The Dark One: Dark Knight (67 page)

     Gaston, too, was gray with exhaustion. He raked
his fingers through his hair. “Brimley's siege was intense when we arrived,
although none of my spies could pick out Lord Botmore. I had a feeling he was
planning something for Mt. Holyoak, though I knew not what. The man's troops
were there but, apparently, he was not to be found.”

     Nicolas nodded, draining the last of his
ale. He had been living on ale since yesterday. “They struck quickly and then
retreated,” his eyes reluctantly found Gaston. “They were aiming for me, you
know. Rory just happened to be in the way. She stood between me and the forest
where they were hiding.”

     Gaston suspected as much; they were aiming
for the knights, not the women. He closed his eyes and turned away, focusing on
the thin window carved into the wall.

     “Do we retaliate?”

     The question hung there while Gaston
remained riveted to the small window, seeing beyond the walls as his mind
wandered. “As much as I would like to, I cannot. I have far more pressing
business to attend to in London. Botmore will have to wait.”

     “But what if he keeps up these ambushes?
Why not wipe the man out now? It should not take more than a week.” Nicolas
wanted revenge, for his brother and for Arik.

     Gaston shook his head wearily. “Were Arik
alive, I would send him to lay siege and go to London confident that Botmore
would be no more. Patrick is next in the chain of command and he is not himself
these days; I would not trust him with this assignment because it is too close
to his heart,” he stood up, having his answers and eager to get some sleep.
“Botmore will have to wait, Nicolas. But have no doubt that Arik and Rory will
be avenged.”

     Nicolas continued to sit, exhausted to the
bone and frazzled of nerve. “Bastard,” he muttered. “Was Brimley's siege a
ruse, then?”

     “Probably,” Gaston nodded. “But one good
thing came out of this; Brimley has pledged his loyalty to Henry.”

     Nicolas raised his eyebrows wearily. The
cost of loyalty was too high, in his opinion. Gaston unlatched the solar door.

     “Get some sleep, Nicolas, as I intend to
do,” he said. “We shall discuss this further when we have had time to recover.”

     Nicolas looked up at Gaston, realizing for
the first time how badly his cousin must be feeling the loss of Arik. Until
this point, Nicolas had only been concerned with Patrick and Rory. Looking at
Gaston, he could see the dull pain.

     “I am sorry about Arik,” he said quietly.
“He felt no pain…death was almost instantaneous.”

     Gaston abruptly lowered his gaze. “He was a
fine knight and I shall sorely miss him.”

     It was as close as Nicolas as ever heard
Gaston come to an emotional display.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Two days after the
burial of Rory and Arik, Gaston ordered the wagons readied for the trip to
London. The priest had been cooperative regarding the delay, showing a small
amount of consideration for Remington's loss. Her two extra days were spent
with Jasmine and Skye, and Gaston made himself discreetly distant as the
sisters came to grips with their grief.

     But the fact remained that she was expected
in London and they could delay no longer. While she spent her remaining hours
with her sisters, Gaston made all necessary preparations including all of
Remington's packing. Eudora packed everything but the bed and he found himself
filling an entire wagon with her belongings. He could have been more firm and
demand she lighten the load, but he did not have the heart. With everything
that had happened and everything that she was preparing to face, he would not
cause her additional grief.

     Gaston found that keeping exceptionally
busy helped him deal with the loss of Arik. Every time he entered the bailey or
strode into the dim depths of the knight's quarters, he expected to be greeted
by the familiar face and it cut him deeply that Arik was never to return.
Patrick, fortunately, had come around quickly and had admirably stepped into
the post vacated by the second in command. Keeping busy helped him, too.

     He had missed Remington terribly these past
two days, but he felt strongly that she needed the company of her sisters. They
had slept together at night, not making love but merely holding each other.
When dawn would break, they would eat together silently and Gaston would go
about his duties. She was sad and distant, but her soft body and caressing
hands told him how glad she was that he was with her.

     With all of his concerns, he still had a
keep to run and training grounds to oversee. Dane and Trenton were becoming
used to their role in the scheme of Mt. Holyoak and the boys were becoming
inseparable. Dane still slept with Arik's sword, feeling very badly at the
deaths of his aunt and mentor. But he was a brave boy, wise beyond his years,
and he found the inner strength to carry on when others around him were
preparing to give up. Gaston knew, one day, he would have an excellent knight
in Dane Stoneley.

     On the third morning after the funeral,
Remington awoke in Gaston's arms and knew this would be the day she left for
London. He had not so much as said a word, but in her heart she knew still.

     She was sad to leave her sisters and son
after what had happened, but she was eager to face what she must. She was eager
to gain her annulment so that she and Gaston could return to Mt. Holyoak and
await the birth of their child. She did so want the child to be born at her
home, not the cold, impersonal rooms of Windsor.

     She raised herself, gazing at Gaston's
closed eyes. Delicately, she began to trace his sensual face, delighting in his
masculine beauty. It was the first time in days she felt like focusing on
something other than herself and her grief.

     “If you keep that up, you are going to put
me back to sleep,” he mumbled.

     She smiled as he opened his eyes. “I do not
believe that you sleep at all. You are awake when I drift off at night, and
then you are awake when I rise in the morning.”

     He sighed wearily, scratching his scalp. “I
sleep as a soldier sleeps; aware of every sound and every movement. I do not
think I have slept deeply since I was a child.”

     She flopped back down, snuggling next to
him in the morning chill. “I sleep like the dead,” she felt his hands caressing
her, relishing the last few moments of peace before the day began. “When do we
leave for London this day?”

