The Dark One: Dark Knight (77 page)

     They were standing in front of a huge
doorway, carved into a tower four stories tall. Remington tilted her head back,
gazing to the top of the tower.

     “'Tis called Earl Marshall's Tower, “Gaston
told her.” St. George's Hall is this structure to the right. 'Tis where most
state business is conducted.”

     She was actually speechless a moment,
absorbing the sights. Behind her was a huge, cylindrical tower as large as any
castle she had ever seen. “What's that?”

     “'Tis called The Keepe.”

     She shook her head, overwhelmed. “This is
so large. And there are more turrets and towers than I have ever seen.”

     He smiled, taking her arm. “And they all
have names, like the Lieutenant’s Tower, Chancellor's Tower, Winchester Tower.
Anything that remotely resembles a tower is named for someone or something.”

     He led her around the northeast side of The
Keep, letting her stretch her legs and gain a full look at the tower. She held
his hand tightly and he felt as prideful as a peacock; every soldier or knight
who caught a glimpse of her was interested, until they saw who it was who held
her arm. Every fighting man in England knew the Dark Knight on sight.

     They had wandered over by the King's Gate
simply because she wanted to get a better look at the massive structure. People
were coming and going and Remington was in heaven with all of the activity. She
turned her beautiful face to him.

“Can we go into London
while we are here?”

     He squeezed he hand gently. “I do not know,
angel. A good deal will depend on my meeting with Henry, and your immediate
future. But we shall try.”

     She smiled sadly, latching onto his arm.
Every time she thought on their separation, tears stung her eyes.  Fighting
them back, she turned her attention to another interesting sight when a voice
shouted out at Gaston.

     They both turned to see a man crossing the
bailey toward them. Average of height, but well-built in spite of the armor
that covered him, the helmet less man was smiling broadly at Gaston. When
Remington turned questioningly to Gaston, she was surprised to see he was
smiling, too.

     “You bastard.” the man shouted. “I had no
idea you were coming. Have you just arrived?”

     “Greetings, John,” Gaston put out his hand
and the man shook it warmly.

     Remington was astonished; she had never
seen Gaston shake hands with any man, and his manner was nothing short of
friendly. Obviously, this man was well respected by Gaston.

     The man was older, with streaks of gray
woven into his well-kept brown hair. His face had been extremely handsome once,
but was now lined with age and scars. In spite of that, Remington still thought
he was very handsome.

     “It has been too long, Gaston,” the man
chided gently. “I did not even see you before Henry sent you north. So how is
Yorkshire? Controlled like the dogs they are?”

     Gaston snorted, smiling. “Quite cooperative
for the most part, actually,” he was acutely aware of Remington clutching his
arm. “John, this is Lady Remington.  Remi, this is John de Vere, Earl of
Oxford.  He is Henry's premier military general and advisor.”

     Lord John's brown eyes studied her
intently. “My lady, 'tis a pleasure.”

     Gaston could see that John had no idea how
to react to Remington. He and the earl went back for years and knew each other
very well. John knew of Mari-Elle, of Gaston's troubles, and was frankly
puzzled to see the Dark One in the company of a beautiful young woman. Gaston
was not the type. And, because he and John were well known to one another,
Gaston knew he could take the man in to confidence.

     “Lady Remington is my future wife, John,”
he said quietly. “Mari-Elle passed away a short time ago.”

     The earl's eyes widened a brief second
before taking another I glance at Remington. Knowing how Gaston felt about
Mari-Elle, he did not even express his condolences. “God's Blood, Gaston, she's
too beautiful for you! How much are you paying her to marry you?”

     Remington blushed prettily. “'Tis I who am
paying him, my lord. There was no other way he would consent.”

     The earl laughed. “Surely, my lady, I can
talk you out of this.”

     Remington leaned into Gaston
affectionately. “I am afraid not, my lord.”

     De Vere shook his head with pleasurable
disbelief. “You did well for yourself, Gaston. Mayhap now you can produce some
worthy heirs for your heritage.”

     Gaston caressed her hand, his mood
sobering. John was one of the men he wished to have sign his petition for the
church, a man of supreme standing with the king and country. “But not before we
annul two marriages, John. I neglected to tell you that Lady Remington is Sir
Guy Stoneley's wife.”

     The earl lost his smile. “Stoneley? The
bastard that surrendered at Stokes?”

     “The same. Henry sent me north to
Stoneley's seat, Mt. Holyoak, whereupon I met Lady Stoneley,” he glanced at
Remington. “Without going into any unnecessary details, Lady Stoneley and I
plan to annul both of our marriages to wed.  But I will need your help, John.”

     “My help? What can I do?”

     “I need eight testimonies from important,
honorable men in order to obtain my annulment from Mari-Elle. Will you do me
the honor of testifying before the papal counsel on my behalf?”   “I shall be
the first,” John replied without hesitation. “Tell me when and where, and I
shall be there.”

     Remington almost sighed with relief,
somehow afraid that the man would refuse Gaston. But she could see that the
earl would do anything for the Dark One.

     Gaston smiled gratefully. “I shall, my
lord. And I will be forever indebted to you.”

     The earl waved him off. “God's blood,
Gaston. With everything you have done for me? Your declaration is ludicrous. If
anyone is indebted, 'tis I, and I consider it a privilege to help you and Lady
Remington any way I can.”

     “Truly, thank you, my lord,” Remington said
sincerely. “’Twill not be easy to do what we must, and I thank you for easing
us one less worry.”

     “Who will be testifying for you, my lady?”
de Vere asked.

     Her lips twitched with a smile. “A good
many Yorkists, my lord.”

