The Dark One: Dark Knight (5 page)

     And she waited.  Jasmine, Rory and Skye
waited with her. She had purposely told Charles and Dane to stay out of sight,
terrified that the Dark One would somehow be threatened by their presence. 
With her sisters to keep her company, they paced the hall slowly, watching the
food cool and speaking of trivial things. 

     They were all nervous. They had all seen
the size of the man and felt his fearsomeness as if it were personally directed
at them. Remington, as usual, bore the brunt of it, but also as usual, she had
handled it well.

     “What do you think of him, Remi?” Jasmine
asked.

     Remington shrugged.  “There is nothing to
judge him by, yet.  He was neither cruel nor friendly.”

     “He is the devil,” Rory said flatly. “That
is why he would not let you see his face.  You would know he was the devil for
sure.”

     “I saw his eyes,” Remington murmured. 
“They were not the devil’s eyes.”

     “Oleg said he betrayed Richard,” Rory said
boldly.  She was always bold and irreverent.  “What kind of man would betray
his king on the field of battle?”

     “Quiet.” Remington hissed.  “If he hears
you, he shall kill you.”

     “Ha,” Rory snorted.  “I am not afraid of
him.”

     “Shut your mouth, Rory,” Jasmine snapped. 
“You are afraid of him also. We all are.”

     “All of you shut your lips,” Remington
snapped.  “I have enough to deal with without your jibing and snipes.”

     “The food is getting cold,” Skye said
softly, picking at the apples.  “He will not want to eat cold food.”

     Remington looked over her shoulder at the
mounds of food that had been prepared.  She knew Oleg had gone outside to
inform the knights of their waiting meal, but that had been a while ago.  She
signed; Skye was right, of course.  She would have to return all of the food to
the kitchens and have it re-heated.  She should have never brought it out as
soon as she had.

     Suddenly, they heard movement in the foyer
of the castle, a great slamming and clanging and the unmistakable sound of
armor. Voices, male voices, were loud and demanding and Remington shot to her
feet, ordering the kitchen servant forward and her sisters away from the
tables.  The ladies took position against the wall by the hearth as Remington
straightened her surcoat and moved towards the foyer.

     She’d never seen so many knights before. 
They were everywhere, massive and powerful, shaking off the water and removing
strategic pieces of armor so that they could sit more comfortably.  She did not
realize her eyes were bugging at the sight, but it was a truly remarkable
vision.

     After a few moments, several of the men
noticed her and she cleared her throat.  “Your meal awaits you, good knights. 
Be pleased to take a seat and be served.”

     They did not acknowledge her with so much
as a word, although every man seemed to stare a great deal at her.  She lowered
her gaze, knowing her cheeks were flushing mightily and praying that someone
would not make a grab for her.  Thankfully, no one grabbed her as they filed
past and on into the grand hall with its thirty foot ceiling and seven foot
hearth.

     There were so many of them that she stood
back, eventually watching each face that passed her curiously.  They took their
seats loudly, clamoring for wine, and noisily helping themselves to all Mt.
Holyoak had to offer.

     Remington stood in the doorway, watching in
awe.  Her sisters had joined the serving maids, helping to keep the knights
sated with their need for ale and food.  God only knew how badly she wanted
this evening to be pleasant and she silently thanked her sisters for doing
their part, even the usually rebellious Rory. 

     The door to the keep opened again and
several more knights poured in from the hellish weather.  Remington recognized
the Dark Knight.

     His helmed head glanced about the place as
he removed his soaked mail gloves and moved to unlatch his helm.  Remington
found herself biting her lip in anticipation of his face, wondering what he
would look like.  Wondering if the face would match the fearsome voice.  She
already knew his eyes were pleasant, beautiful even, but that said nothing for
the rest of him.  She did not stop to wonder why she was so curious.

     The man next to him removed his helm,
revealing white-blond hair, straight and flowing to his shoulders.  His face
was sharp and angled, but handsome.  He said something to the Dark Knight and
smiled at his own words, looking about the foyer as he spoke.  The other three
knights removed their helm, as well, and they were dark-haired.  One man,
young, had a particularly beautiful face and his skin was darker, while his
companions looked somewhat alike with curly black hair and square jaws. Very
attractive, she thought with surprise. She had no idea such handsome men would
be accompanying the Dark Knight, but in the same breath knew that she could
expect a whole crop of bastards come spring. It was inevitable.

     The Dark Knight removed his helm.  It took
Remington a moment to realize she was looking at the feared face itself, and
furthermore thought to herself that it was not so fearsome after all.  His hair
was as black as moonless night, shorn up the back of his head and longer in the
front so that it fell down over his eyes like a sweeping curtain.  He ran his
fingers through it a couple of times and slicked it back on his head to keep it
out of his face.

    
The face.
  A granite jaw and
prominent cheekbones met with her curious gaze, a straight nose and shadowy
stubble.  And the eyes found her, though not unkind, and she dipped into a quivering
curtsey.  He moved directly toward her.

     “You and your knights may take a seat close
to the hearth, my lord,” she said in a weak voice. “The goblet with encrusted
jewels is yours.”

     He glanced into the room but did not move,
unaware of the hot stares of his men on Remington.  The other knights moved
ahead, but he remained.

     “I would speak with you before I eat,” he
said.  “Where may we go that is private?”

     Shaken, Remington led him to the small room
her husband used as his private solar.  It was quiet, small, and cold.  Gaston
lit a bank of candles and turned to observe the room with quiet satisfaction. 
It was richly furnished with all manner of scrolls and documents stacked
against the walls.  Vellum had a certain smell, and this room smelled heavily
of it.

     “This is the solar?” he asked.

