The Dark One: Dark Knight (73 page)

     “I…damnation!” He hissed, turning away from
her. He had always had a difficult time controlling his passions. He was
shocked and angered by the news, the ensuing conversation.  He faced her again,
slowly. “I never meant to call her a whore. I would never call her that, for it
would be untrue. But I swear to you on my mother's grave that I never actually
....” He made hand gestures, trying to describe what he could not bring himself
to say in front of a lady. When she continued to stare at him, hurt, he gave up
his charades. “I never penetrated her. I will admit we did everything but the
act itself; she was afraid to go any further.”

     Remington's face was pale with emotion.
They were both calming somewhat, but she was still shaken. “Nicolas, my husband
took her virtue when she was eleven years old. Of course she is afraid to bed
with a man. Did she not tell you any of this?”

     “She did,” he sagged, his shock settling
in. “I never pressured her in anyway. Honestly, Remington, I do not know how
she could be pregnant if we have never
been
together.”

     “That is Lady Remington to you,” Gaston
came up behind them, his face like stone. One look at his expression told both
Remington and Nicolas that he had seen their anger, their gestures, and was
greatly displeased. “Away, Nicolas. I will deal with you in a moment.”

     Nicolas bowed away without another word.
Gaston's gaze was hostile on his cousin and Remington could see that his anger
was not focused on her, but on the knight.

     “Do not be harsh with him, Gaston,” she
said softly. “He was shocked and upset. Our argument was harmless.”

     “You struck him,” Gaston focused on her. “I
would hardly call that harmless. What did he say to offend you?”

     She shook her head, lowering her gaze.
“Nothing, truly. I was meddling again and he took offense to me. I should not
have struck him.”

     “Look at me,” he commanded.  Her head
snapped up and his eyes focused on her intently.  “What happened?”

     She sighed and went through the entire
conversation, waiting for Gaston’s reprimand.  When she finished, his
expression was the same as it had been when she started.

     “The lad is a fool,” he muttered.

     “I agree. Does not he know that she can
become pregnant even though he did not actually bed her?”

     “Apparently not,” Gaston replied. “I cannot
believe that he is so naive. But he is correct, madam, when he says this is
none of your business.”

     She went from being remorseful to
bristling. “My sister's welfare is my business, Gaston. I shall not apologize
for loving her and wanting to look out for her.”

     “You said yourself you were meddling,” he
reminded her. “I do not blame Nicolas for becoming angry.”

     She crossed her arms stubbornly. “Someone
had to tell him. Since Skye was obviously tongue-tied, I felt it my duty.”

     He raised his eyebrow at her. “Let your
sister and my cousin handle their own relationship, Remi. They do not need your
help.”

     She looked away from him, hurt and angry
all over again. He eyed her, inadvertently reminded of their encounter before
dawn and his limbs grew warm and tingling. But he chased the giddiness away,
misplaced as it was.

     “How are you enjoying the trip?” he asked,
trying to shift the focus of the conversation.

     She jutted her chin defiantly. “Do not
change the subject. Are you going to speak with Nicolas or shall I?”

     He took her chin between his fingers and
turned her to look at him.  “I will not tolerate this insolent behavior. You do
not make demands, madam.”

     She wasn't very good at making demands or
standing her ground. She looked into Gaston's eyes and was intimidated by the
mere fact that he was a man. Even though she knew Gaston would slit his own
throat rather than raise a hand to her, somewhere in the back of her mind she
saw Guy bringing up a hand and striking her senseless.

     Fear flickered in her eyes like a
frightened animal and she yanked from his grasp, stumbling back a couple of
steps. He caught a brief glimpse of the panic and was not overly puzzled by it.
He had seen it before in her.

     “I am sorry, Gaston,” she whispered
quickly.  “I did not mean to sound rebellious.”

     His heart softened for her. He reached out
and grasped her hand. “Do not be silly, Remi. You could never be remotely
rebellious, and even if you were, I'd do nothing more than yell at you.” He
smiled gently, for he could see she was truly afraid. “You know me better than
to imagine I would ever lash out at you. Correct?”

     She blinked, calming and feeling a bit
foolish for her behavior. “Aye, I know that,” she swallowed, looking about for
Nicolas. “I must apologize to Nicolas for intruding in his affairs. I truly
meant no harm.”

     “He knows that, and so do I,” Gaston
caressed her hand with his thick glove. “But you have got to realize your
sisters are grown women with minds of their own. They are no longer children
who need your guidance.”

     She flashed him a regretful look.  “’Tis
difficult to think in those terms.  I have been mothering them since I was
ten.”

     “I am well aware of that,” he said
patiently, his eyes warm.  “Speaking of which, did Nicolas feed you properly?”

     “He did,” she nodded.  “Where were you?”

     “I had a few things to attend to,” he
replied evasively, but she did not catch the tone. “We will stop tonight, but
if we are on the road early tomorrow morn, we should reach London before noon.
I have already sent a messenger ahead notifying Henry of our arrival.”

     She gazed up at him, looking like a fresh
peach tart. He wanted to take a bite. “Good Lord, Gaston, I can hardly believe
we will be seeing Henry himself. It seems as if a dream to meet the king of
England.”

     “You never met Richard?” he asked.

     She shook her head. “Not him, nor Edward,
either. Guy was not privileged enough to be included in the courtly circle.”

     “You belong in the courtly circle,” he said
softly. “You are by far the most beautiful woman in the realm. The other
wenches will be highly jealous of you.”

     She giggled. “Do not tease me.”

      “I never tease,” he said. “I am completely
sincere when I say that every woman at Windsor will be hateful of your beauty.
And I will be beating off the men endlessly,” he suddenly looked thoughtful.
“By damn, the convent is looking more and more attractive.”

