The Dark One: Dark Knight (18 page)

     Nicolas suddenly burst out of the castle
door, his eyes wide.  He was dressed in most of his armor, his helm on his
head.  But the strangest phenomenon was occurring; it was as if his helm were
raining on his head, for his entire face was wet, dripping onto his chest
armor.  He looked right at Remington.

     “Where is your sister?” he demanded.

     Gaston spoke before she could answer.  “You
will not use that tone with her.  Ever.”

     Nicolas passed a glance at his cousin, his
cheeks flushing.  “My apologies.  Might you know where Lady Rory is, my lady?”

     Remington was looking at him with morbid
curiosity; the water running from his helmet glistened suspiciously.  “I have
not seen her this morn.  What is the matter with your helm, Sir Nicolas?”

     His eyes widened as if he had just been
challenged.  Then the helm came off and Remington was astounded to see great
clumps of white pieces on his head, intermingled with yellow slime.

     “She put eggs in my helm, my lady, and I
failed to see them until it was too late,” he said with controlled anger. 
“Might you have any idea where to find her?”

     Remington should have been mortified to the
bone.  But, instead, laughter was the first thing that popped into her mouth. 
She tried to control her giggles, but she couldn’t.  Within seconds she was
laughing hysterically.

     Gaston eyed his knight critically.  “Go
wash that stuff off.”

     Remington screamed louder when Nicolas
plopped his helmet back on his head, smashing the eggs further.  “It is not
funny.” Nicolas shot back, then eyed Gaston quickly, adding:  “My lady.”

     She opened her mouth to apologize but was
seized with hysterical giggles again and weakly grasped Gaston for support. 
Nicolas looked absolutely ridiculous.

     “I am sorry, Sir Nicolas, truly,” she
sputtered.  “How do you know Rory did it?”

     “Who else?” Nicolas asked loudly.  “She is
sorely tempting fate, my lady, for one of these days I shall do more than welt
her bottom.”

     Remington’s laughter diminished.  “Like
what?  She can fight as well as you can, my lord. I would not want to challenge
her in a fight.”

     Gaston interrupted his cousin’s anger.  “Go
clean yourself up, I said.  Get out of here,” his manner was curt and Nicolas
obeyed grudgingly.  He watched his cousin move out across the inner bailey a
moment before turning to Remington.  “Do you know where your sister might be?”

     Remington’s laughter was gone at his
expression.  “I…nay, I do not.  Surely you are not going to punish her?”

     His eyes turned back to her, like hard
steel.  “She obviously did not listen to you when you told her no more pranks. 
Mayhap she will listen to me.”

     Remington’s eyes widened.  “What are you
going to do to her?”

     “That is not of your affair, madam.  Kindly
tell me where to find Lady Rory,” he was cold and professional.

     A creeping fear filled her.  “I told you I
do not know where she is.  But if I did, I would not tell you.”

     His gaze flickered at the defiance. “I
shall find her myself, then.  Return inside, Lady Stoneley.”

     She met his hard gaze with a cold look of
her own, turning on her heel and marching into the coolness of the structure.

     Gaston did not move a moment, listening to
her boot falls fade.  He suspected she would turn the castle inside out until
she found her sister and he slowly eased himself after her, taking refuge in
the solar for the time being.

     He would not have to lift a finger to find
Lady Rory.  Her sister would do the work for him.

***

     The noon hour approached and Remington had
not done what she was supposed to do.  Irritated, Gaston donned all of his
armor and went back out into the heat of the day to involve himself in the
final aspects of the team house and sub-level repairs.  Moreover, he was
expecting Lord Brimley of Crayke Castle and he wanted to be alerted to the
man’s approach.

     Arik and Antonius had the soldiers working
like slaves, knowing that Gaston wanted the improvements completed before the
week was out.  Nicolas and Patrick were supervising below ground level with a
few other senior knights, while the rest of his knight corps had prepared the
castle for Lord Brimley’s arrival.  It was a chaotic organization at its very
best.

