The Dark One: Dark Knight (88 page)

     “Indeed,” Henry took another drink of wine.
“Courtenay was hard-pressed to carry out Bourchier's orders, but he had no
choice in the matter. Especially since John of Imola is involved. He must do
everything according to the law of the church.”

     “Of course he must,” Christopher agreed,
shifting in his chair. “I pity de Russe. I understand his wife was most
unfaithful to him with Richard, and now the poor man has fallen in love with a
woman who is married to Satan's apprentice. Were it me...,”

     “Go on.”

     Urswick paused. “Were it me, I would do
what I had to in order to marry the woman I love. All I have spoken with agree
on that account.”

     Henry was silent a moment. “Are you
thinking that de Russe might do something drastic; something disobedient? Speak
out, man.”

     Urswick shook his head, drinking from his
glass. “I am thinking nothing of the sort. I am merely sympathizing.”

     “They will be here tonight. De Russe and
his lady.”

     “I know. I am looking forward to meeting
her, and speaking with de Russe.”

     Henry motioned to a servant for more wine.
“Tread lightly, Chris. Gaston is completely different on the subject of his
lady. He is not the controlled man we have grown to know. Furthermore, I doubt
he will be in a talkative mood with the lady's impending departure tonight.”

     Christopher nodded in regret. “I saw the
papal guard downstairs. I take it she is leaving after supper, then?”

     Henry was quiet as he drank his wine,
pondering the design on his golden goblet. “I will try to make it as painless
as possible for them both. Courtenay's knights are waiting for my signal on
this matter; I plan to send Gaston out of the room on some hasty errand and
will have the lady escorted out while he is away. When he returns, I will
inform him that the lady is en route to St. Catherine's. De Vere will be here
to support me, of course. If anyone can prevent de Russe from rushing after
her, he can.”

     “I suppose a quick extraction is as
painless as any alternative,” Urswick agreed.

     Henry's brown eyes were intent on his dean.
“I do not like doing this, Chris. With everything Gaston has done to advance my
cause, I do not like deceiving him in this manner. I can only hope to make it
up to him when I convince the apostolic delegate to grant an annulment with or
without Stoneley's consent.”

     “Will you donate Warminster?” Urswick asked.

     “Nay,” Henry said flatly. “Warminster is
Gaston's when and if he wants it. It goes to no one else.”

     Behind them, the door to the dining hall
opened, ushering forth a fair young woman in blue silk. Elizabeth, queen of
England, entered the room and curtsied for her husband. He was pleased to see
that she had left her ladies behind, as he requested. Lord only knew how
Elizabeth liked to be surrounded by her women to remind her that she was the
king's wife.

     “My lord,” she said.

     Henry glanced at his wife. “Good eve,
Elizabeth.”

     Silently, she moved to her husband's left
hand and took a seat. Henry and Christopher continued to speak quietly all but
ignoring young Elizabeth until another, older woman entered the hall.

     Lady Margaret Beaufort eyed her son, furthermore
gazing disdainfully at the dean. “Henry, are all of those guards downstairs for
Lady Stoneley?”

     “They are,” he replied.

     Margaret snorted lady-like and took her
seat on her son's right hand, demanding wine in, a crystal goblet. She refused
to drink from a metal cup because she swore she could taste the element.
“Ridiculous. An entire company of men for one small lady.”

     Henry and Christopher passed glances; and
entire company of men would be required should de Russe loose his control. “Do
not worry overly, mother. The men are there purely to protect the lady, not to
wrest her from these walls.”

     “I understand she is lovely,” Elizabeth
said, directing her statement at Lady Beaufort.

     “We shall soon see,” Margaret replied, her
manner as imperious as the rest of her. “I am curious to meet this woman who
would capture the heart of the most powerful fighting man in England's
history.”