     “Aye, my lord,” she replied, deathly afraid
to be alone with him.  “My husband spent a good deal of time here.”

     His gaze lingered on the desk and the
furnishings a moment, before he finally turned to face her.  She kept her gaze
lowered but she could nonetheless feel his eyes on her.

     “How old are you?” he asked.

     “Twenty and six, my lord,” she replied.

     He moved around a very large desk,
inspecting it slowly.  “And how long have you been married to Sir Guy?”

     Remington’s head snapped up.  “You…you know
of my husband?” 

     “Answer my question.”

     “Nine years, my lord,” she said quickly,
hoping she had not offended him.

     His hands caressed the fine hide chair
behind the desk.  “How loyal are you to Richard?”

     She blinked.  “I…I do not understand, my
lord.  Henry is our king now.”

     “I am well aware of who is king, madam. 
Answer me.  How loyal are you to Richard?”

     Remington looked at him.  Obviously this
man was not loyal to Richard at all.  Especially if the rumors she had heard
were true.  Of course he expected
her
to be loyal to the dead king
because her husband had fought for him and because they were in the heart of
Yorkshire.  She wasn’t sure how he wanted her to answer and decided to be
completely honest.

     “I am not loyal to Richard, my lord,” she
said.  “I pledge my loyalty and my household to King Henry as my savior.”

     He actually looked surprised. It was the
first emotion she had yet to see from him. “Savior?” he repeated. “Why would
you say that?”

     Her breathing quickened as her emotions
coursed through her veins.  The thought of her husband in prison stirred her up
tremendously and she spoke words from her very heart.

     “Because my husband is in jail and will be
there for the rest of his natural life, God willing,” she said, her voice
shaking. “Henry has done this for me and I willingly turn over all that I have
to him.  You need not worry about loyalty to the crown here, my lord.  Everyone
in this keep will gladly give it.”

     His surprise was gone and he was back to
his original cool demeanor.  “You will forgive me if I do not take your word
for it,” he said coldly. “How many peasants populate the surrounding villages
of Boroughbridge and Easlinghope?”

     The rapid jump from one subject to the next
left her momentarily confused.  “Boroughbridge provides for three or four
hundred people, while Easlinghope sustains close to a thousand. Baron Brimley
of Crayke Castle is lord of Easlinghope.”

     Gaston nodded slowly.  He knew most of this
information already, simply from what Henry and his clerks had told him, but he
wanted the information confirmed by someone close to the source.  He would have
preferred to hear it from the steward of the keep and had no idea why he had
asked the lady to inform him.  Much to his surprise, she seemed to have
half-a-wit.  Besides, she was most pleasing to look at and she smelled
pleasant, too.  He could smell her from where he stood.

     “Tell me of Mt. Holyoak,” he said. “What
are her crops and sundry functions?”

     “The vale is very fertile, my lord, and we
are an extremely rich fortress in terms of crops and livestock,” Remington
replied, feeling less nervous with him now that they were on a subject she knew
something about. “Sheep is our primary source of income.  Half of the village
of Boroughbridge is employed by our sheep works in one fashion or another.  In
addition to wool, mutton and lanolin, we grow wheat, millet and oats in great
quantities and ship a good deal of it to London merchants.  Harvest is
approaching in August and we will be besieged with dealers come the time.”

     “Do you have a mill?” he inquired.

     “Aye, milord, a large one,” she said.  “The
peasants use it as well for their crops and we do not charge them a fee. 
Instead, they put a small portion of their harvest into a grain store which is
then kept in reserves for years that are not so prosperous.”

     He absorbed the information, growing more
impressed by the minute.  It would seem that his mighty fortress had more to it
than met the eye, although he was not surprised.

     Satisfaction filled him. Not only was Mt.
Holyoak strategically important, but she was rich as well. Guy Stoneley
deserved none of this magnificence and he was not the least bit regretful that
he had just confiscated another man’s lands by order of the king.

     “What do you plan to do with Mt. Holyoak,
my lord?” Remington asked softly, breaking into his thoughts.

     He looked to her.  “Do with it?  I plan to
live here.”

     She tilted her head thoughtfully.  “And you
plan to keep my family here, as well?  Or do you intend to send us away?”

     “I do not know yet,” he replied. “Have you
somewhere else to go?”

     “Nay, my lord,” she answered. “My father
died a few years ago and my sisters and I have no one else.”

     His eyes roved over her as if he were
contemplating what in the hell to do with her.  Remington felt like unwanted
baggage.

     “As long as you remain useful I will retain
you,” he said after a moment.  “But you are not a primary concern for the
moment.”

     Remington knew that; she was used to being
forgotten and cast aside.  Gaston gazed at the room a moment longer before
rounding the desk toward her, his massive body filling the room like nothing
she had ever experienced before.  He was a few feet away, yet she could feel
the heat from his body like a roaring blaze and her face began to feel warm. 

     “I would eat now,” he told her, his voice
quiet yet amazingly low and powerful.

     She took a deep breath to steady herself. 
“I have ordered mutton prepared a variety of ways my lord.  I hope they are to
your liking.”

     He did not answer as she opened the door
and preceded him from the room.  She did not wait for him, nor did she pause to
allow him to pass before her.  She continued into the great hall, her head
lowered, feeling far more despondent than she had earlier. She had even lost
her appetite, her eyes seeking out her sisters to make sure all had gone well
in her absence. All she wanted to do now was make sure the knights were taken
care of and retire for the evening. Her head was beginning to ache.

     Gaston was behind her, watching the
delicious sway of her hips underneath the yellow surcoat.  She was obviously
intelligent and well spoken, which piqued his interest, but he had more
important things on his mind than this woman. He took the seat she indicated at
the head of the table between Arik and Patrick.