     He stirred slightly. “When will you be
ready?”

“As soon as I bathe and
dress, and gather the few things that Eudora did not pack,” she replied. Then
she was quiet a moment.

     “Might I say good-bye to Dane?”

     “Of course, Remi. I'd not be so cruel as to
not allow you to bid farewell to your son.”

     “I simply did not want to break protocol,”
she sat up with a bit of irritation, the coverlet clutched to her breast. “God
only knows I would not want to disrupt your military formalities.”

     “And you were correct to ask permission,”
he saw her annoyance and his lips twitched. “Being most gracious, I granted
your request.”

     She pursed her lips wryly and he smiled,
reaching out to stroke her beautiful hair. “I am sorry we have to leave for
London so soon after the funeral. Are you up to this?”

     “Do I have a choice?” she shrugged. “I can
face this. As long as we are together, I can face anything.”

     He sat up beside her, kissing her head
quickly as he vaulted from the bed. “That's my girl,” he found his breeches and
pulled them over his massive legs. Remington's delicious view of his taut
buttocks was abruptly cut short as he pulled the trousers to his waist and
secured them.

     Clad only in his breeches, he moved to the
door and summoned a serving wench to bring food and a bath. Remington sighed
contentedly, watching his half-nude body parade about. There were few more
pleasurable sights in this world.

     The tub was brought in by three hearty
soldiers and quickly filled. Gaston stood silent watch as the task was
completed, his massive arms folded across his chest. Remington simply pulled
the covers over her head until the duty was complete and the soldiers vacated
the room.

     “'Tis safe to reveal yourself,” he told
her, reaching for his shirt tossed carelessly over a chair. “I have duties to
attend to this morn, but I shall return shortly.”

     She bound out of the bed, her sweetly
curved body catching the early morning light as she rounded the bed. He eyed
her as he tucked his shirt in, thinking her to be most perfect. He fought off
the urge to grab her as she passed close to him en route to the tub, but he
allowed himself the weakness of a distended groan. 

     His boots went on as she sunk into the tub
and he paused, putting his hands on his hips and scrutinizing her closely.

     “Madam, if I had any less control, I would
join you in your bath,” he said.

     She grinned and submerged herself
completely, coming up like Venus rising. She wiped water from her eyes, eyes
that glittered at him. “Coward.”

     His control slipping, he backed away from
the tub and strapped on his sword. “Aye, I confess. I am.”

     She giggled, splashing water at him and
laughing with delight when he scowled threateningly. It was the first time he
had seen her laugh in days and he was relieved.

     “Any more of that and I take you over my
knee,” he said sternly, but they both knew he wasn't serious.

     Gaston moved to the door, passing a
lingering glance at Remington. “I shall send Eudora to you.”

     “Thank you, my lord Coward,” she said
flippantly. “My lord Coward Dark Knight.”

     He shook his head at her disregard for his
title. “Saucy wench.”

***

     Since Gaston had already made all of the
necessary preparations for their trip to London, only a few scattered duties
remained. He took Patrick with him as he went on his rounds.

     “And make sure the men move on to
hand-to-hand combat by early next week,” Gaston told him as they moved upon the
inner wall. Down below were nearly a thousand recruits, listening to Antonius
lecturing them on the great art of sword-to-shield warfare. “They've completed
their shield work and 'tis time to move on. I have left a schedule to be
followed precisely in the solar. With my absence, you are their trainer now.”

     “I will not fail, my lord,” Patrick
replied.

     Gaston slanted his cousin a glance, but his
face was emotionless. Since Rory's murder, Patrick had been the consummate
warrior. He breathed, ate and slept his profession and had kept a distance from
Remington and her sisters. Gaston knew he was hurting, but he was a loss as to
what to say to him. He had never been very good with expressing personal
emotion.

     “I will expect weekly updates sent to my
manse in London,” he continued after a moment. “I do not know how long I will
be in London and wish to be kept abreast of the progress at home.”

     “Aye,” Patrick nodded as they paused on the
wall, gazing down at the troops. “How long has it been since you have returned
to Braidwood?”

     Gaston inhaled thoughtfully. “Not since the
last we were there together,” he replied. “Shall I give your father a message?”

     Patrick's father was Gaston's father's
first cousin; their mothers had been sisters. Sir Martin de Russe was a large,
loud man who had given up fighting a long time ago. He preferred to stay in
London at the de Russe manse, enjoying his wine collection and the ladies.

     “Nay,” Patrick shook his head.  “No
message. And for God’s sake, do not tell him I have command of Mt. Holyoak. He
shall insist on coming out of retirement and riding up here to assist me. The
last thing I need is my father hanging over my shoulder.”

     Gaston’s mouth twisted wryly.  “He was the
very best when he was young, Patrick.  My father and your father were
invincible.”

     “That was a long time ago. I heard rumor
once that the enemy would turn and run at the sight of my father simply because
they were afraid to be captured by the most obnoxious man in England,” he
snickered softly, looking at his cousin.  “At least Uncle Brant's reputation
was based on his skills and not his mouth.”

     Gaston returned the grin. “Brant de Russe
was a terror. I oft admired him for his restraint with Martin. My father must
have had the patience of Job not to run his cousin through at times.”

     “Do you remember your father, Gaston? I
remember very little of him; I must have been five or six when he died,”
Patrick asked, pondering his childhood memories.

     Gaston shrugged. “I remember mostly images,
feelings. I remember he was the biggest, most powerful man I had ever seen and
I wanted desperately to be like him. It's my mother I remember best.  God, the
woman loved me.”