     “You would compare de Russe to the likes of
Lancelot, Gallahad, St. George, or Christopher de Lohr, Richard's champion on
the crusades?” Henry raised an eyebrow. “Or William de Wolfe? Surely there was
no greater warrior than de Wolfe. He controlled Scotland's borders for many
years for Henry III.”

     Margaret shook her head; she was not about
to engage in a fighting man's conversation. “Aye, they had stout reputations
and lived long lives. But mark my words; Gaston de Russe is more powerful than
even they.”

     “He shall be flattered to hear you say
that, Mother,” Henry smiled.

     Margaret was not a woman to be toyed with.
She gave her son an icy stare and looked away. “If you mention this
conversation, I shall strip the hide from your back.”

     There was a knock at the door and a steward
opened it. Gaston and Remington entered the hall.

     All eyes went to Remington, who felt the weight
of the stares. She had been quite calm upon entering, but suddenly felt
apprehensive, as if she would not meet with their approval somehow. As if they
would think all of the fuss was ridiculous.

     She looked ravishing in the yellow satin,
the front of her hair pulled back and secured with a golden clasp. Gaston,
holding her elbow tightly, was dressed in 'common clothing’, as he had called
it. The black breeches and fine leather boots belonged to him, but the black
silk tunic with the gold embroider was Uncle Martin's. Gaston hated to dress in
fancy clothing and did not even own a fine tunic. Remington had felt as if she
were arguing with her son as she tried to get Gaston to dress finely for
dinner; he wanted to wear his armor.

Henry actually rose to
his feet, followed by Urswick. “Introduce us, Gaston.”

     Gaston smiled faintly and Remington dipped
into a low curtsy. “My lord, this is Lady Remington Stoneley,” he said with a
touch of pride.

     Henry studied her openly. “Look at me.”

     She did, meeting his eyes for a brief
second before lowering her gaze. She was humbled and nervous to be in the
presence of the king.

     But Henry continued to observe her even as
he regained his seat. Urswick seemed tongue-tied.

     “We approve,” the king said after a moment,
his voice low. “Gaston, she's marvelous. No wonder you are willing to defy
God.”

     Gaston continued to hold onto her, meeting
Lady Margaret's gaze. “My lady, a pleasure to see you again,” he said
gallantly.

     Lady Margaret rose from her seat, walking
around the table to stand in front of Remington. Good Lord, Remington knew who
the woman was and was even more intimidated by her than the king. Dressed in
expensive silk and gobs of jewelry, she looked every inch the mother of a king.
Remington struggled to keep her nerves from gaining an upper hand.

     Lady Margaret put her hand to Remington’s
chin, tilting her face up. Their eyes met a moment, brown ones to sea-crystal
green.

     “How old are you?” Lady Margaret asked.

     “Twenty six years, my lady,” Remington
replied.

     The older woman nodded faintly,
scrutinizing every detail of Remington's face. Finally, she turned to
Elizabeth. “What do you think, my queen?”

     Elizabeth was a petty, childish girl who
was jealous of virtually every beautiful woman she met. It was obvious that
Remington was to be of no exception.

     “She's old,” she sniffed.

     Remington felt the insult but did not
react. Lady Margaret was moving to regain her seat and Gaston directed her to a
chair opposite Henry. He seated himself next to her.

     Well-dressed servants brought out the
trenchers; pheasant in sauce, boiled summer vegetables and bread with butter
was abundant. The diners dug in.

     “Mother was comparing you to the likes of
Christopher de Lohr and William de Wolfe before you arrived, Gaston,” Henry
said, ignoring his mother's earlier threat. “I had no idea she thought so
highly of you.”

     Gaston's head came up from his food; he
looked at an angered Lady Beaufort. “Nor did I. I am honored, my lady, that you
would group me with such legendary men.”

     Lady Margaret did not reply; she would not
dignify her son’s disobedient remarks. Instead, she focused on Remington.

     “How do you find London, Lady Remington?”  

