The Dark One: Dark Knight (112 page)

     He gazed down at her pale, beautiful face,
thinking of the first time he ever saw her. In Ripon, at the tournament, three
other lovely young women had surrounded her, but he'd had eyes only for her. It
amazed him to this day that he had not noticed Gaston and his men sitting
beside her, for the men were certainly not invisible. But he had only had eyes
for her. She was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

     Hubert turned away from her, chasing the
ridiculous thoughts from his head. He had one duty and one duty only; to take
her safely to Ripley and send word to Gaston. Another six or so hours would
have them on Ingilsby's doorstep.

     Remington slept for an hour, as long as
Hubert dared to let her rest. As the sun crept higher in the sky and the morn
warmed, he rose and doused the fire before rousing her.

     “My lady,” he said softly. “Lady.”

     She stirred a bit and her eyes fluttered
open. Seeing a mailed glove in her face, she startled violently as if positive
the hand was placed to harm her. Hubert dropped to his knees and grabbed her by
the arms before she could bolt.

     “Calm, my lady, calm.” he urged firmly.
'Tis me; Hugh. You are safe, but we must continue on.”

     She blinked at him, the great sea-crystal
eyes coming into focus. In his grip, she visibly relaxed.

     “Oh…good lord, I thought….” She swallowed
hard, brushing the hair from her eyes. “I am sorry, Hugh. You startled me.”

     He smiled faintly, his gray eyes twinkling.
“I was waiting for a fist to catch me in the face.”

     She grinned, embarrassed, as she struggled
to stand. He pulled her to her feet, helping her brush the dead grass and
leaves from her cloak.

     Remington smoothed at her hair, still tired
but feeling the least bit refreshed. Her mind was clearing, too, now that she
had put some space between she and Guy. “Where are we, Hugh?”

     “Just shy of Wakefield, my lady,” he
replied, moving to untie the destrier from its post. “We should be at Ripley in
six hours.”

     She shook out her dress and made her way
over to him where he was readying the horse. “How long was I asleep?” she
asked, suddenly showing apprehension. “Could my husband have…?”

     “You were only asleep about an hour,” he
replied, quelling her fears. “And even if Lord Stoneley were right on our
heels, I doubt he could have found us in this bank of trees.”

     She looked back to their small camp. “What
of the smoke from the fire? Surely that would alert him?”

     “It was such a small fire that the smoke
dissipated before it reached the canopy,” Hubert held his hands out to her. “He
would smell the smoke but nothing more.”

     He lifted her onto the beast and mounted
behind her. Shifting her bottom to gain comfort against his heavily armored
thighs, he waited until she stilled before spurring his destrier onward.

The day was beautiful and warm, the humidity
lacking. Remington shunned her cloak, enjoying the warmth and fresh air and
allowing the brilliance to lift her spirits. With each hoof-fall, she felt
safer, more at ease. Hubert rode silently, listening to her hum a lullaby his
mother had sung to him when he was young.

     “You have a son, do you not?” he asked.

     She nodded. “He's fostering at Oxford. And
I have twin daughters, as well.”

     “Oh? I was not aware of any daughters when
I visited Mt. Holyoak, but your son was pointed out to me.”

     She giggled. “That's because the girls were
not born yet. They are three months old.”

He looked surprised.
“You do not look as if you have recently birthed children. In fact, you look….”
He stopped himself, mortified that he was about to compliment the Dark One's
woman as if she were an unattached, available female. 'Twas the natural male
instinct in him to compliment and flatter, and her femininity brought out every
ounce of his maleness. “You look quite pleasant, my lady.”

     She giggled louder, amused at his
embarrassment. “It is very well if you tell me I look pleasant, Hugh. Every
woman likes to be showered with tribute.”

He was glad she wasn't
looking at him; he was blushing like a fool. As fair as he was, his cheeks were
a glowing red. “I did not mean to sound... well, bold.”

     She shook her head, pulling her mass of
curls over one shoulder and off her neck to cool it. “You did not. You were
very polite.”

     He went silent, still humiliated with his
near-slip. Sensing his embarrassment, she sought to ease him. “Are you married
now, Hugh?”

     He looked off across the green hills. “Nay,
my lady. Not yet.”

     “Are you betrothed, then?”

     “Nay,” he replied. “Much to my mother's
concern. She should like grandchildren before too long.”

     “Where does your mother reside?” she asked,
fanning her face.

     “At Ripley,” he said. “Lord Ingilsby was
kind enough to provide for her. She does a good deal of sewing and other
services for Lady Ingilsby.”

     Remington fell silent, thinking of plain
Lady Ingilsby. She couldn't help but remember when Alex Ingilsby had pleaded
with her to run away with him, declaring his affection for her. It had been so
hard for him to admit his feelings, as he was shy and somewhat reserved, and
she had been as kind as she could when she declined his offer. He was such a
tremendously nice man.

     “Lord Ingilsby traveled to London to
testify on my behalf for the annulment hearing, you know,” she said softly. “I
was told he was a most powerful witness.”

     “He was,” Hubert concurred. “I accompanied
him and he was most passionate, which I found surprising. He is a usually a
quiet man.”

     Remington did not say anymore, afraid of
where the conversation would lead. She was married to one man and the lover of
another. If Hubert discovered that still another man had declared his want for
her, she would appear as nothing more than a whore. She did not want him to
think less of Gaston because he loved a whore.

     Yet he already knew she had bore Gaston
twins, and that she had been committing adultery with him for a year. Still,
his manner and words indicated nothing but the highest respect for the man. If
he did not greatly regard Gaston, then he would not be risking his life to save
his lover from her legal husband.