     As expected, Lord Brimley and a force of
about one hundred men were sighted on the horizon in the early afternoon. 
Shouts abounded on the wall as Gaston and Arik moved to secure a view for
themselves.  High on the wall, they could indeed see the approach.  In fact,
Mt. Holyoak was so strategically placed that nearly every spot on the wall had
an unimpeded 300-degree view; the only portion blocked being the point where
the castle itself stood.  On a clear day, Gaston mused that one could see all
the way to Flanders.

     With Arik, Antonius and Patrick by his
side, Gaston moved to greet the baron.

     Lord Brimley was an older man with white
hair and a well-manicured white moustache.  His sons, Walter and Clive, were
average-looking men of good intelligence who fought for Richard.  Gaston knew
of the men vaguely but little beyond that.

     Lord Brimley and his sons left their small
army encamped at the foot of the rise and rode alone to the drawbridge.  Gaston
stood in the middle of the outer bailey, his arms folded across his chest, as
they rode into the keep.  He was the first man to speak.

     “Lord Brimley, I presume?” he asked in a
deep baritone. 

     Brimley wore armor but no helmet; his hair
was perfectly combed.  His sons, too, wore no helms and eyed the Dark Knight
with veiled contempt.

     “You are correct, sir,” Brimley replied,
his manner stiff but not hostile.

     “I am Sir Gaston de Russe,” Gaston said formally. 
“’Twas I who requested your presence on behalf of our illustrious king, Henry. 
We have much to discuss, my lord, if you would kindly dismount.”

     Squires were hovering in the shadows
waiting to take the horses as the three men warily dismounted.  Lord Brimley’s
eyes scanned the interior of the keep.

     “Might I ask what has been done with Lord
Guy’s family?” he asked.

     “They are here, my lord, safe,” Gaston
replied.  He was an excellent judge of character and sensed no hostility from
the man, merely caution.  He seemed to have a noble face and carried himself
well.

     Brimley cleared his throat, removing his
leather gloves.  “Are they part of the bargain, sir?”

     Gaston looked at him a moment.  “I do not
understand, my lord.  What bargain?”

     Lord Brimley studied Gaston a moment.  “The
castle.  Do they come with the castle as fixtures or are they prisoners of the
crown as well?”

     “They are not prisoners, my lord,” Gaston
replied evenly.  “I have made them welcome.”

     Brimley walked towards Gaston, slow, deliberate
steps, yet not provocative.  He looked extremely concerned in a fatherly sort
of way, his brow furrowed.  He glanced at his sons a moment before turning back
to Gaston.

     “Before we go any further, my lord, I would
ask you one thing,” he said respectfully.  “If Sir Guy’s family are not
prisoners as you say they are not, then I should like to take them with me when
I leave.  I would offer them safe haven in my fortress rather than leave them
here with Henry’s guard dog.”

     Had the man delivered the message in
anything other than an even, polite tone, Gaston would have taken tremendous
offense.  Yet he could see that the man was genuinely concerned for Remington
and her brood.  He was surprised.

     “They are quite safe here, my lord, I
assure you,” he replied.  “I see no reason to displace them.”

     Brimley let out a sharp sigh, the only
outward sign of irritation.  His leather gloves slapped at his thigh.  “Do not
misunderstand me, Sir Gaston.  I harbor no love for Sir Guy, but Lady
Remington’s father was a friend of mine.  I must be frank with you and tell you
that I am vastly uncomfortable with four young women in a nest of soldiers. 
They have suff… that is to say; my wife and daughter would take good care of
them.  And they would be away from this tremendous war machine.”

     Gaston observed the man intently.  “You are
correct when you say they have suffered.  But they are safe now and I swear to
you on my oath as a knight that no harm has, or will come, to them.  They are
perfectly safe remaining here at Mt. Holyoak.”

