The Dark One: Dark Knight (97 page)

     Remington sat with Adeliza in her lap while
Arica slept soundly in her crib. Mary went back and forth between her new
sister and her two new cousins, trying to be helpful by retrieving a toy or
making faces at the babies. Her own new sister, Sophia, responded readily to
her, as did Adeliza and Arica, but grumpy little Robert wanted nothing to do
with her. He screamed every time she came near him.

     “When is Gaston due to return from London?”
Jasmine asked as Nicolas tried to make his son smile.

     “Soon, hopefully,” Remington replied while
a colicky Adeliza suckled her finger. “The annulment board must take time for
the testimonies presented, and then I will have to go to London to testify. But
I wish he would hurry; I have been here three weeks and have only seen him two
of those days.”

     “But he was with you while you convalesced
at Wells,” Jasmine said. “He was with you for nearly two months. How can you
complain over a few short weeks?”

     Remington dropped her head and Jasmine bit
her tongue; she knew what had happened, about the fight, the separation. It
nearly killed Remington when Gaston brought her back to Deverill Castle with
two new babies, only to abruptly leave her again.

     “I am sorry, Remi,” she said softly. “I did
not mean to sound callous.”

     Remington shook her head. “You are right,
of course,” she raised her head again, brightly. “He sent Trenton and Dane to
foster in Oxford with de Vere. Did I tell you that?”

     “Oxford isn't far,” Skye put in. “You can
still see them on occasion.”

     Remington shrugged. “Neither boy has seen
their new sisters yet. I was hoping Gaston would bring the boys home around
Easter, but he did not want to leave me.”

     “I do not blame him,” Nicolas said, triumphant
that his son had smiled at him. “I would not have left you either after you
nearly bled to death. How could he....”

     Skye slugged Nicolas in the gut and he
grunted loudly. “Shut your mouth. Have you no tact?”

     Remington smiled weakly at the interplay. “It's
all right, Skye. It does not upset me to talk about it.”

“Well, it upsets me to
hear it,” Skye insisted. “When I think that you could have... oh, my. I am
starting to sound like my husband.”

     Old Eudora bustled in, a snack for Mary on
a tray. Remington watched the old woman; the fear out of her eyes, walking with
hardly a limp. With the addition of Mary and the babes, Eudora was in heaven.
She had a new sense of purpose, raising this new crop of children, just as she
had practically raised Remington and her sisters. She paused a moment in her
hustle to coo at Robert on his mother's lap, and to plant a kiss on Sophia's
sleeping face.

     Remington stood up, setting Adeliza down to
nap. In the next crib slept Arica, as big as her sister easily. They both had
their father's smoky gray eyes, but their dark hair had a distinct hint of
auburn to it, like Remington's. And they were so identical that even Remington
had difficulty telling them apart at times. To listen to Gaston speak about the
twins, one would think he had fathered the Virgin Mary. She had never seen him
so proud.

     God, she missed him so. She left the
nursery and wandered the wide, cool hall to the main stairs. Downstairs, a
massive common room opened wide before her, Gaston's boar head banner hanging
above the hearth. It was a receiving room mostly; the standard fully intended
to intimidate all who entered the castle, reminding them of who was lord and
master, Henry’s Dark One, the mighty Duke of Warminster.

     She passed by the cavernous dining hall,
flying the same colors, as well as Henry's rose standard. The room could house
hundreds. She had grown very fond of Deverill Castle, but she still had
difficulty believing how very large it was. Even with her sisters, their
children, and their husbands, she felt as if they were all rattling about the
enormous structure. The entire village of Warminster could probably live most
comfortably within the old walls.

     Oleg met her as he bustled about his
duties. As steward to the new duke, he had his hands full with Deverill Castle
and Remington could see how much he was enjoying his new duties. He had
actually put on a bit of weight with his new life, away from a master who beat
him to serve a man who respected his abilities.

     “Busy, I see?” she remarked with a smile.

