to relieve herself badly.

     “Arik, I think I shall return to the keep,”
she said.  “I am tired.”

     He looked concerned. “Are you feeling
poorly?”

     “Just tired,” she repeated, not sure if
Gaston had disclosed their secret to his second. Unless he mentioned it, she
was not going to offer any information.

     “I shall escort you,” he stood up, pulling
her gently to her feet.

     “No need, Arik, truly,” she insisted. “I
can walk through the trees and up the road all by myself. Truly.”

     He saw her jesting with him and shook his
head. “Not a chance, my lady. Were you to trip and fall or should some other
accident befall you, Gaston would skin me alive.”

     She merely shook her head. He followed her
from the tree as she passed by the lake, calling to her sisters as she went.
The more she walked, the more fatigued she became until Arik was practically
pulling her up the slope that led to Mt. Holyoak. He insisted strongly on
carrying her, but she waved him off. In fact, she nearly had to beat him away
and was glad when they passed under the razor-sharp teeth of the portcullis.

     He saw her safely inside the castle before
returning to the group on the lake.

***

Remington had fallen
asleep, a weary sleep that was heavy. She failed to hear the warning horns on
the top of the wall, or the shouts of the soldiers as they assembled hastily
and rushed out of the castle. She did not know anything was amiss until Eudora
woke her in a panic.

     Disoriented, she blinked the sleep from her
eyes and noticed the sun was nearly set. The old woman’s fear ignited a panic
of her own, and Eudora could barely speak through her crying. She had to slap
the old woman to her senses to understand what she was trying to tell her.

     She understood two words. Attack and death?

     Death! Remington bolted from the room,
rushing past her empty sister's bedchambers and taking the stairs far too
quickly. Fear and apprehension gripped her like a vise as she hit the lower
floor corridor that led to the bailey. Her mind was a fog of incoherent
thought; she could neither form nor speak a rational ideal. All she knew was
that something terrible had happened, and she had to find out what it was. Who
it was who had died?

     The inner bailey was a hive of agitated
activity. There were soldiers on horseback racing across the drawbridge and
still more soldiers mobilizing into ground troops. Remington searched for a
familiar face, any face among the mail and steel of the troops, and was seized
with terror to see Skye and Jasmine being helped toward her by Sir Roald and
another knight. She leapt from the stairs to confront them.

     “What happened?” she demanded severely.

     Skye was hysterical and Jasmine was close
to swooning. Before Remington could ask again, Sir Roald answered her.

     “An ambush at the lake, my lady,” he
replied, his lips white with emotion. “Sir Arik was killed! And your sister,
Rory....”

     His voice trailed away and Remington knew
without being told that her sister was dead. Dear God, she knew. Her head began
to swim as she spun away from him, searching frantically for her sister and
Arik among the sea of men.

     They were on litters not 10 feet from her;
she had been so busy skimming the crowd that she had failed to look to the
ground.  With a stifled cry, she pushed forward through the knights and men
until she reached the bodies. Dizzy with anguish, she nearly pitched forward
onto Arik's still from, but strong hands steadied her from behind.

     Arik had three arrows protruding out of
him, one in the neck, one in the chest, and one in his thigh. Remington stood
over him, not believing what she was seeing. His handsome face was peaceful in
death. Her vision began to blur; she had just been speaking with him. How could
he be dead?
How?

     Tears fell on his armor as she knelt beside
him, taking his cold hand into her own. Gaston's friend, her friend! He was
dead. Grief crept up on her like an unwelcome tide, but she fought it.

She had to remain strong, at least for the
moment. Her shock was still too great to allow the grief to overtake her, and
when her eyes settled on Rory's body not three feet away, rivers of tears fell
on Arik's armor.

     She was frozen for a moment, unable to do
anything but crouch beside Arik and hold his lifeless hand as she stared at her
dead sister. Around her, the bailey had quieted somewhat, attention moved to
her as she dealt with the deaths. Respectfully, the soldiers backed off and
allowed her a moment of semi-privacy.

     Woodenly, she stood and staggered to a spot
between the two bodies. Rory, her fire-colored hair spread gloriously, looked
as if she was sleeping. She could see a huge red stain in the middle of her
torso, but a discreet soldier had long removed the arrow. 'Twas one thing to
see a knight with soldiers piercing his body; 'twas another to see a horrible
projectile jutting from a young lady's delicate chest.

     Remington was far beyond shock and grief.
She was in the realm of disbelief, denial. Haltingly, she took Arik's hand into
her right hand and Rory's limp hand into her left. The sun sat, the world grew
chill, and she continued to sit on her bottom in the middle of the inner bailey
as if nothing else in the world existed. No tears, no shrieking; just utter,
complete denial. When Roald brought out a cloak and placed it about her
shoulders, she did not even notice.

     The night progressed and still, Remington
sat. She couldn't seem to force herself to move. Once she did, they would take
the bodies and she would never see her sister or Arik again. She just couldn't
let go, not yet. The grief, the shock, and the agony manifested itself in the
hollow of her gut, aching with a dull pain she had never known. If she were to
start crying again, she knew she would never stop.

     Father de Tormo joined her in her silent
vigil, performing last rites over Rory, and then Arik. His words were soft and
monotonous and Remington was too dazed to feel a rush of anger at his words.
Since when did God care about her family and loved ones? Did he care about them
only in death? In life, he had never shown much interest. Were his concerns for
their souls real or merely for show?

     The bodies were stiffening. Rory's soft
hand had formed a claw of death, but Remington continued to hold it. Arik's
hand felt like stone.

     Nicolas came out after the priest had left,
watching her as guilt tore him apart. He had been there, aye; he had seen the
arrows strike down Rory, and then Arik as he tried to save her. He had seen the
soldiers strike and then retreat into the woods, and he had not pursued. He was
far too concerned with returning the living to the keep to pursue the men and
discover their identity.

The decision saved the lives of himself, Jasmine
and Skye, but the cost was his personal pain.

     He should have given chase, but in the same
breath he knew his first priority was the remaining ladies, and his beloved
Skye. He only hoped Gaston would understand his choice, and he furthermore
prayed his brother did not take a dagger to him for allowing harm to befall his
intended.