The Dark One: Dark Knight (62 page)

     “Thank you,” she said, dragging her hand
over her forehead.  She had not taken three steps away from him when she
suddenly stopped and face him.

     His eyebrows drew together at the faint
smile suddenly playing on her lips.  “What?”

     She gave him a sly look, one of her very
best.

     “Congratulations, father.”

     He forgot all about his men, the bailey,
the keep, the envoy, and the king.  He was on her in one stride.  “Are you
sure?”

     She smiled and nodded her head slowly. 
“Oh, yes!”

     He stared at her.  Then, the smallest of
twitches tugged at the corner of his mouth.  He had not allowed himself to
think on the prospect since they had last spoke of it because he did not want
to be disappointed.  Listening to her confirmation was almost more than he
could take. “Honestly?”

     “Come early April, I will bear you a son,”
she said confidently.

     He could show no outward signs of his joy,
he knew that distinctly.  But, God help him, he wanted to shout and jump and
hug everyone he could get his hands on.  Including and fore mostly Remington. 
He was struggling so to contain himself that he started to shake and Remington
noticed.

     “What's the matter?” she asked, suddenly
concerned.

     “Nothing, Remi,” he cleared his throat and
stood back from her; he was dangerously close to displaying his joy in front of
a thousand men.  “Go inside now.  I shall send Nicolas to you.”

     She blinked.  No thanks?  No words of joy? 
“Aren't you happy?”

     He let out a choked gasp, taking another
step away from her and raking his fingers through his hair to keep it back.  A
nervous smile burst forth as he gazed at her.  “Remi, I am closer now than I
ever have been in my life to breaking protocol and taking you into my arms. 
Too close! Go inside before I lose all control and ravish you in front of my
men.”

     She grinned in return.  “Then you are
happy.”

     He could only manage an unsteady nod. 
“Aye, happy.  Happier than you will ever know, angel. In fact, I shall show you
just how happy I am later in private.”

     She understood and proceeded to head back
toward the castle, turning every so often to glance back at him.  He still
stood where she left him, staring at her as if she were the Virgin Mary.

***

“You are pregnant?”
Jasmine gasped loudly.

     Remington shushed her harshly as Mary
played at their feet.  “Not a word, Jassy.  Promise me. No one knows but Gaston
and I.”

     Jasmine, her eyes wide as the sky, nodded
with disbelief.  “Oh, Remi... I am so happy for you. But....”

     “But what?” Remington demanded.

     Jasmine looked as if her eyes were going to
pop from her skull.  “I am pregnant, too.”

     “What?” Remington exploded.

     “And so is Skye.”

     “What?” Remington found herself screaming.

     “Remi!” Jasmine yelled back, pleadingly.

     Remington collapsed on the bed behind her,
her face glazed with shock, “You?  Skye?  My baby sisters?”

     Jasmine nodded unsteadily, measuring her
sister's reaction.  Remington was as shocked as she had ever seen her, her
beautiful face pale and her eyes wide.  Then, suddenly, she bubbled out a choke
of laughter.  “And I was worried about the serving wenches,” she said lamely. 
“I was worried about all of the bastards we would have come spring, and look at
us.  'Tis us I should have worried over.”

     Jasmine smiled timidly, watching her sister
as she shook her head in disbelief.  “Antonius has been praying for a son ever
since he found out.  What about Gaston?”

     Remington shook her head, still dazed.  “I
do not know.  When he spoke of the baby, he referred to it as his son.  Of
course he wants a son.”

     “Skye is frightened, which is why she did
not tell you,” Jasmine said.  “Not even Nicolas knows.”

     Remington looked sharply at her sister. 
“He does not?  She must tell him.”

     “She will,” Jasmine said quietly.  “But I
promised her that I would break the news to you.”

     Remington stood up.  The supper hour was
growing near and soon they would be required in the grand hall.  She went to
her wardrobe and drew forth a beautiful surcoat of scarlet silk as her little
niece toddled after her.  When she laid the surcoat on the bed, the baby pulled
it down on the floor and rolled around in it.

     “Mary.” Jasmine extracted her daughter from
the surcoat as Remington undid the stays of her dress.

     “Leave her be, Jassy,” she said with a
faint smile.  “We must become used to young ones around here again.  By summer,
there will be three more to add.”

     Jasmine smiled as Mary began to tug on the
coverlet, trying to pull it down on the floor as well.  “I am so happy, Remi. 
Happier than I have ever been in my whole life.”

     “I can tell,” Remington gazed fondly at her
sister as she lifted the scarlet dress over her head.  “It shows on your face.”

     Jasmine helped her with the surcoat.  “When
are you leaving for London?”

     Remington lost her smile and her mood.  She
had told her sisters everything, of course, and the women were devastated.  No
one had mentioned the subject in almost a week.

     “The envoy wants to leave tomorrow,” she
said softly.  “Gaston said he would speak with him.”

     Her eyes met with her sister's, fear and
terror and apprehension passing between them.  “I am scared for you, Remi,”
Jasmine whispered.  “What if Gaston is unable to keep you from Guy?”

     He won't let Guy near me, I promise you,”
Remington said with more confidence than she felt. “He is the Dark Knight, is
he not?  The king will grant him anything he asks.”

     Mary began to fuss and Jasmine swept her
daughter into her arms.  “She's hungry.  I must take her to her nurse,” she
moved for the door, pausing in the archway.  “Remi... you shall come home soon,
won't you?  You won't stay in London long?”

     “Long enough to obtain an annulment,”
Remington replied.

     “Do not worry, Jassy.  You shall see your
nephew before he grows old enough to foster.”

     Jasmine smiled and quit the room, a sense
of foreboding filling her like nothing she had ever sensed.