     He nodded vigorously. “Much, much to do.
Cook says that three barrels of grain went bad with the rot and we must take
immediate stock of all of our stores. It could be a blight.”

     “Goodness, I hope not.”

     Oleg shook his head again, mumbling rapidly
about something or another and Remington fought off an amused smile at his
state. As he brushed past her, she reached out her hand.

     “Oleg, about Gaston,” she said. “Do you
remember the conversation we had before he came to Mt. Holyoak? Do you remember
how apprehensive you were?”

     He paused, looked puzzled, and then
nodded.  “Unfounded, my lady.”

     She smiled broadly. “I am glad you have
come to realize it. And, by the way, he does not have a tail nor does he sprout
wings come nightfall.”

     Oleg returned her smile, looking somewhat
sheepish. “He's not an incubus, then? Thank God. I was wondering how I was
going to explain to God why I had willingly worked for the devil.”

     Remington snickered as he scuffled away.
She moved on toward the carved front doors of the castle, so heavy they
individually weighed as much as the war horses. They were polished to a high
sheen by the servants, servants Gaston had brought from Mt. Holyoak. In fact,
except for the skeleton guard he kept there, the castle was empty of every last
servant. They had all been quite happy to come south to serve the new duke.

     She smiled to herself, feeling the warm
wind caress her face. Beyond the walls of the structure was the village of
Warminster. South of that on the horizon, she could see the green line
indicating the edge of Warminster Forest, a dense, huge growth that covered
most of Gaston's providence, spilling into Essex. Warminster wasn't as
populated as some providences, but it was lush and rich. She liked it a great
deal.

     There were times when she missed Yorkshire,
the sheep, and the people she had grown up with. But she would not have traded
what she had now to return to what she left, not ever. Her new life with
Gaston, wife or no, was far more precious than faded memories.

     She did miss Dane terribly, however, but
she knew Gaston had done what he felt was best for him. Sending he and Trenton
to foster with the earl of Oxford had been a brilliant maneuver, a place where
Guy could not have physically retrieved Dane if he tried. The earl's keep was
too fortified, and Dane was surrounded by soldiers who knew who he was and
would protect him.

     She gloated at Guy's expense; he could
spend his entire life trying to regain his son to no avail. Dane was safe. She
was safe. Annulment or no annulment, she was home to stay.

     There was a good deal of activity on the
walls and she shielded her eyes from the bright sun to see what was going on.
Deverill Castle had a massive outer wall that was nearly eight feet thick. The
bailey had been a massive, oblong-shaped yard that he had divided and even now
men were working on an inner, protective wall. Portions of the castle were
actually built into the wall, but the rise upon which the castle sat afforded
it a great deal of protection.

     But it had not been enough protection for
Gaston; he had fallen in love with the design of Mt. Holyoak and set teams of
men to shearing off the sides of the rise and tunneling out a deep moat, making
the fortress extremely inaccessible to invading armies.

     A small party of riders entered through the
outer gates and Remington recognized Father de Tormo. Happily, she moved out to
greet him.

     “Father!” she called.

     De Tormo brushed the dust on his brown
woolen robes, the familiar stench greeting Remington's nostrils as she closed in
on him. He actually smiled. “My lady! How wonderful you look. Why, when I last
saw you, you were as round as a cow after birthing the babes. All of the weight
has left you.”

     She looked down at herself, wearing a
lightweight linen surcoat that emphasized her newly small waist, yet her
breasts were plump with milk and enticingly large.

     “Most of it,” she said, thinking his
comment to be undiplomatic, but letting it slide. “Where's Gaston?”

     “Still in London.” De Tormo took her arm
and together they walked for the castle. “He sent me to relay his messages to
you.”

     “Does the church still believe I am at
Wells Abbey?” she asked.

     He nodded. “Still. Mary Margaret is a party
to our lie; Henry's men visited the abbey two weeks ago and she told them that
you were still recovering after your most difficult birth, in isolation. They
left and reported back to Henry and Courtenay.”

