The Dark One: Dark Knight (70 page)

     The Vale of York was a wonderful, beauteous
dell. Green and fragrant, they passed though fields of sheep that belonged to
Mt. Holyoak and rode through a stretch of land Remington had not seen in years.
Off to the east was Halsey Manor, the manse in which she had been born, and she
found herself missing it terribly. Just a glimpse would have made her happy,
but the army continued on and carried her to the west of York on their trek south.

     The morning progressed and the day warmed,
and she removed her cloak with the help of one of the silent knights. She did
not even realize it was Nicolas until he responded to her thanks.

     “Nicolas,” she said softly. “Why did you
not tell me 'twas you?”

     He flipped up his visor, eyeing Gaston.
“Because Gaston does not like to hear talking within the ranks. He says it is a
distraction.”

     She looked at Gaston, too, riding far ahead
of them. “Why does he ride alone?”

     Nicolas shrugged. “Because he chooses to.
He has always ridden alone, with the exception of Arik. Only Arik was allowed
to ride with him on occasion.”

     Remington's heart tugged at the mention of
the fallen comrade. “Where will we stop for the night?”

     Gaston would like to make it well south of
Leeds,” Nicolas lowered his visor.

     She knew Leeds to be a half-day’s ride from
Mt. Holyoak and knew they were in for a long, long ride.  Too bad, too; her
bottom was already sore simply because she did very little riding.

     The ride was long and by the time Gaston
called a halt mid-afternoon, Remington swore she had become part of the horse. 
Her legs were so stiff she could barely move until Nicolas helped her from the
animal.  Gaston, long since dismounted, marched back through the column and
Remington watched in awe, as men parted for him like the Red Sea. He did not
say a word; he did not have to.

     De Tormo, coming up from the rear of the
procession, reached Remington the exact same time as Gaston did. The two men
eyed each other.

     “Return to your people, de Tormo,” Gaston
said. “I will see to the lady's comfort.”

     De Tormo lowered his voice. “My lord, I
cannot allow you to be seen with the lady unescorted. Within the walls of Mt.
Holyoak is one thing, but in the presence of the church and outsiders, it is
quite another.”

     A small blue vein in Gaston's temple
throbbed. “I have not yet placed her in the wardship of the church.”

     De Tormo was not being obstinate, a
remarkable event. He seemed truly concerned for proper appearances.” 'Tis not
your duty to, my lord. As an emissary of the church, I have already placed her
in sanctuary until this matter can be ironed out. 'Tis well within my rights,
my lord, since you truly have no power over the lady.”

     “She is my vassal.”

     “She is your enemy's wife and, therefore,
entitled to the protection of the church,” the priest answered. “As soon as we
reach London, I will place her in Saint Catherine's Convent until the annulment
can be obtained. Until then, I am her guardian.”

     Remington was shocked and upset. She did not
want to be kept from Gaston. Her head lowered and she bit her lip, trying hard
not to weep.

     “As lord of Mt. Holyoak, I am sworn to
protect the lady,” Gaston said, although he knew his claim was weak. He never
suspected that de Tormo would immerse himself in their plans. Eventually, he
knew that he would have to obey whatever the church dictated until the
annulment was complete, but he had hoped that their journey to London would
afford them their last bit of privacy together.

     “And you shall,” de Tormo responded. “But I
am her guardian and anything that concerns her welfare and protection must be
cleared with me. You understand this, do you not?”

     Gaston could see that the priest was not
trying to be cruel, merely proper. His manner was calm but firm. Gaston glanced
at Remington head and saw that her lashes were spiky with tears and he felt his
composure slipping. “De Tormo, might I have a private word with you?”

     The priest agreed and Gaston pulled him to
the edge of the road, away from Remington and open ears. “I will come to the
point, de Tormo. I will not leave the lady alone, ward of the church or not.
You cannot mean to separate us.”

     “I must, de Russe. You know that,” the
priest held his ground.  “Surely I cannot allow…whatever it was that was going
on at Mt. Holyoak to continue in my presence.  I would be allowing a sin.”

     Gaston let out a sharp sigh, grinding his
jaw.  “She carries my child, priest.  You cannot and will not separate us, and
if you tell anyone of our secret, I shall slit your throat from your chin to
your belly.  We….we are in love.  That is why I intend to marry the woman. 
Because I love her.”

     De Tormo blinked, looking uncertain for the
first time. He wasn't intimidated by the threat, but he was impacted by the
words of the greatest knight since Gallahad. De Russe's reputation was beyond
legendary; it was mythical. But the man before him was laying himself wide
open, as vulnerable as any mortal man.

     He sighed heavily, his determination
faltering. “Good Lord, de Russe. You are not going to make this easy, are you?”
He paused long enough to scratch his fat chin thoughtfully. “Then I will allow
you time together, within reason. But you shall be escorted. By me.”

     Gaston scowled. “By God's Bloody Rood. You
intend to baby-sit us?”

     “Not you;
her
,” the priest
corrected. “She is my ward and I must.”

     Gaston looked long and hard at him for a
moment. Then, he rolled his eyes and hissed,”
God!
”

     There was nothing more either of them could
say. De Tormo glanced over at Remington, who now stood composed and waiting. He
felt his firm stance slipping.

     “Oh, hell,” he muttered. “Take her and feed
her. But warn her of her future so she is not surprised.”

     Gaston almost thanked the priest but
refrained. He went to Remington and took her gently by the arm.

     “Where are we going?” she asked.

     “To eat,” he replied, catching a bag of
food his squire tossed to him.

     “What about Nicolas? Won't he eat with us?”
She turned to look for the knight. “And what of the priest? Where is he going?”

