The Dark One: Dark Knight (78 page)

     “Oh, please…do not tell me that he is your
uncle,” she half-begged.

     Gaston clutched her arm tighter. “Aye, that
is my Uncle Martin. Do not worry love. He is only rough with the males in the
family.”

     Martin de Russe moved around his son,
allowing the burdened knight to pass into the manse. He was a massive man,
almost as big as his nephew, and possessed the de Russe dark hair. As he drew
closer, she could see that he was handsome indeed, but she felt herself
shrinking back from him.

     Fortunately for her, Martin was focused on
Gaston. “Gaston! You stupid little whelp, let me kiss you!”

     Gaston stood his ground, but he suddenly
felt as if he were five years old again. The urge to run and hide was
overwhelming. “Kiss me and I shall skin your hide, Uncle. A handshake will
suffice.”

     “You take away an old man’s joy, lad,”
Martin sniffed, but indeed shook Gaston’s hand with a meaty fist. His gaze was
very warm on his nephew. “Holy Mary, if you do not look more like your father.
Brant would be in heaven to see you now,” he suddenly focused on Remington.
“And what have you brought me? My God, she’s beautiful!”

     Gaston pulled Remington against him
protectively, fighting off a smirk at his uncle’s manners. “My most prized
possession. We will speak of it inside.”

     Martin nodded eagerly. “As you wish,” he
said. “Besides, I have a surprise for you.”

     Martin lumbered back inside with Gaston and
Remington in tow. He led them into a comfortable reception room, richly
appointed and smelling of fresh rushes. It was cool inside, away from the
humidity of the river, and Remington sank gratefully into the embroidered chair
indicated by Gaston.

     Gaston removed his gauntlets and helm, shaking
his wet hair and raking his finger back over his scalp. Martin, meanwhile, had
bellowed for refreshments and now stood eagerly, eyeing Remington like a
Christmas goose. But Gaston let him wait until he had removed some of his
things and taken position beside Remington.

     “Uncle Martin, this is Lady Remington
Stoneley,” he introduced them quietly. “My future wife.”

     Martin looked at Gaston sharply. “What are
you talking about?”

     “Mari-Elle is dead,” Gaston replied. “I
intend to marry Lady Remington and have brought her here to London while I
obtain the necessary annulments.”

     Martin's jovial expression faded, being
replaced by confusion. “Annulments? I do not understand, lad.”

     “What madness are you spouting, Gaston?”

     The voice came from behind, from a doorway
that led to another section of the manse.  Gaston’s head snapped to the sound
of the voice, recognizing it, and there was a smile on his lips even as he
turned. He knew that voice; it was very much a part of his fabric as a knight,
and as a man.

     An enormous blond man came through the
doorway, his big blue eyes glimmering and a huge smile on his face. He was
dressed in mail and pieces of armor, well used, and held an air of power about
him.  His very presence filled up the room.

     “Matt,” Gaston said with satisfaction,
holding out a gloved hand. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

     Matthew Wellesbourne took the outstretched
hand and shook it firmly. In fact, he and Gaston seemed to stare at each other
for a few moments, studying one another, reaffirming ties and unbreakable
bonds.  Gaston was as pleased as Remington had ever seen him.

     “I was in London on business,” Matthew
said, still holding on to Gaston’s hand. “I happened to see Uncle Martin
earlier today and we dined together. In fact, I was just preparing to leave
when your messenger arrived announcing your approach. I thought I would stay
around until you got here.”

     Gaston squeezed the man’s hand and let it
go. “I am glad you did,” he said.  “You are looking fat and happy.  How is your
new daughter?”

     Matthew grinned; he had an easy smile on
his handsome face. “Already ruling the house,” he said. “My father swears she
looks just like my mother, but I think she looks like Alixandrea. She has her
mother’s face, I swear it.”

     “At least she does not have yours.”

     “My feelings exactly.” 

