The Dark One: Dark Knight (68 page)

     “Adeliza de Russe,” Patrick murmured in
thought.  “I do not remember her at all, although my father said she was the
most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even more beautiful that my mother.”

     “Your mother was a saint,” Gaston said
flatly. He was growing depressed on the subject of his father and mother. He
remembered his conversation with Arik, trying to explain why he had never allowed
himself friends during his life, trying to explain how his parent’s death had
affected him. It never occurred to him that he was afraid to allow friendship
into his life because he was a man of deep, deep emotion. All he knew was that
friendship, and love, had hurt him terribly. 'Twas mayhap the reason he was so
deeply involved with Remington; he had let his guard down for her and it would
kill him to lose her.

     “Patrick, I would ask one more thing of you
before I leave. Watch out for Dane and Trenton, if you would. Both of them are
likely to feel a bit lost for a while, in lieu of recent events.”

     Patrick nodded seriously. “I shall keep my
eye on them. Truthfully, Dane seems very strong and Trenton most eager. I think
they'll do fine.”

     “Arik thought so,” Gaston suddenly felt a
stab of pain through his heart at the mention of his friend. The conversation
ended, he silently dismissed himself from his cousin and took the ladder from
the wall.

     Patrick hung over the top of the wall. “Are
you taking Nicolas with you?”

     “Aye,” Gaston nodded. “I am also taking
four other knights, although I have yet to choose. The rest will remain with
you.”

     Satisfied, Patrick watched his cousin as he
went to brief his knight corps on his plans. With the recruits occupied, Gaston
had called the meeting in the troop house.

     Patrick knew Gaston was shaken with Arik’s
death. Hell, he himself had difficultly believing what had happened. Which was
why he occupied himself constantly; if he had a moment to think, grief ate at
him like a cancer. But Gaston, as always, was dealing with the fact admirably.

     Patrick squared his shoulders; he was in
charge of Mt. Holyoak now and pleased with the opportunity. He would not fail
his liege or his king, but he prayed secretly that Botmore would be stupid
enough to try something while Gaston was away. He wanted a chance at the man;
just one chance would be all he would need.

     For Rory.

     Gaston took no longer than necessary to
explain his departure to his knights. Seasoned men that he trusted implicitly,
he selected four knights to accompany him and sent the rest on their way.
Issuing instructions to the four, they began immediate preparations for their
trip to London.

     The day was progressing and he made his way
back to Remington, taking extra time to study his fortress and trying to
remember anything he might have forgotten to deal with. As he was making his
way to the inner bailey, a sentry shout on the outer wall halted him.

     Incoming riders. Gaston quickly mounted the
outer wall, standing beside Roald as the man scanned the horizon.

     “They're flying yellow and gray standards,
my lord,” he lowered his spyglass. “Not Botmore.”

     “Yellow and gray,” Gaston repeated. “I am
expecting no one and am not familiar with those colors. I wonder who it is?”

     One of the men on the wall was an old
soldier of Stoneley's, an aged warrior who had served Guy and his father. Be
cleared his throat loudly.

     “If I may, my lord de Russe,” his old voice
cracked, well aware that the men-at-arms were forbidden to speak to Gaston.

     “’Tis Lord Ripley, of Ripley Castle. His
keep is west of Scotton Woods.”

     Gaston looked at the old man. “Enlighten
me. Where is Scotton Woods?”

     “North and west of Knaresborough,” the
soldier replied. Seeing that he had not been reprimanded for speaking out of
turn, he added: “He and Lord Stoneley held little love for each other, but Lord
Ripley and Lord Botmore are allies. Ripley Castle is a massive keep, nearly as
large as Mt. Holyoak. 'Tis even larger than Crayke.”

     Gaston raised a faint eyebrow, watching the
small dots in the distance grow larger. He digested the information from the
old soldier. “Lower the drawbridge, but keep the portcullis down. I want two
companies of archers on the outer wall aimed at the incoming party.”

     Roald nodded sharply and began issuing
quick orders. Gaston leapt to the ladder and took two rungs before pausing a
moment.

     “You there, soldier,” he said to the old
man. “What is your name?”

     The old man almost choked on his own
tongue. “Martin, my lord. Martin Sals.”

     Gaston almost smiled at the name; had not
he just been speaking of a 'Martin’? Instead, he looked at Roald. “Reward him
for his information, Roald. Anything he desires.”

     He descended the ladder, leaving the old
man astonished.

     He moved quickly to the troop house and
proceeded to don several pieces of armor, cursing himself because he had left
the majority of his armor in his bedchamber. Sending one of his squires off at
a run to retrieve the pieces, he managed to cover himself quite completely with
the help of his remaining squire and a tunic of mail. The mail tunics were
nearly obsolete in lieu of full plate armor, but it was all he had at the
moment.