     “Quit prattling, Remi,” he admonished
softly.

     He took her into a bank of trees,
sheltering her from the sun. She made herself comfortable on a stump and he
took a moment to admire her as he drew forth the provisions. She was dressed in
a silk surcoat the color of her eyes. The bodice was snug, lacing between her
breasts and revealing a white blouse that peeked out beyond the neckline and
extended slightly beyond the short sleeves. The neckline, however, was
revealing enough and his mouth fairly watered at the white skin exposed.

     He handed her a wedge of cheese. “How are
you enjoying the ride?”

     She took a healthy bite. “I would like it
more if I could ride with you. May I?”

     He cleared his throat as he rummaged
through the bag. “Nay, angel, I prefer you to remain where you are.”

     She pouted. “You do not want to ride with
me.”

     He looked at her. “'Tis not that. It's
just....”

     “It's the priest.” she accused loudly. “He
wants to keep us apart, does not he?”

     He shook his head firmly. “Calm down, Remi.
He shall not keep us apart. In fact, he promised to be quite lenient. Do not
fault de Tormo for what he must do.”

     Her eyebrows went up in outrage. “What he
must
do
? Gaston, I do not want to spend months in a convent, away from
you and the rest of the world.”

     “Would you rather spend it with Guy?” he
shot back softly, instantly sorry he had snapped at her. “Remi, if we want the
church's cooperation in this annulment, then we must do as they say. Please,
love; it won't be for long. You must be brave.”

     She plopped back down on the stump, her
pretty face molded in a pout. She tore into the cheese angrily, eating with
fury. He ate his own cheese and bread, fighting off a smile at her frown.

     “Remi, we have not seen nor spoken to each
other all day,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Are you going to spend our
short time together moping?”

     She shoved the cheese in her mouth, her
eyes angry at him. “I want to ride with you. I do not want to spend eternity in
a convent, and I deplore this heat.”

     “Then you are going to pout.”

     “I am.” she shook her fist at him. “I am
sick of this already.”

     He let his smile break forth. “If I let you
ride with me, will you stop sulking?”

     Her stance softened. “Mayhap. What about
the convent?”

     He grinned, whipping her into his arms.
“Angel, I can do nothing about the convent, nor the heat. Anything else you
care to take offense with?”

     She was melting in his arms, as she always
did. He was grinning so openly at her that she could not stop the small smirk
that played on her lips. “Give me but a moment and I shall think of something.”

     He chuckled low and kissed her tenderly, a
kiss that suddenly ignited a passionate response and it was not time before
their tongues were tussling erotically. From the trees, they heard a polite
cough.

     “The men are assembling, Gaston,” Nicolas
said.

     Gaston glanced at his cousin. “Nicolas,
tether her palfrey. The lady will ride with me.”

     Surprised, Nicolas bowed and strode away.
Remington smiled, stroking Gaston's face.

     “He told me you always ride alone,” she
said softly. “Except for Arik, sometimes.”

     Gaston lost some of his mirth then. He
kissed her again and let her go, handing her a hunk of sweet bread before
wadding up the food sack.

     Remington ate the bread slowly, watching
his distant movements. It only reaffirmed her ideas that he was terribly torn
by Arik's death. But Gaston was a man of few words, and other than his
declarations of love, she had never heard him voice any other emotion. Anger,
hatred, sorrow; he kept them well concealed.

     It was sticky in the trees, even with the
canopy cover. She could hear the voices of the men on the road as they came to
order and she knew the time for departure was close. Gaston turned to her,
adjusting his helm.

     “Any necessary business before we leave,
madam? I shall not stop again until after sundown.”

     She nodded, shoving the last of the bread
in her mouth and gathering her skirts. After relieving herself in the bramble,
she rejoined Gaston.

     He was gazing down at her, his expression
returning to the stone-cold facade she had first encountered the very first
time she had met him. It was the frontage of the Dark Knight, the perfect
warrior, and the man who intimidated the hell out of her. It was almost as if
there were two different personalities in one man.

     “Ready?” he asked.

     She nodded her head and he took her elbow
gently, leading her back to the road.

     “De Tormo has appointed himself your
guardian until we reach London,” Gaston said quietly. “Do not be alarmed if he
seems solicitous. After we reach London, our visits together are likely to be
closely watched and I want you to prepare yourself for the reality that the
church might not allow me to see you at all at some point.”

     She looked stricken. “But…why? Why would
they keep us apart?”

     He kept his voice down. “Because you are
another man's wife, Remi. The church must do what is morally right until this
can be resolved. I told you this would not be easy, love, but we will have to
do what they dictate until the proceedings are over.”

     She frowned, greatly distressed at the
prospect of being separated from Gaston. “Why did not you tell me this before
we left for London? You never mentioned any of this.”

     He shrugged. “I saw no harm in keeping
certain facts from you. After all, you were suffering tremendously and I did
not want to add to your distress.  But know it now, Remi, and prepare,” he
paused by Taran and faced her. “You must be strong, as I know you are. No
complaints, no tantrums. Just be a good girl and do as you are told, and we
shall overcome. Very well?”

     She made a face. “I shall try. I do not
like any of this, but I shall try.”

     He smiled and lowered his visor with a
clang. Just as he was preparing to lift her aboard Taran, de Tormo came
bustling up.

     “What are you doing?” he demanded of
Gaston.

     Gaston turned to the priest, nearly half of
his own great height. The imposing helm was closed, rendering Gaston most
fearsome, but de Tormo wasn't deterred. He wanted an answer to his question.

     “The lady is fatigued and asked to ride
with me,” Gaston replied, knowing even as he said it, de Tormo would refute the
request. And he would have to obey.