     As Matthew chuckled and Gaston grinned,
Gaston     turned to Remington and extended a hand.  As he pulled her up from
the seat, he introduced her.

     “Matt,” he said, his voice unusually soft.
“I would like you to meet Lady Remington Stoneley.  Remi, this is Matthew
Wellesbourne.”

     Remington had heard the name. Everyone in
England knew that Matthew Wellesbourne turned tides against King Richard at
Bosworth and, along with Gaston, cost the man his crown and his life. Matthew
was called The White Lord for his benevolent and fair character, something in
sharp contrast to Gaston’s reputation.  In fact, many people already forgave
Matthew for his treachery at Bosworth whereas Gaston was still looked upon as
vile and feared. As Remington studied the enormous man with an oddly kind face,
she tried not to feel any resentment towards him for that very reason.

     “My lord,” she said, dipping into a
practiced curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you.   Everyone knows of The White
Lord of Wellesbourne.”

     Matthew couldn’t help himself from looking
the woman up and down; he was very puzzled by her very presence.   To see
Gaston with a woman,
any
woman, was something of a shock, and having
heard discussion of annulment, he was doubly confused.

     “The honor is mine, my lady, I assure you,”
he said pleasantly, looking between Gaston and Remington. “Did I hear you speak
of an annulment?”

     Gaston nodded and relayed the entire story,
including a repeat of the details of Mari-Elle’s death. When he was finished
with his most complicated explanation, Matthew’s expression was almost calm
whereas Martin looked somewhat distressed. A serving wench came with some
refreshments, leaving the room without the customary spank from the master.
Martin was too preoccupied.

     “Well,” he finally sighed. “You have set
yourself up for a hell of a fight, lad. You are the last person I would have
expected this from.”

     Gaston held Remington's hand. “Trust me
when I tell you that I am as surprised as you are. I have learned late in life
that there are some things we simply have no control over, and to fall in love
was the last thing on my mind. But it is done, and I intend to have what I
want. But I will leave Remington here, in your safekeeping.”

     “Absolutely,” Martin agreed emphatically.
“'Twould not do to house her at Windsor or the Tower. It would only make her
accessible to those sympathetic to Guy Stoneley.”

     “I agree,” Matthew said softly. “Keep her
well out of sight. Better still, will you let me take her back to Wellesbourne
Castle? No one can get to her there.”

     Gaston shook his head. “As much as I
appreciate the offer, Matt, I must decline,” he said.  Then he looked between
his uncle and Matthew. “I am under no delusion that her stay here will be long.
They will figure out where she is, eventually, and in that event, she will go
to St. Catherine's convent. But for now, I want her close to me and under my
protection.”

     “Under
my
protection,” Martin
corrected. “Have no fear, Gaston, that your ladylove will be safe with me. No
one will get past me.

     “I know,” Gaston replied softly, gazing on
Remington’s dark head. “One more thing, uncle. She carries the next de Russe
heir. That makes her protection all the more important.”

     Martin grinned, the first time in the
entire conversation, while Matthew just shook his head and laughed.

     “You are a lusty devil, lad,” Martin said.
“Just like your father. Why, I would say there were no less than six de Russe
bastards roaming the country.”

     Gaston's friendly demeanor was gone in a flash,
his irritation full-blown. “I only know of two, and I would appreciate it if
you did not bring up my father's indiscretions in my presence.”

     Remington was shocked but held her
expression. Gaston had brothers? Or sisters? She wanted to look at him, but
dare not. He sounded angry.

     Martin held up a soothing hand. “Do not get
agitated, lad, and do not act so pious. You are nothing like your father in
that respect, though your reputation is less than desirable in other areas.”

     Out of the corner of her eye, Remington saw
Gaston stiffen. “And just what does that mean?”

     “Just that,” Martin snorted loudly,
reaching for the plate of marzipan. “At least your father was not branded a
traitor, though God knows you had your reasons. I would not have shown the self-restraint
that you did if my wife had slept with my king.”