     It never occurred to her that he would
think less of her for the life she had chosen. She was simply worried that he
would perceive Gaston differently. And with the humiliation the man had
suffered through the hands of his wife and former king, she would not allow
that to happen.

     They rode quietly for a short while. As
they passed Wakefield and drew closer to Leeds, activity on the road increased.
Remington eyed the peasants and travelers on the road suspiciously, as if she
expected every one of them to seek out her husband and tell him exactly where
she was. But other than a glance or two, no one seemed to show any interest in
her or the knight at all.

     They skirted Leeds and Hubert spurred his
destrier into a jogging trot. The great bouncy gait made Remington burp very
unladylike and she was embarrassed, hoping he would either slow or speed up the
pace. Much more of the jostling and she was sure she would bounce right off.

     Hubert took them off the main route and
onto a smaller, less traveled road. Whereas the main course dipped and curved
into the towns it serviced, the less-worn road plowed straight and true north.
Ripley wasn't far off.

     The afternoon faded. Remington felt
boneless, weary and weak as she lay against Hubert's broad chest. His armor was
hard and cold, but it comforted her. It reminded her of Gaston.

     Her heart leapt into her throat at the
thought of him. She knew he was pursuing her, but her heart ached when she
realized he knew nothing of her fate. The panic and the pain he was surely
feeling brought tears to her eyes. How she wished she could comfort him,
convince him she was sound and whole.

     Her arms pained to hold him, and her lips
quivered to kiss him. God, how she hurt for him.

     Tears came but she dashed them away
discreetly, hoping Hubert would not sense her sadness. She had no right to be
sad; after all, he had saved her from certain humiliation and death. She tried
to steady herself, to think ahead to Ripley, and to Gaston.

     Hubert heard her sniffling, sympathy for
her situation squeezing at him. He patted her arm gently.

     “No need for tears, my lady. We shall soon
be safe at Ripley.”

     She nodded, drying at her eyes. “I know
that. Forgive me for being foolish, Hugh,” she turned to look at him, forcing
her face to brighten. “I have thought of a way to repay you for your sacrifice.
I swear to you that I will name my next male child Hubert, if indeed I have
another child.”

     He smiled weakly. “No need, my lady. A
simple thanks will be quite sufficient.”

     Her smiled faded, sincerity filling her
eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

     He nodded vaguely, tearing his eyes away
from her consuming gaze. It was not difficult to see why Sir Gaston was so
deeply in love with her.

     They were riding through a light bank of
trees and Remington heard the rushing of water not far off. Thinking it to be a
delightful place to stop, if just for a moment, she turned to Hubert.

     But her words died in her throat. Suddenly,
Hubert was hit from behind so forcefully that both he and Remington went
pitching off his destrier.

     Dazed, Remington struggled to her knees
only to hear a piercing hoot that made her hair stand on end. Panicked, she
fought to gain her footing just as she heard a sword unsheathe behind her.

     Hubert was on his feet, disoriented and
shaken, but otherwise unharmed. He started to yell at Remington, but was cut
off as two men charged him from the trees, barbarians from the way they were
dressed. As the two rushed him, another man closed in on Remington.

     She saw him coming, big and hairy and
unkempt. With a scream, she bolted for the destrier, hoping to find a weapon
strapped to the saddle.

     The horse, however, saw her charging for
him and began to snort and dance, preparing to fight. Fortunately, Remington
looked up from her panic and saw the animal's agitated state. Thinking quickly,
she continued to dash and wave her arms, working the horse into a frenzy.
Praying she was fast enough, she veered sharply from the animal just as he
started to charge.

     The horse did not care who he injured. The
big, hairy accoster was confronted by a very angry warhorse that proceeded to
bite his arm nearly in half. Screaming and howling, the man stumbled back the
way he came.    

     But the reprieve was short lived. There was
another man ready to take his place, barreling toward Remington like a runaway
wagon. Over to her left, Hubert had dispatched one man and was struggling with
the other. He was quick and efficient, and the unintelligent bandits were no
match for him. Two dead men lay at his feet as Remington rushed toward him for
protection.

     The man rushing toward Remington had a
weapon in his hand, a thick broadsword, tarnished and dirty. Just as Remington
ducked behind Hubert, the man was upon the knight and the sound of metal against
metal clanged loudly in the still summer air.

     Remington stood back, panting loudly with
fright as Hubert engaged the tall, youngish man. Her hands clutched at her
throat in fear, cringing every time the alloy swords came together.

     The fight was ferocious and bitter. Hubert
fought extremely well against the man, who seemed as if he intended to chop his
quarry to death. His strokes were jerky, harsh, and unskilled, but there was a
great deal of power behind them.

     Suddenly there were hands grabbing her from
behind and she let out a whoop of shock and terror. Someone had her around the
waist, pulling her up off the ground and breaking for the nearest thicket.

     Remington screamed and fought, trying to
kick and punch, battling for her very life. It proved to be difficult, however,
for her molester held her quite easily and provided her with no opportunity to
land a good blow. Her balled fists were meeting with air.

     Another man came up beside her, grabbing
her by the hair and the man who fisted her hair so savagely leaned closed to
her, telling her in no uncertain terms what he planned to do with her.
Horrified and sickened, Remington began to bellow at the top of her lungs, far
less screaming and far more blatant anger.

     The men who held her merely laughed. The
one who carried her tightened his grip as the other one ran his dirty hands up
her bodice, fondling her tender breasts. Remington lashed out, aiming for his
groin, but being rewarded with a sharp crack to her skull.

     Stars danced before her eyes and night was
beginning to fall, but she fought it. She had to.  She refused to die at the
hands of rapists.