The Dark One: Dark Knight (69 page)

***

     Lord Ripley stayed well past the nooning
meal and Remington knew they would not be leaving for London that day. De Tormo
was obviously agitated, going so far as to barge in on Gaston's meeting and
demand to know the schedule for departure. Antonius had nearly taken the
priest's head off.

     It was late afternoon, close to sundown
when Gaston's conference finally broke. Lord Ripley and his men would be
staying for the evening meal and Gaston felt quite confidently that he had a
strong ally in the man. An excellent judge of character, he gave into his
instincts where Ripley was concerned. If the man was indeed lying, then he was
the best actor in the world.

     The sun was setting and the air was heavy
as he retreated to the second floor in search of Remington. He had a tremendous
desire to hold her, to feel her, to love her. His conversation with Ripley had
been enlightening and heart wrenching at the same time.

     He was aware of her voice, soft and
melodious, as he approached her open bedchamber door. Curious as to whom she
was talking with, he entered the room to find Trenton and Dane lying on her
bed. Both boys were resting their hands on her lap and her soft hands gently
caressed their hair.

     His initial reaction was anger, for he had
explicitly told her to stay away from her son.  But that emotion was dashed by
a warm, compassionate tenderness as he saw his own son cradled in her lap; his
handsome face listening to her intently.  Trenton had known little maternal
love and the sight melted Gaston; only Remington could break through to the
bitter, confused boy with her gentleness and caring.

     “But was Osiris a great warrior?” Trenton
asked.

     “Osiris was indeed a great warrior, but he
was more king than soldier. He was the wisest king Egypt ever had, and his wife
loved him dearly, which is why she went to great lengths to preserve his body
for the afterlife,” Remington said softly.

     “But why did he marry his sister?” Dane
mumbled, his eyes closed and nearly asleep.

     “Because brothers and sisters sometimes
married in ancient times,” Remington replied. “After Osiris’ brother, Seth,
killed him and dismembered his body, Isis went to great lengths to find the
pieces and restore them with her magic. Posthumously, she conceived a son and
her son, Horus, went on to defeat his evil Uncle Seth and thereby avenge his
father's death.”

     “You can't conceive a babe from a dead
man.” Trenton scoffed.

     “How do you know?” Dane's eyes rolled open,
fighting sleep. “You do not even know how a babe is conceived.”

     “I do so!” Trenton snapped. “A man sleeps
in the same bed with a woman and begets a babe.”

     “Uh-uh.” Dane twisted in his mother's lap
to better see Trenton. “There's more to it that that. He has to touch her, too.
Then
she gets a babe.”

     “Could you get a babe from Arik now that he
is dead?” Trenton wondered aloud, looking up at Remington.

     Horrified with the turn the conversation
had taken, Remington opened her mouth to reply when, suddenly, Gaston lowered
himself onto the mattress beside her.

     “I do not think so,” he said seriously. “I
do not think she would want to try.”

     Remington felt guilty that she had been
caught with the boys, but she smiled at Gaston anyway. “Good eve, my lord.”

     To her surprise, he smiled back. “Good eve,
my lady.” He then proceeded to peck her on the cheek.

     The boys saw the whole exchange, but
neither one said a word. In fact, they acted as if it were the most natural
thing on earth as they gazed up from their vantage point on Remington's lap.

     More glory tales, I see,” he looked down at
the two faces. Who were we discussing? Osiris and Seth?”

     “Aye,” Trenton nodded.” One brother killed
the other.”

     “So I have been told,” Gaston replied. “But
his wife loved him so much that she did everything she could to help him. That,
I believe, is the point of the story.”

     “But how did he cut him up?” Dane asked.
“With a sword? Or a saw? Did he chop him into lots of pieces or just cut off
his arms and legs?”

     Remington made a distasteful face at her
son's question and looked to Gaston to answer it. The corners of his mouth
twitched. “Dane, you have an unhealthy preoccupation with gore. Is it not
sufficient to know that he was cut into pieces? Must you know how
many
pieces?”

     “Aye.” Dane insisted. “How many pieces
means how much he hated him. Did he hate him a little or a lot?”

     Remington and Gaston looked at each other,
shaking their heads. Trenton looked thoughtful.

     “If my father slept in the same bed with
you, would you conceive?”

     Remington's eyes widened at the question,
but she kept her mouth shut. She would let Gaston deal with his son.

     “That depends on a great many things,
Trenton,” he said steadily. “Did your mother never speak to you on the ways of
men and women?”

     Trenton shook his head. “Not... not really.
What ways?”

     Remington slanted Gaston a glance and
looked away, aware that she was suddenly fighting off giggles. She liked to see
him put on the spot.

     Gaston scratched his chin. “We shall get
into that later, but not now. The evening meal is approaching and I believe you
two have duties to attend to?”

     “Aye, my lord,” both boys suddenly leapt
from Remington's lap as if they suddenly remembered they were pages and no longer
young masters. With a quick bow to Remington and their lord, they dashed from
the room.

     Gaston turned to Remington, his gaze warm.
“I should scold you, you know.”

     She smiled, snuggling up against him
saucily. “But you won't. Not when I tell you it is Dane's birthday today, and I
was treating him to a story.”

     He raised his eyebrows. “Hmpf. Of course I
cannot become angry now. He is eight years old today?”

