The Dark One: Dark Knight (83 page)

***

     In spite of her anxieties, Remington's stay
with Uncle Martin had not been bad. In fact, when she got past the loud voice
and overbearing manner, she found Martin de Russe to be a very charming man.

     They sat up into the wee hours the first
night of her stay, playing chess until she finally called checkmate. Martin had
moaned and raved, but as a true gentleman, he coincided her victory and gave
her a big, wet kiss on the cheek that set her to grinning. She had never been
around such an affectionate man and had to admit she found it comforting.

     Her father had been a mildly caring man
with his girls, but the fact remained that he was not demonstrative in the
least. He had wanted sons, and when Kerry Halsey presented him with four
daughters, he was not pleased. He was never actually hostile toward the girls,
yet he did not lavish attention on them. Remington saw in Uncle Martin what she
had wanted from her father all along; approval, affection, friendship. Martin
gave these things willingly.

     The next day dawned hot and bright and she
broke her fast with Uncle Martin in the lovely garden of his manse. The roses
were in full bloom, as were a myriad of other flowers. The pungent smell of gardenias
wafted on the air as they enjoyed bread with melted cheese and beef.

     From that point on, the day had gone very
well and she had settled in quickly. She found it amusing that Uncle Martin
only employed female servants, except for the ancient little man who tended his
garden. He said he did not like the scent of males, but Remington knew it was
because he did not want to compete with anyone for the women's attention. And
they lavished him with care as if he were the only man on earth.

     And they lavished attention on Remington,
too. When she had finally gone to bed after beating Uncle Martin at the game, a
hefty serving woman with a Scandinavian accent had been there with warmed,
scented water and a strange oil. Like any good, strapping mother, she proceeded
to give Remington a sponge bath and then poured the oil on her back.

     Flat on her stomach on the mattress, the
strong woman gave Remington the most wonderful massage she had ever
experienced. The last thing she remembered was the woman's strong hands
kneading her tired muscles, and then she had awoken to a bright day in a fresh
bed. It had been heavenly.

     Uncle Martin had taken great pleasure
showing her his garden as the morning progressed. The humidity seemed to bring
out the most in the scents, and the air was heavy with fragrance. By
midmorning, a serving wench brought out a snack of cool water with lemon and
honey and sweet little tarts with fruit. Having just eaten a large breakfast
not two hours before, Remington begged off, but Martin ate the entire plate.

     Lunch came and went and Remington's
thoughts wandered to Gaston. From the battlements on the manse, she could see
the Tower quite plainly, looming over the Thames. She knew him to be within the
walls, as was Guy, and she was anxious and unnerved. She tried not to imagine
what might be happening, but it was difficult to not allow her imagination to
run wild.

     Uncle Martin stood on the battlements with
her after the nooning meal, pointing out various spots of interest and
commenting on the traffic along the river. Noble barges floated by slowly,
decorated with all sorts of fine adornments and Remington was greatly
interested in them. Merchant vessels docked on the opposite side of the river,
unloading wares from exotic ports.

     Remington watched and listened to Gaston's
uncle as he kept a running conversation about the various boats and mercantile
houses on the opposite side of the river. Truly, she was fascinated and Uncle
Martin was a very interesting man.

     With the heat of the afternoon cloying and
intense, they retreated to the cool innards of the manse. Remington found that
she was terribly tired these days, content to sleep and eat and naught much
else, as she had been when she had been pregnant with Dane early on. She sank
gratefully into a hide-covered chair while Uncle Martin started into the
subject of Gaston's father, Brant. Over the course of the next few hours, she
would discover Brant de Russe to be a remarkable, exciting man.

     However, due to the heat and Uncle Martin's
low, soothing voice, she feel into a deep sleep in the comfortable chair
without meaning to. Martin continued his stories for a good ten minutes before
he realized what had happened. Quietly, he vacated the room and proceeded to
find every servant in the house to personally warn them to remain silent while
Lady Remington slept.

     Satisfied she would sleep unimpeded, he
moved to his own chamber and promptly passed out into a dreamless sleep of his
own.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The first thing she was
aware of was a deep, rumbling voice. It was a rich voice, sensual and
comforting, and it took her a moment to realize she was listening to Gaston. He
wasn't speaking to her, however; he was saying something to his uncle.

     She twitched and opened her eyes, sighing
deeply. Gaston was standing in front of her, still speaking to one of his men,
but gazed down on her when she stirred.

     “So you are awake,” he said gently. “Did my
uncle put you to sleep with all of his talking?”

     She sat up, smiling sleepily at him.
“Actually, he did. But it wasn't because I lacked interest in the subject; I am
just increasingly tired these days.”

     He took her hand in his glove. “No doubt,”
he jerked his head at the soldier standing at the door and the man vacated. He
looked down at her again. “Are you awake enough that we night carry on an
intelligent conversation? We must discuss a few things.”

     She nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes
and he deposited his huge body on a very sturdy stool just in front of her. He
still held her hand, his eyes on her warm.?????

     “I am glad you are back,” she said.” I
expected not to see you for weeks the way you were talking. Did your meetings
go well?”

     The warmth in his face faded. “About as I expected,”
he replied softly, holding both of her hands now. “Henry was receptive to me,
as I knew he would be. I was able to speak to the bishop of Exeter and he
assured me that it should be no problem to annul my marriage to Mari-Elle and
he promised that he would see to it as quickly as he could. That portion of my
talks went most favorably; however, the problems lies where we knew it would.
With Guy.”