     She snickered again, flattered. Pleased to
see her smiling, he held out his arm to her. “We have delayed overly. Allow me
to escort you back to the den of gamblers so that we may be on our way.”

     “Den of gamblers? Who told you such lies?”
she asked innocently as he led her across the sweet grass toward the road.

     “De Tormo,” he said flatly. “The man is ill
with eating under-ripe apples. Really, Remi; how cruel.”

     She gave him a sinister grin, looking away
coyly. He was completely captivated by the gesture, but shook his finger at
her. “Leave the priest alone. No more playing for apples. We need de Tormo and
I shall not have you killing him with foul food.”

     Her good humor restored, she bowed
submissively. “I swear it, Oh Dark One. No more playing for apples.”

     He raised an eyebrow. “No more playing for
anything. Do your needlework like a good little girl.”

     “But I like to play Hearts.” she insisted.
“Can I continue to play if we do not play for winnings? Please?”

     He opened the carriage door. “Get in before
I take my hand to your backside, you naughty wench.”

     She obeyed, pausing a moment. “You shall
apologize to Nicolas for me, please? Tell him... tell him I overstepped myself
and I am sorry. And explain the ways of breeding to him, for God's sake.”

     He nodded. “I will, madam, have no fear. It
makes me wonder how many other wenc... oh, never mind.”

     She knew what he was going to say and
raised her eyebrows threateningly. Without another word, she seated herself
comfortably and he walked away, turning one more time to give her a subtle
wink. Remington sighed dreamily.

     Up at the front of the column, Gaston
mounted Taran.  “Did you see any further signs, Matts?”

     The knight next to him shook his head.  He
was older and had served Gaston since the days of Edward.  “Nay, my lord,” he
replied. “If there are bandits about, they have since vacated. They would be
fools to attack a fully armed column of men.”

     “But there were several campfires,” Gaston
adjusted his reins. “Which would lead me to believe that there are a great
number of renegades. Keep the men alert just the same. Nicolas.”

     Matts turned away, being replaced by
Gaston's cousin. “Aye, Gaston?”

     Gaston gave him a critical look before
lowering his visor. “You will assign ten men-at-arms to surround the carriage
carrying Lady Remington and the priest. I want you to ride back there with her
until we have passed through this gauntlet of forest. Understood?”

     “Aye, my lord,” Nicolas almost breathed a
sigh of relief; he was expecting to be reamed for raising his voice to
Remington. In fact, he was still expecting some sort of punishment. “What's the
matter?”

     “Matts found signs of transients in the
forest, probably bandits, or worse,” Gaston replied, scanning the tree line. “I
want the lady well protected should we fall under attack.”

     “Aye, my lord,” Nicolas turned away,
digging into his saddlebag to retrieve his dagger. He drew forth the sleek,
bejeweled weapon and examined it with satisfaction. Before tucking it into his
gauntlet, almost as an afterthought, he unsheathed the weapon to inspect the
blade.

     Thick, gooey honey dripped from the blade
and oozed from the sheath. Nicolas did not move fast enough and honey dripped
onto his gauntlet, seeping into the joints. He cursed loudly, holding the knife
aloft and away from the rest of him while the honey dribbled to the dirt.

     “Damnation. Ror…!” His head snapped up to
Gaston, his eyes wide. “Christ, Gaston. I have just cursed a dead woman.”

     Gaston gazed back impassively, watching the
honey drip from the blade. 'Twas your misfortune to allow her to get close to
your possessions. If I were you, I would check everything rather carefully when
we stop this night. Rory was quite thorough in her torment of you.”

     Nicolas stared at the dagger, the honey running
from it. “I...I would take her over my knee again if she were still alive.”

     The corner of Gaston's mouth twitched. “The
first time you punished her had no effect. What makes you think the second time
would reform her?” He gathered his reins and Taran danced excitedly.  “Go back
to Remi's carriage, Nicolas. And tell her of her sisters’ haunts from the
grave; I think she will enjoy the joke.”

     Nicolas gave his cousin a wry look before
turning as ordered, riding back along the column with the dirk held high and
away.

     The party passed quickly through the trees.
Gaston was very uneasy with the sighting of the smoldering campfires and his
sixth sense told him to be alert. Robbers and bandits were plentiful in the
woods of well-traveled roads ready to prey on unsuspecting travelers, but they
were not a stupid lot; they stayed away from armies or heavily armed parties.

     Yet the deserted camp had been quite large,
as large as the group he carried, and he was not so sure that the outlaws would
not make some sort of attack.

     The attack would be deadly for the bandits.
Not only were they attacking the church, but also they would be taking the
offensive against the Dark Knight. Even though he flew his black and silver
standards, mayhap a gutsy outlaw would think it quite a test of his power to
take on the Henry's Dark One.

     Remington continued to play cards with de
Tormo, winning more than she lost, unaware of the uneasiness about them. She
kept gazing out of the window of the carriage, feeling the sultry moisture off
the trees. The humidity was so thick that even the birds had ceased to sing,
finding a cool spot to rest. De Tormo broke out a bladder of cool water and
they slaked their thirst.

     The column moved on, southward, toward even
more unbearable humidity. Remington's hair was becoming a mass of kinky curls,
wet strands sticking to her damp forehead. To the right of the carriage rode
Nicolas, visor down and shield slung over his left knee. She knew it was a
battle-ready position, but she never imagined they were truly in any danger.
After all, who would be foolish enough to attack the Dark Knight?

     They passed out of the dense forest and
into the soft rolling hills of England. The further south they drew, the less
forest mass they would see. Only sweetly sloping rises in the earth, and
Remington watched, entranced, as they rode the crest of a hill. Gazing off
across the countryside, she imagined she could see all the way to the sea.