     De Vere laughed. “A good many people who
hate me and your...Gaston,” he sobered, waving his hand in the direction of the
castle. “Would you take the nooning meal with me?”

     Gaston shook his head. “I cannot, although
I would love to. Henry is expecting me in London.”

     “Of course,” John nodded, looking hesitant.
“Does Henry know of this?”

     “Not yet,” Gaston said as they began to
walk back toward his men. “But he shall, which is why I must ride to London.
The sooner I begin proceedings, the better.”

     “Agreed,” de Vere said. “But you must sup
with Anne and I before you leave. I will insist.”

     “You know we will,” Gaston replied.

     The remainder of the walk was silent, but
comfortably so. De Tormo was waiting for them beside the carriage as they
strolled up.

     “My lord earl,” the priest bowed to de
Vere.

     “The great de Tormo,” John said, a bit
sarcastically. “What are you doing as the Dark One's traveling companion? Trying
to save his soul?”

     De Tormo glanced at Gaston. “'Twould be the
utmost challenge for the holiest of men, my lord. I am along as Lady
Remington's escort.”

     “Ah,” John turned to Gaston. “Well, I must
be on my way. I will wait to hear from you, Gaston.”

     “You will,” Gaston nodded, watching the
earl walk away. Then he looked at de Tormo. “You know de Vere?”

     “I do,” the priest replied. “I used to be
assigned to the priory in Oxford and heard Lady de Vere's daily confessions. A
good, pious woman with a great imagination. The earl and I became acquainted.”

     Gaston did not reply, instead, latching his
helm.  Remington watched a woman go by in the most bejeweled dress she had ever
seen, her eyes wide. “Did you see that dress? Why, she has more jewels on that
dress than I even own.”

     “Not for long,” Gaston mumbled, pulling her
toward the carriage.  “I plan to buy you barrels of jewels, my lady, enough to
put that wench to shame.”

     She smiled at him. “I did not mean to
insist you buy me more jewelry, Gaston. I was simply making an observation.”

     “I realize that,” he opened the door. “But
I will do it nonetheless. I want my future wife to be well dressed, as
befitting her station.”

     De Tormo, climbing back into the carriage
behind Remington, snorted. “Since when do you care for stations?”

     Gaston, thinking de Tormo was bordering on
blasphemy, cooled. “What does that mean?”

     “Just that,” he said. “I heard rumor that
after Stokes, Henry tried to grant you the dukedom of Warminster, and you
refused. If you cared for stations, you would now be the Duke of Warminster and
not a simple knight. You would not even take an earldom.”

     Remington was deeply surprised. She turned
her sea crystal eyes to Gaston in astonishment. “You turned down a dukedom?”

     Bordering on embarrassment, Gaston lowered
his gaze and fumbled with his gauntlets. “I am not an ambitious man, Remi. I
prefer fighting to courtly intrigue, and as a duke, I would be expected to
participate in such activities. I am content to lead my army and train Henry's
troops,” he paused a moment. “Besides, it was one more thing Mari-Elle could
sink her claws into.”

     “But...Gaston. You turned down a dukedom?”
she gasped softly.

     He slammed down his visor so she could not
see his face; a modest man, he was uncomfortable with her question. “Aye, I
did, but if the title of duchess appeals to you, then I am sure I can arrange
it.”

     She shook her head, extending her hand from
the window of the carriage and touching his arm. “Nay, my love. I would live as
a pauper, so long as it was with you.”

     He looked at her a moment through his
visor, thinking that with all of the donations and bribing he might have to do,
and such a thing was not out of the realm of possibility. But, by God, if
Remington did not deserve a dukedom! In faith, he had not given his recent
refusal a second thought until now. He wondered how receptive Henry would be to
reconsidering.

     He raised his visor and brought her hand to
his lips. “Then you forgive me for my refusal?”

     She laughed softly. “My lord, you are too
humble to believe.”

     He kissed her hand again and re-secured his
visor. “I am not. I am arrogant where it is properly placed, and prideful as a
peacock when it comes to you,” he turned in de Tormo's direction. “And so you
have your facts straight, priest, 'twas two dukedoms I refused. I had no desire
to live in Lancaster, either.”

     He marched away, leaving both Remington and
de Tormo to deal with the revelation. The two of them were silent the entire
twenty mile ride to London.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

     The Tower of London sat right on the river
Thames. From where Remington sat, it looked almost as if it rose out of the
water like a mythical legend. To think she was actually looking upon the
structure, which housed her husband, made her feel faint. Had it not been for
morbid fascination, she would have turned her attention elsewhere.

     The Tower was still in the distance when
the procession called a halt. Gaston appeared at the carriage, opening the door
for her. Silently, she disembarked; noticing that Nicolas and several soldiers
had unloaded her belongings from the wagon and were awaiting orders.

     In front of her was a huge manor house, a
giant vine of spider fern covering nearly one entire wall and completely
obliterating one of the chimneys. She observed the house curiously, noticing
two soldiers standing at the front door, conversing with a servant.

     “This,” Gaston followed her gaze,” is
Braidwood, my family's home. I will take de Tormo's advice and keep you here
until it is safe.”

     “How safe can I be with your obnoxious
uncle?” she quipped softly, trying to ignore the pain that was tearing at her
heart.

     He smiled, taking her arm. “As safe as if I
myself were guarding you. Uncle Martin was a great knight, once. He's just…”

     He was cut off by a booming laugh, so great
that Remington jumped where she stood. Nicolas, his arms laden with Remington's
belongings, was suddenly scooped up from the ground by a bear of a man. As big
as Nicolas was, it was no easy feat, but the man was absolutely huge. He slapped
Nicolas on the side of the head, his voice loud and his actions rough.
Remington's eyes widened.