     At the mention of his name, Remington's
face went white and Gaston squeezed her hands sympathetically. “Did you see
him?”

     He nodded. “He was not cooperative in the
least, angel. In fact, he seemed to take delight in the entire situation. I
fear he will make a nightmare out of all of this.”

     She lowered her gaze, her stomach quivering
nervously and making her ill. Gaston could see her fear and cursed silently
that he was not yet finished with his news.

     “Henry demanded that Guy be allowed to see
you, under my supervision of course, and I had to comply. You knew that this
might happen, Remi, and I am sorry that I could not prevent it,” his voice was
soft. “But it might be more beneficial that we realize. Guy said that if you
were to ask him for an annulment personally, that he might consider it. You do
not have to do it if you do not want to, though. You can sit and stare at the
wall the entire time if it pleases you.”

     He could feel her hands shaking. “If there
is a chance he will consider granting our request, then I will ask him. But I
truthfully do not know, why he would listen to me; he never has before.”

     Gaston knew Stoneley's request was probably
a ploy to see his wife and nothing more, but if there were a chance that he
honestly would reconsider his position, then they would have to take it.

     “I am sorry, angel,” he whispered again. He
felt as if he were failing her somehow, unable to protect her from the turmoil.

     She nodded shakily, acknowledging his
apology. She opened her mouth to speak, but words would not come. Finally, she
threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him so tightly that she would have
choked him had it not been for his armor. He held her tightly, wishing he could
absorb all of her fear and pain.

     “I am so scared, Gaston,” she whispered
after a moment. “I have not seen him in over a year and I feel as if I am about
to relive my worst nightmare.”

     “There is nothing to be frightened of,” he
assured her. “I will be there the entire time, love. There is naught he can do
or say to you to harm you.”

     She pulled back, wiping daintily at her
nose and blinking back tears. “I know that, but I am still scared. I hate him
so.”

     “So do I,” he answered. “But you will only
have to see him this one time if I have anything to say about it. Try not to
let him upset you so. I do not like to see you so upset.”

     She nodded again, attempting to compose
herself. Gaston rose from the stool and pulled her gently to her feet. He
sought to brighten the mood a bit. “Henry has invited us to sup with he and
Elizabeth tonight. Why do not you go and change into a pretty surcoat.”

     Her mouth fell open in horror, forgetting
all about Guy for the moment. “The king wants to sup with us? Lord, Gaston, I
do not own a surcoat worthy of the king's table.”

     “Of course you do,” he insisted, giving her
a gently tug toward the stairs. “Where are your things? I will decide what you
are to wear.”

***

     An hour later, looking absolutely ravishing
in a scarlet brocade surcoat and a lovely necklace with rough garnets,
Remington left Braidwood for the Tower. Gaston had commandeered a litter for
her, which she thought was silly, but he insisted. She giggled as he settled
her on it, complaining that she felt like Cleopatra. He eyed her sternly, but
there was a smile playing on his lips. He was glad she was laughing, knowing
the tears and anxiety would descend upon her quickly enough once they reached
the Tower.

     The Tower fascinated her as they passed
through the entrance and through the narrow corridor between the Byward and
Middle Tower. There were household troops everywhere, lining their path as they
rode into the open courtyard.

     In the middle of the courtyard stood the
White Tower, looming above her. Her smiles faded and terror seized her; she
knew Guy was watching her now. She could not see him, but she could feel him.
Feel his evil. He was here, and she was quickly going back on her promise not
to be afraid anymore. She was horrified.

     Gaston reached the litter and gently lifted
her off, seeing that the color had gone out of her cheeks and knowing why. He
sought to ease her. “Would you like to tour the Tower first? There are several
points of interest.”

     She nodded numbly, knowing a tour would
only delay the inevitable, yet it might afford her the opportunity to regain
some of her shattered composure.

     With Nicolas and his other knights in tow,
Gaston took her all over the structure, not really taking her into any
buildings but pointing out specific towers and relaying stories. He was careful
not to point out the Bloody Tower, or mention anything about the nephews
Richard had murdered. He tried to make her more at ease in the unfamiliar place
before he led her into the depths of the lion's den.

     As he had hoped, she regained some of her
color and poise by the time he was finished showing her about. She asked small
questions, seeming to take some interest in her surroundings when he knew the
only thing she was truly focused on was the massive tower in the center of the
compound.

     John de Vere joined their small party when
the tour was nearly complete. Much to Remington's surprise, he kissed her
pleasantly on the cheek in greeting and proceeded to tell her how lovely she
looked.

     Remington eyed him as he conversed with
Gaston, wondering if all men were as friendly as she had come to see since
being introduced into Gaston's world. Before she had met him, all men were
cold, unfeeling bastards and she had hated them. But since she had met the Dark
One, she had come to meet a great many men who were nothing but kind and
courteous. Was it possible, then, that they were the norm, and that her father
and Guy were the exception to the rule? She wondered.

     Gaston turned to her after a few moments of
conversation. “Well, angel, shall we get this over with?”

     She was much more comfortable that she had
been earlier and squared her shoulders. “Aye, let's do. I am eager to get on
with it.”