     “Aye,” she nodded, her gaze softening. “I
can hardly believe my tiny little boy is eight years old. They grow up far too
quickly.”

     “Aye,” he agreed, his gaze roving to her
belly. He placed a huge, warm hand on her stomach. “As will this child. Have
you decided on a selection of names?”

     She placed her hand over his. “There will
be no selection, for I have already decided on his name.”

     He raised his brows reprovingly. “And?”

     Her incredible eyes met his and she smiled
gently, disarming him. “Erik. His name will be Erik.”

     He felt sadness shoot though him like a
bolt, his grief inadvertently swallowing him up. Her compassion, her
thoughtfulness filled him and he enveloped her in his arms, burying his great
head in her bosom as if to hide from the world.

     “Of course,” he whispered against her
flesh. How considerate of you, my lady. I am ever grateful to you.”

     She felt his pain as he held her and she
sought to comfort him as one would comfort a small, lost child. She held him
against her fiercely.

     “And if it is a girl, which it will not be,
but if it is, I would like to name her after your mother,” she said. “What was
your mother’s name?”

     He looked at her, rather softly. “Adeliza.”

     “Adeliza,” she repeated with satisfaction.
“’Tis a lovely name. I like it very much.”

     They lay content together as the sun set
and the smells of supper drifted on the warm evening air. Remington's stomach
growled and Gaston snickered.

     “I believe our child is talking,” he said,
sitting up.

     “Not yet, at any rate,” she said as he rose
from the bed. Extending his hand, he pulled her to stand.

     “I would change before supping with Lord
Ripley and his son,” she said, moving for the wardrobe.

     Gaston eyed her a moment. “Ripley seems
terribly fond of you.”

     She jerked her head to look at him, just as
quickly looking away. “Why do you say that?”

     He was instantly suspicious. “Remi, did you
have an affair with him?”

     She looked shocked and angered. “How can
you ask me that?” she flared. “I have never slept with any man other than my
husband, and you. How dare you insinuate that I dispensed favors as a common
whore!”

     He put his hands up. “I am sorry, truly,
but his gaze upon you is most….tender. I did not mean to offend you, angel.
Forgive me.”

     Her jaw ticked, still perturbed. “'Twas a
terrible question, Gaston. You more than anyone should know just how foolish a
question it was.”

     He knew it, knowing he had spoken before
he'd had a chance to think about what he was asking. But her evasiveness had
prompted him.

     “I am sorry,” he repeated. “Do you know him
well, then?”

     She cleared her throat, again looking
uncomfortable. She fingered through a couple of surcoats before slowing her
movements. When she spoke, she did not look at him. “You are correct in your
observations, Gaston. Lord Ripley was very fond of me, as he told me
repeatedly. He hated Guy for marrying me as much as anything else, and felt
tremendously guilty for not being able to protect me from my husband,” she
turned to look at him, ashamed.  “He offered to take me away once, far away. 
He said he would leave his wife and children and all that he had if I would run
away with him.”

     Gaston began to understand the man’s gaze,
his words, far better now.  He was jealous, true, but he was also appreciative
in a sense.  It would appear that whether or not Remington realized it, she had
many admirers who were aware of her plight, men who were willing to help her.
First Brimley had shown deep concern, and then Derek claimed to be saving her
from her captivity, and now Ripley.

     She was unaware of how she had affected the
men. True, she knew of their feelings, but they mattered not to her. She would
force herself to stay in a loveless, hellish marriage simply because she had no
desire to escape one man into the arms of another. Moreover, it would have
meant leaving people who depended on her. She had said once that she had no use
for men in general, until she met him.

     Suddenly, he felt extremely fortunate.

     “I like Ripley,” he said quietly, moving to
her. “He seems to be an honorable man.”

     Her eyes widened. She had expected him to
rage at the very least. “You do? He is a kind man, Gaston. I like him, but I
could not go with him and leave my sisters. And it would not have been fair to
him; I could have never loved him.”

     “But you love me,” he smiled gently,
stroking her cheek.

     She returned his smile. “I would do
anything for you.”

     He frowned slightly, though still smiling.
“That, madam, is my line.”

     She giggled as he kissed her, tenderly.
“Dress for dinner now. I shall see you in the hall.”

     Her gaze lingered on the door even after he
was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The party to London was
up and moving before daybreak. Remington, still half-asleep, sat atop her
palfrey as the column departed Mt. Holyoak. The morning was heavy with
moisture, though bright, and the day promised to be sultry. Wrapped in a
durable silk cloak, she was alternately chilled from the temperature and
sweating from the humidity.

     She was surrounded by knights and soldiers
but she was so sleepy that it took her nearly an hour before she realized
Gaston was not riding near her. He was at the head of the column, riding alone
aboard Taran.

     As she perked up, she passed glances at the
knights who rode around her, but she could see nothing through their lowered
visors. Four men-at-arms flanked her, holding aloft a great canopy to keep the
dew and sun off her. The men were very silent, and very imposing. She felt very
alone.

     De Tormo rode to the rear of Gaston's
soldiers, so she did not even have anyone to talk to. Around her, the day was
coming alive and she soon found that she had no desire to talk to anyone at the
moment; it would have spoiled her view of the morning.