     Brimley peered at Gaston curiously,
surprised the man knew of Sir Guy’s cruelty.  Or was it possible that they were
not speaking of the same thing? He was confused a moment, trying to sort out
his train of thought.  He very much wanted to take Lady Remington and her
sisters away from Mt. Holyoak now that it was occupied, but the Dark One did
not seem eager to be rid of them.

     Was he, perchance, as deviant as their
predecessor?

     Gaston watched the man’s neck flush red and
anticipated the man’s thoughts.  In faith, he was greatly surprised to see such
concern for women.  And obviously, Lord Brimley knew of the atrocities that had
been committed.  Was Remington’s secret not such a secret, after all?

     Lord Brimley looked up to try another
approach when his eye caught something over Gaston’s shoulder.  In fact, his
sons turned their attention for the castle door and Gaston’s head snapped
around.  He knew before he even looked that Remington had made an appearance.

     Her expression was most welcoming as she
crossed the courtyard towards them.  He was livid that she was interfering in
his business, yet with the same thought he knew he had not told her that she
was to stay away.

     “Lord Brimley.  What a surprise.” she said
graciously, offering her hand to the old man.  “I did not know you were
coming.”

     The baron took her hand and kissed it
sweetly.  “My lady, you grow more beautiful by the hour.  Surely the angels are
jealous.”

     She blushed prettily; Remington was very
polished in her feminine skills, in spite of everything.  Her gaze moved beyond
the aged baron to his sons. 

     “Greetings Walter, Clive,” she said
pleasantly.  “I am glad to see you looking well and whole.”

     Gaston carefully analyzed his reaction when
the men responded openly to Remington’s charm; jealousy filled him like a black
tide, washing into every fiber of his body.  Had he not been paying attention
to it, he most likely would have run amuck and speared them all with his great
broadsword in a fit of rage.  As it was, he was somewhat prepared for his
reaction, for he had had a similar experience once before.  It was an amazing,
frightening thing and he found himself swallowing hard, trying to fight it down
like St. George battling the fearsome dragon.

     Walter had Remington by the hand, speaking
pleasantly to her as his brother stood by like an eager dog.  Gaston’s stomach
tightened into knots.

     “We have business to attend to,” he mumbled
to Lord Brimley, then raised his voice to Remington.  “My lady, if you will
excuse us, please?”  It had taken tremendous control to utter that sentence
without rushing to her and snatching her hand from that of the knights’.

     Remington removed her own hand, thankfully,
and smiled at Gaston.  “Of course, my lord.  My apologies for detaining you.”

     His gaze lingered on her for a moment.  She
looked sweet and radiant, not at all like the defiant woman he had parted ways
with earlier.  He wondered if the show was for his benefit alone; mayhap she
was planning sneaking Rory out of the castle while he was occupied.

     He suddenly did not care if she was or
not.  For the first time in his life, he felt the urge to take a woman in his
arms.  Jolted by the urge, he tore himself away from her and preceded his
guests into the castle.

     Remington followed with Clive, going so far
as to make sure the men were settled comfortably in the large solar and
ordering refreshments.  She was the consummate chatelaine, poised and perfect
and beautiful.

     She passed by him, laughing pleasantly at a
comment from Clive when he reached out and grabbed her arm gently.  He was
seated in a great high-back chair and Remington bumped up against his massive
arm, smiling expectantly at him.  They were nearly on the same level.

     Lord Brimley expressed concern for your
welfare,” he said.  “He seems to feel that you are threatened here at Mt.
Holyoak surrounded by my soldiers.  Do you feel threatened?”

     Remington looked surprised.  She looked to
Lord Brimley.  “Surely not, my lord.  Sir Gaston and his men have been most
chivalrous.”

     Brimley looked flustered and cleared his
throat.  “Truly I have only been thinking of your welfare, my lady.  I proposed
to take you and your sisters back with me to Crayke simply to keep you from
underfoot with so many soldiers about.  I meant no offense.”