     “But what of the men you brought with you?”
she gazed over her shoulder, seeing four soldiers with Canterbury's tunics.

     “Won't they tell that they have seen me?”

     “They do not know you on sight,” de Tormo
took her into the castle. “Do not worry overly. I shall make up some excuse
should the question arise. For all they know, I am here to deliver a message to
Gaston's cousin.”

     She took him into the solar, ordering wine
and food. When the serving girl left, she turned to him.

     “What's going on? Why is he still in
London?”

     “The annulment proceedings are taking
longer than he thought,” he replied. “Henry sent for the men you listed to
testify on your behalf; Lord Brimley and his sons, Lord Ripley, Sir Alfred
Tarrington from Crigglestone Castle. Ripley even went so far as to declare he
would kill Stoneley on sight if he ever saw him again; the man was most
convincing.”

     “And what of the men presiding over the council?
Are they men of good standing?”

De Tormo raised an
eyebrow. “You mean the board of Inquisition? Only the most powerful men in the
country, next to Henry, of course. John Morton, bishop of Ely and his brother
Robert, the bishop of Worcester; Christopher Urswick, dean of York; Richard
Fox, bishop of Exeter; the papal legate John of Imola, and the archbishop
himself, Thomas Bourchier. Believe me, Remi, 'tis a mighty papal council.”

     She swallowed, feeling rather apprehensive.
“Are they receptive? Can you tell?”

     De Tormo shrugged. “'Tis difficult to say.
But you have a most convincing argument, and they have yet to put me on the
stand. I shall persuade them without a doubt that your marriage to Guy must be
dissolved.”

     She let out a long sigh and sat heavily,
chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Who testified on Gaston's behalf?”

     The serving wench brought in a huge tray of
cheese and bread and de Tormo dug in with gusto. “No one, yet. But the men
gathered behind him are the likes of which even I have never seen, Remington.”

     She felt a small surge of hope. “Truly?”

     De Tormo nodded, chewing noisily on a piece
of cheese. “Statements on his behalf will not begin until after yours are
finished.” He eyed her a moment. “Guy has demanded to speak, too. You should be
aware of that.”

     She stiffened slightly. “All the better.
Then they can see for themselves how evil and insane he is.”

     De Tormo shrugged; pleased she was looking
at it from that angle. As far as he was concerned, his main worry was that Guy
would present himself as the victim in all of this. The man was cunning enough
to make such an attempt, but he did not voice his thoughts. She had enough to
worry over.

     “Gaston should be returning in a few days
to take you back to London,” the priest said. “Mayhap you should think on
packing.”

     “I have already packed,” she said. “In
fact, Jasmine made me two new surcoats to take. I am ready to go, father. I
just wish…he'd hurry.”

     De Tormo smiled. “And do you know who else
wishes he would hurry? Martin. He is dying to see you. Gaston did not want him
coming with me to Deverill Castle, afraid he would never leave.”

     She smiled. “I miss Uncle Martin. He came
to me at St. Catherine's, bit I only saw him once. He said he was planning to
trail me so that I would always be protected, but he did not.”

     “Because Gaston recognized him in the
common room when we came to see you,” de Tormo replied, licking his fingers.
“He chased his uncle out and told him he would lock him in the Tower if he was
insistent on disobeying Gaston's wishes.”

     She understood, a faint smile on her lips.
She would have loved to have heard the argument between Gaston and Uncle
Martin, both men grimly determined to do their own will. She was surprised she
had not heard the shouting that surely must have taken place.

     “Will I be staying at Braidwood?”

     “Most likely not,” de Tormo answered. “I
fear St. Catherine's shall again be your home. By the way, Remi, no one but
Henry and a select few know of the babes. Not even Guy knows. Gaston thought it
best not to tell anyone, less you be viewed as…well, a concubine.”