The Dark One: Dark Knight (63 page)

     De Tormo was no fool.  He could read his
death in the knight's eyes and it scared the hell out of him.  De Russe wanted
something, and he wanted it badly enough to threaten to kill a man of the
cloth.  This threat went beyond that fact that de Tormo had heard of his relationship
with Lady Stoneley; nay, this went deeper.  He was intelligent enough to know
that and savvy enough to respond.

     “Then what is it you would have of me?” the
priest choked out.  “My oath of silence?  What?”

     Gaston backed off slightly.  “In the solar. 
I do not conduct business in the open.”

     The priest bowed away, flicking an
uncertain glance in Remington's direction.  She watched him slink away, and
Gaston put his hand on her arm in a reassuring gesture as he attempted to
follow.

     “Wait,” Remington put her hand on him. 
“May I come?”

     He looked hesitant.  “This is business,
angel.  Go on to bed and I shall seek you later.”

     “I would like to come,” she said, a request
and not a demand.  “I assume that what will be said will directly affect me?”

     He gazed back at her, swallowed by her
intelligent eyes.  Aye, she was smart with a head for business.  He had seen
it.  This was no empty-headed chit, but a magnificent, brilliant woman, the
mother of his future child, his future wife.  He respected her astute mind more
than he had ever respected almost anyone, including Henry.

     “Very well,” he relented softly.  “But I
will do the talking, madam.  Understood?”

     “Of course, Gaston,” she looked surprised
that he would even say such a thing.  “Did the priest really take a serving
wench to his bed?”

     Gaston pulled her into the dim foyer as
they headed for the solar.  “No.  But it is amazing what money can buy.”

     Her eyes widened.  “But why do you do
this?  Why are you worried that he knows of us?”

     He sighed.  “Listen when I speak to him,
angel, and you will understand then.”

     He opened the door and ushered her into the
solar.  De Tormo was sitting in the hide-covered chair next to the hearth,
looking distinctly apprehensive.  He did not look up when Gaston and Remington
entered the room.

     Gaston closed the door and went right to
the point.  “I have a proposition for you, priest.”

     The man turned, then.  “I suspected as
much.  What is it?  How am I to perjure myself, my lord?”

     Gaston actually sat opposite the priest,
unusual that he would sit in the presence of anyone. He never sat when
conducting business, but he did this time.  He wanted to be, somehow, less
threatening.  He wanted information, and he wanted help, and he did not want to
beat the man into agreement.

     “Undoubtedly you have heard the rumors
regarding Lady Stoneley and myself,” he began quietly.  “To deny them would be
futile, I fear.  It is because of this that I must seek your counsel.”

     The priest still looked apprehensive, but a
sort of weariness had set in as well.  “Speak, then.”

     Gaston was truly annoyed by the man's
haughty attitude, but he admired it as well.  If this man could stand up to him
this well, imagine how he could stand up to his superiors.  Gaston, in spite of
the fact that he did not like this priest, wanted him on his side.  Any way he
could have him.

     “I will come to the point,” Gaston said. 
“I wish to marry Lady Stoneley.  What is involved in obtaining an annulment?”

     The priest looked shocked.  His eyes
widened and he looked to Remington a moment before turning back to Gaston. “An
annulment?  On what grounds?”

     “Cruelty,” Gaston said shortly.  “Guy
Stoneley has beat and raped his wife and her sisters for nine years.”

     The priest shook his head slowly.  “Not
sufficient.  A man's wife is his chattel, as you know.  He can do as he wishes
without interference from the church.”

     Gaston pursed his lips into a hard, flat
line.  “But he still must adhere to the moral code of the church, in which he
took his vows.”

     De Tormo considered the argument.  Then, he
shook his head again.  “Too vague, de Russe. Now, were he to worship the devil
and force her to participate, it would be another matter.  But you cannot base
an annulment on simple discipline.”

     “Discipline.” Gaston repeated with outrage. 
“He beat them, priest.  There is nothing in the world a woman could do to
warrant that kind of severe discipline.”

     De Tormo was quite calm and neutral, not at
all staunch and opposed to what was being suggested.  Remington found it
surprising that he would not lecture then endlessly for breaking God's
commandment.

     “Discipline can be interpreted many ways,
de Russe.  What is your interpretation might not be another's,” he replied
even.  “Nay, an annulment must be based on something much more severe, as I
said.  If Guy were proven a traitor to England, or....”

     But he is in jail as a prisoner of the
crown.” Remington suddenly said, forgetting her promise to remain silent. 
“Isn't that considered a traitor?”

     “Not unless he swears he is a traitor,
which he will not,” the priest replies.  “If I were to ask him if he were a
traitor to England, you know he would refute it.  Nay, a man is only a traitor
to his country if he is in league with another government or country.  Guy is
not guilty of betraying England herself, only his king.”

     Remington looked at Gaston in confusion. 
He understood the priest perfectly and put out a hand to her.  Hesitantly, she
placed her hand in his huge palm.  “What he is saying is that Guy did not
betray his country with the purpose of placing a foreign ruler on the throne. 
Guy fought against England for England.  He’s not a true traitor in the sense
of the word.”

     She hung her head in understanding; aware
that Gaston had pulled her against the chair he sat in.  He still held her hand. 
She listened to Gaston and the priest converse, mildly surprised that the tone
was civil.  In fact, De Tormo seemed to have lost his arrogant disposition and
was speaking quite politely.

     Then, something occurred to her.  Devil
worship, did the priest say?  A thought struck her like lightening, so much so
that she actually jumped.  Gaston turned to look up at her, but she was focused
on the priest.

     “What if I could prove to you that Guy
worshipped the devil?” she asked, her eyes glittering.