     Dinner was a lively occasion.  As Remington
and her sisters helped serve the knights, there seemed to be a special aura
filling the air that had not been there before.  Warmth, affection,
comfort...'twas difficult to describe, but it existed nonetheless.  Nicolas
watched Skye, Patrick watched Rory, Antonius watched Jasmine, and Gaston could
not take his eyes from Remington. In the clear scarlet, she was positively the
most beautiful woman he had ever gazed upon and he felt extremely fortunate.

     Dane and Trenton were official pages now
and not allowed to join the diners.  Instead, they lingered in the recesses of
the hall with a half dozen other pledges and hovered to do the biddings of the
knights.  Remington tried hard not to focus on her son, but it was exceedingly
difficult since they were both serving the knights.  Gaston had asked her not
to speak to him at all, which she thought was ridiculous, but she did as she
was asked, even when they bumped into one another.

     Dane did not say a word.  He rushed away as
if he had bumped into nothing more than a chair and Remington's heart broke in
two.  Biting back tears, she grabbed a pitcher of watered ale and moved to
Gaston's table to replenish the drinks.

     Gaston had seen the exchange and was
pleased that both Remington and Dane were doing as they were told.  But he
could tell the moment he looked at her face that she was close to crying and he
felt for her.  When she moved to top his drink, he gently took the pitcher from
her and sat her down on the bench next to him.

     “You did well, angel,” he said for her ears
only.  “'Twill become easier with time.”

     Her lips twitched and she blinked, fat
tears splattering onto her cheeks that he quickly wiped away.  Within the
privacy of the head table, he was not uncomfortable touching her harmlessly.

     “He will think I have forgotten him,” she
sobbed quietly.

     He smiled sympathetically.  “Nay, he will
not.  He knows that he is a trainee, and therefore no longer entitled to the
courtesy once enjoyed as the young master of the keep.  He realizes his place,
love.  Do not worry that he will resent you for treating him as you should.”

     She put her hand to her face and sobbed
softly.  He chuckled and pulled her head into the crook of his neck.  Arik, on
the other side of her, gazed back with sympathetic amusement.

     “'Tis difficult to cut the cord at seven
years of age,” he remarked.  “Dane is a fine student, my lady.  You will be
very proud of him one day.”

     She sobbed softly.  “I hate you both.”

     Both men laughed heartily.  Gaston kept her
cradled against him as he finished what was left in his cup.  Jasmine, placing
a fresh plate of bread on the table, looked stricken when she saw Remington
crying in Gaston's arms.

     “What's wrong with her?” she demanded.

     “Motherhood,” Arik commented.

     Jasmine's eyes widened.  Gaston caught the
look and knew that she was in on their secret.  His dark expression instantly
quelled any further words from Jasmine and the sister quickly vacated the
table.

     Remington, meanwhile, stopped her tears and
discovered she had a terrible headache.  She pulled away from Gaston and
composed herself.

     “With your permission, my lord, I shall
retire for the night,” she sniffed.

     He peered closely at her.  “Are you feeling
well?”

     “My head aches,” she said truthfully, and
then fixed him in the eye. “A lack of sleep.”

     He cleared his throat in a startled, reflexive
gesture.  “As you wish, my lady. I shall see you later.”

     She rose from the bench, murmuring
something to Rory before continuing the length of the room.  Gaston turned
casually to watch her retreat, aware that every man in the room was watching
her glorious form.  Once, the realization would have made him insane with
jealously. But he was so secure with their relationship that he found himself
bristling with pride.

    
She's mine, lads!

     Remington was almost clear of the room when
a figure rose from one of the tables and blocked her exit.  Gaston was up and
moving when he realized the envoy was attempting to detain her again, and he
would not allow the man to deal her another tongue-lashing.  Everything that
needed to be said had been said not an hour before, between himself and the
priest.  He had yet to inform Remington of the outcome of that meeting.

     “De Tormo, the lady was retiring for the
night,” he said as he came upon them.  “You will not detain her.”

     The priest turned and looked at him, his
eyes narrowed.  “Retiring alone?  A rare occurrence, I am told.”

     Remington swallowed hard, looking at
Gaston.  His face was like stone, impassive and unreadable as always.  After
several uncomfortable moments, he advanced another step on the priest.  He
smiled, but it was a dangerous gesture.

     “I am not in the habit of murdering
priests, even fat obnoxious ones, but I can readily change my practice,” he
said, his voice a low rumble.  “If I were to kill you now, are you assured of
spending eternity in heaven?  You see, I have nothing to lose, for my soul is
already damned.  Is your afterlife as guaranteed?”

     The priest blanched.  “You would not dare
and risk the wrath of the church!”

     Gaston cocked a lazy, confident eyebrow. 
“And I, priest, know a few things about you.  'Tis most hypocritical for an
ordained priest to take a serving wench to his bed, a serving wench that can be
easily bought with a few coins.  I wonder how the diocese would look upon
that?”

     The priest stiffened and his eyes widened. 
“I have done no such thing.”

     Gaston crossed his arms.  “And I say that I
can find at least a half dozen women that will swear on the bible that you
have.  Mayhap more.  Women that will accompany Lady Stoneley to London, ready
to testify if called upon by the papal counsel.”

     The veins in de Tormo's neck bulged. 
“How…how dare you threaten a man of God!  And you, a knight, sworn to uphold the
church?  You should be cowering at my feet, de Russe, not threatening
blackmail!”

     Gaston moved closer, his eyes glittering
like deadly precious stones.  “'Tis no threat, de Tormo. I never threaten.  But
I do promise.  You will go down in flames, I swear it!”

     De Tormo was having difficulty catching his
breath.  Remington, her eyes wide, alternately watched the priest and Gaston. 
She was having difficulty grasping what Gaston was saying, but the priest had
no trouble at all.  He knew.