     Remington closed her eyes, feeling the
words like a stab through the heart. Gaston's hand still held hers, though the
pressure had increased. She squeezed his hand tightly, comfortingly. She felt
as if she could cry rivers on his behalf. Head down, she didn’t see the looks
that passed between Gaston and Matthew at that moment. There was something of
sorrow and grief there, of untold secrets that would be buried with great men
who had made great and terrible choices.  Matthew finally hung his head.

     But Martin was oblivious to the silent
words between Gaston and Matthew as he smacked his lips loudly, chewing the
marzipan with relish. He glanced at Gaston, and then Remington, and back again.

     “I say what I feel, Gaston,” he said. “You
of all people should know that. I do not blame you for betraying Richard. My
God, he was an evil bastard, killing his nephews and flaunting his affair with
Mari- Elle in your face. He knew you were loyal to the core for Edward and
assumed you would be loyal to him as well, no matter what he did to you. You
made a wise choice to serve Henry and Wellesbourne made the right choice to
support you. Henry would respect you again and would treat you with dignity.
Richard used you for a doormat.”

     Remington couldn't stand it any longer. She
bolted out of the chair, rushing blindly from the room. The front door was
cracked slightly; she threw it open and continued running, anywhere at all
where Gaston and his hateful uncle couldn't hear her sobs.

     She had barely rounded the corner of the
manse when Gaston caught up to her. Without a word, he threw his arms around
her and she clung to him desperately, sobbing her heart out. She was so
terribly hurt for him.

     “Shh, angel,” he soothed her quietly. “It's
all right. ‘Tis old history.”

     “Oh, Gaston,” she sobbed. “The shame you
suffered. Everyone thought you were a traitor to your king, when in fact you
did what you had to preserve your dignity. You would allow everyone to think
badly of you rather than make public the truth.”

     He held her tightly, her feet dangling off
the ground.  She had no idea why he really betrayed Richard at Bosworth and he
wasn’t sure he would ever tell her. Perhaps it was something that he and
Matthew needed to keep between themselves.  It was, after all, their secret.

      “Angel, my shame is no greater than the
shame you suffered at the hands of your husband,” he said quietly. “Do not let
my uncle's words upset you so; I have recovered. I have found you, and you have
helped me heal my wounds.”

     She gripped him, her hands in his hair,
wishing she could absorb all of his pain. God, they had both suffered so much.

     “I told you my uncle was a boor,” he
reminded her. “He is a wise, brave man, but he’s still an oaf.”

     Her face darkened and she hiccupped. “I do
not like him.”

     He gripped her arms gently. “In spite of
everything, I do. All I ask is that you tolerate him, please. You do not have
to like him.”

     “I do not,” she repeated stubbornly. “How
dare he speak of your father so carelessly. How dare he speak of you as if you
had no feelings.”

     Gaston shrugged and put his arm around her
shoulders, leading the back toward the house.   “That is simply his way, Remi.
Kind of like Rory.”

     Her mouth opened in outrage. “Rory had more
sense that to run off at the mouth like that.”

     “Mayhap so, but at least Uncle Martin does
not put saffron dye into bathtubs or honey into beds,” he countered gently.

     She had to agree with him. Silently, he led
her back to the house.  As they reached the door, Matthew was exiting.

     “Where are you going?” Gaston asked,
grasping him by the arm. “Please stay. I would like Remington to become
acquainted with you.”

     Matthew smiled at Remington. “As I would
like that very much also,” he replied.  But his smile faded and he glanced back
towards the house. “But I fear I must be on my way home and it would seem you
have much here in London to deal with.  Moreover, if your uncle cannot control
his mouth then I fear I may have to slug him, which I am sure you will not
like, so it is best I remove myself. However, if you would like for me to stay
to support you in your endeavor against the church, I will be happy to.”