     Remington was having a difficult enough
time eating in the presence of the king; was she expected to eat and talk, too?
She swallowed a large bite and almost choked. “I have had no time to see the
sights, my lady, but from what I have seen, it is an exciting city.”

     Elizabeth was thoroughly riled with the
presence of lovely Lady Remington. She'd had no idea how beautiful the woman
was and was distinctly upset. Not having her ladies about her to reinforce her
vainness was unbalancing.

     “It is,” she said coolly. “A pity you will
not be here long enough to become familiar with it.”

     Remington looked at the queen; younger than
herself, she was a plain, blond girl of high breeding. Too high; she appeared
fragile and pale.

     “I do intend to tour London, someday,
highness,” she replied softly. “And may I congratulate you on the birth of your
son.  “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

     Gaston knew Remington was going to confront
this sort of reaction from Elizabeth and he was pleased she was handling it
well. But, truthfully, there was nothing else she could do.

     In fact, she had been remarkable since de
Tormo had delivered the shattering news. Gaston was terribly proud of her.

     “Gaston, I do not think I have ever seen
you in a tunic and hose,” Christopher found his voice. “I thought you were, in
fact, born with your armor on. This is a remarkable event.”

     Gaston looked somewhat sheepish. “You may
thank the lady for that. She refused to eat with me if I wore my armor to the
king's table, so I was forced into complying.”

     Henry and Christopher chortled. “No armor
or weapons of any kind? Even underneath the tunic?”

     Gaston looked down at himself; the tunic
was stretched taut across his magnificent chest, and his leg muscles were
bulging through the breeches. “I have no idea where I would put it.”

     Remington even smiled, looking him over
with glittering eyes. “My lord looks every inch the nobleman.”

     Gaston raised a disapproving eyebrow, but
there was a smile on his lips. “Never again, my lady. This is the last time you
will see me dressed as a dandy.”

     “You look wonderful,” Remington repeated,
daring to bring Lady Margaret into the conversation. “Would you not agree, Lady
Beaufort?”

     Margaret looked up from her pheasant,
passing a well-practiced eye over Gaston. “I have always thought so.”

     Gaston dipped his head at the compliment,
feeling just the slightest bit uncomfortable at the tone used. It bordered on
seductive.

     “I understand that your half-brother is
preparing to take his vows, Gaston, Henry said. “Courtenay told me that Richard
de Russe is finally preparing to be ordained. A remarkable event, I would say.
I did not believe the man serious to take the vow of chastity. A good deal like
your father, I am told.”

     Gaston met Henry's gaze steadily. “I have
not kept in touch with Richard, my lord. I prefer to ignore my illegitimate
relations.”

     “But Richard is deacon at Newby Prior, a
prestigious post,” Urswick put in.  “Surely you consider the man worthy of the
de Russe name, bastard or no.”

     Gaston shrugged, his only answer. Henry
knew better than to press Gaston on the subject of his bastard brothers and
turned his eye once again to Remington.

     “I understand you have several sisters,
Lady Remington,” he said. “Are they married?”

     “Not yet, my lord,” she replied, aware that
Elizabeth was watching her. “But soon. My youngest sister is marrying Gaston’s
cousin, Nicolas.”

     “Convenient,” Elizabeth remarked. When
everyone looked at her, she made haste to clarify her comment. “She will remain
close to you.”

     Remington merely nodded; she sensed
tremendous hostility from the queen and was not about to enter into any sort of
verbal battle. Puzzled at the reception, she lowered her head to her trencher.

     The evening passed, the conversation mostly
between Gaston and the king. Remington kept silent for the most part, still in
awe of her dinner mates and furthermore fearful to antagonize the queen. The
woman kept glaring at her.

     Lady Beaufort, however, kept her eyes on
Remington in a sort of appraising manner, as one would inspect a side of beef.
Remington met the woman's eyes a few times, smiling weakly and quickly
returning to her food. Nauseous as she was, it was the only thing she could put
her attention to that wasn't staring back at her.