     The priest blinked.  So did Gaston.  “You
can prove this?” De Tormo asked hesitantly.

     She nodded eagerly.  “Aye, I can.  Come
with me and I shall show you.”

     She flew to the door, opening it eagerly. 
The men were still sitting.  “Get up!”

     They followed her to the second floor of
the keep, pacing down dim corridors.  Gaston began to have an inkling of an
idea as to where she was taking them, but held his tongue.  He would not
interfere with her plan, and an excellent one at that.  He was glad he had not
underestimated her cleverness.

     As he suspected, she led them into the
southwest turret and they carefully ascended the spiral stairs.  Gaston was
directly behind her in case she should lose her footing as they made their way
to the tower room.  Charles' room.

     Thankfully, Charles wasn't there. 
Remington led the men into the room, a sinister assortment of implements and
potions cluttered about the place as well as several books.  The overall
impression was chaotic, as if a mad sorcerer kept shop in the room.  Remington
pointed to the pentagram that decorated the near wall.

     “You see?  He worships Satan here,” she
announced.    

     The priest's mouth was open as he stared at
the pentagram, eyed the potions and kicked at a bucket filled with something
dark and slimy.  He picked up a bowl and blew at it, only to be covered by a
cloud of whitish dust.  Coughing, he set the bowl down and eyed Remington.

     In a cage hanging from the ceiling was a
fat, nasty toad.  The priest eyed it warily and the frog burped loudly at him.

     “A toad.” he announced distastefully.

     “He kept it to house his soul,” Remington
said, hoping fervently that the man would believe that this was the room of a
Satanist.  Not the laboratory of a curious teenage boy.

     “You are sure, my lady?” he asked.

     She nodded unsteadily.  “I told you I was
married to Satan.  I meant it.”

     The priest's gaze lingered on her a moment
before he focused on a table holding several books.  Gingerly, he retrieved one
of the books and held it up to the light, examining it.

     “Human skin.” Remington blurted.  “That
book is covered in human skin.”

     The book clattered to the floor.  “I have
seen enough,” the priest announced, sweeping to the door.  He looked pointedly
at Remington.  “My lady, I will testify before the papal counsel that I myself
observed your husband's house of devil worship.  Have no fear that they will
listen to me.”

     “Thank you,” Remington breathed.  “I simply
want to be free of an evil, evil man.”

     “No doubt,” the priest gave the room one
final, disgusted look.  “After seeing this disgrace, I have no misgivings that
the baron should be burned at the stake.  In fact, I might recommend just
that.”

     “But there is more to it than just your
word,” Gaston entered the conversation.  “What else is involved with the
annulment?”

     De Tormo was decidedly uncomfortable with
Satan's den behind him; he kept inching away from the door.  “Indeed, de
Russe.  You must obtain eight testimonies from notable and trustworthy people,
who, for you, will not be difficult,” he glanced at Remington.  “But the lady
must obtain testimonies from people who know of her husband's indiscretions
which, I fear, may not be so easy.”

     Remington gazed back a bit fearfully. 
“But…but he kept his devotion secretive.  How can I obtain eight testimonies if
no one knew of his lust?”

     “As I said, it may not be so easy,” the
priest glanced to the tower room again, shaking his head. “Yet, mayhap with my
own witness, the church will relax the lady's restrictions.  But you realize,
of course, that not only must the lady's marriage be annulled, but Sir Gaston's
marriage to his deceased wife must be annulled as well.”

     Gaston nodded faintly; he knew that, but he
was not concerned.  The only matter that concerned him was Guy Stoneley.  “I am
aware of that, priest.  The church shall have their eight depositions from the
most powerful men in Henry's court.”

     The priest snorted.  “No doubt one from
Henry himself.”

     Gaston lifted an eyebrow in response.

     Without another word, the priest descended
the stairs, leaving Gaston and Remington standing in the doorway to the tower
room.  When they heard the door slam below, they looked at each other.

     Gaston smiled warmly at her.  “My
compliments, Lady Remington.  A most brilliant move on your part.”

     She flushed.  “I hoped he would believe
it.”

     He took her in his arms.  “Apparently he
did,” he said softly.  “Is that book really bound in human skin?”

     She nodded. “It really is.  But it is also
over one hundred years old, from Egypt. 'Tis a book of ancient recipes.”

     He laughed softly, rocking her tenderly in
his arms.

 She clung to him.  “It is almost too good to
believe, Gaston.  Will he truly help us?”

     “It would seem so, and without my having to
blackmail him,” Gaston replied.

     “Is that what you were going to do?  Force
him into helping us?” she asked softly.

     “'Twas my intention,” he admitted.  “I was
going to pay several serving women to say that the priest slept with them if he
refused to assist us with the annulment.  As much as I loathe devious means to
gain my ends, I would have done it.  Anything for you.”

     “You said when you first entered the solar
that you had a proposition for him,” she said. “What was it?”

     “That he help us attain our annulment and
in exchange, I would not ruin his secular life,” he replied.  “As if stands, I
may not need to resort to bribery at all.  You, my brilliant little tart,
seemed to have spared the priest and I a most uncomfortable situation.”

     She lowered her lashes shyly.  “It wasn't
much.”

     “Ha.” he took her hand and preceded her
down the stairs.  “You are incredibly astute, my lady. Our son will be the most
intelligent, brilliant being on the face of the earth.”

     She was rosy with the compliments as he led
her to the second floor landing and opened the door.

     “I must find Charles and tell him what I
have done,” she said.  “I would not want something to slip our inadvertently
before we leave.”

     “Agreed,” he said.  “Inform your sisters,
too.”

     “I will,” she nodded.  “I shall do it now,
before I retire.”