     Patrick and Antonius met him at the
portcullis as the approaching army reached the base of the hill. Four men broke
off from the main body and began a slow ascent to the drawbridge.

     “Who are they?” Antonius asked, in full
battle armor.

     Gaston crossed his thick arms, watching the
approach with narrowed eyes. “I was told they are flying Lord Ripley's colors.”

     “Did you send a missive to him for a meet?”
Patrick asked.

     “Aye, I did, but he has not responded as of
yet,” Gaston eyed the four riders. “Apparently, this is his response.”

     The four horsemen came to a halt at the end
of the dirt path, just shy of the drawbridge. The destriers snorted and danced,
tossing their heads about as the humans astride them scrutinized the occupants
of Mt. Holyoak through the closed portcullis.

     “My lord de Russe?” one of the men
addressed Gaston.

     Something inside Gaston's head recognized
the voice, but he could not place it. “Who asks?”

     The knight flipped up his visor. “Sir
Hubert Doyle, my lord. I saw you in Ripon a few weeks ago.”

     Gaston felt a bit more comfortable, but he
was still properly leery. “Who are you serving, Doyle?”

     “Sir Alex Ripley, my lord,” Hubert replied,
indicating the man next to him.

     Gaston watched as the man raised his visor,
meeting Gaston with curious eyes. He was older, his eyebrows graying. “My lord
de Russe,” he said formally. “I have come in answer to your writ. It would seem
we have much to discuss.”

     Gaston uncrossed his arms and approached
the portcullis. “You have caught me at an unfortunate time, my lord. I am due
in London as we speak,” he waved his hand and the portcullis went up; he saw no
danger at all. The four horsemen were not even armed with swords. “Have your
men set camp at the base of the hill. I will give you what time I can.”

     Hubert, Sir Alex and another man dismounted
while the fourth man turned and descended the hill. The hooves of the destriers
made hollow sounds as they clopped across the drawbridge.

     “We were told of Sir Arik's untimely
accident,” Hubert said as he reached Gaston. “Boroughbridge can speak of
nothing else. And I understand one of the ladies was killed as well.”

     Gaston nodded slowly. “An ambush by Lord
Botmore.”

     Sir Alex cleared his throat, eyeing Hubert.
“Ever since Derek was killed, Keith can speak of nothing but revenge. He
thought to convince Brimley to band with him on an assault against Mt. Holyoak
because Catherine Brimley was betrothed to Derek, but Brimley refused.”

     “I know,” Gaston said flatly. “I helped
Lord Brimley fight off Botmore's anger and the baron informed me as much.”

     Sir Alex looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“He has come to me as well, my lord. He is trying to band the whole of
Yorkshire against you.”

     Gaston fixed Sir Alex with an open gaze and
crossed his arms again. “And?”

     “And I refused him, naturally,” Ripley
replied. “He seems more driven to destroy you personally than to rebel against
Henry's rule.”

     Squires from Ripley's army returned with
the fourth knight and took the horses from the warriors. Ordering the bridge
raised just high enough that no one could ride in or out, Gaston motioned the
men inside.

     Remington was waiting for them in the
solar. Gaston was mildly surprised to see her until he saw that she had set out
refreshments for he and his guests. As always, the perfect chatelaine, and his
heart warmed.

     “Lady Stoneley,” Lord Ripley greeted her
warmly. “May I say that you are blossoming outside of your husband's presence.”

     She swept her lashes against her cheek
coyly. “'Tis a pleasure to see you again, my lord. I was unaware of your visit
to us this day.”

     “I sent no word ahead,” Ripley replied, his
eyes full of Remington. There was a good reason he had not sent word ahead, but
she did not need to know that.

     Remington smiled and respectfully backed
her way out of the room, her eyes lingering on Gaston overlong. He gave her a
faint smile and closed the door behind her.

     Ripley poured himself a huge goblet of wine
as if he were in his own home, not a mere guest. “Thank God for Guy's
imprisonment,” he mumbled, his eyes lingering on the door again as if to see
Remington. “She was... so unfortunate.”

     Gaston detected a trace of longing, or
wistfulness, ‘Twhich he could not be sure and jealousy coursed up his spine at
the man's manners toward Remington.

     We are not here to speak of Lady
Remington,” he said shortly. “We are here to speak of my presence in Yorkshire
and the state of your loyalty to the crown. But before we begin, tell me why
you did not send a missive ahead notifying me of your arrival?”

     Ripley downed the wine. “Because of
Botmore. Had he intercepted the missive, it could have meant trouble for me. He
would most likely have lain in wait for my delegation. The man is mad, I tell
you. Derek was his everything for living.”

     “Do you know why I killed Derek?” Gaston
asked after a moment.

     Ripley shook his head, pouring more wine.”
I do not.” Gaston glanced at Patrick. “Because he abducted Lady Remington and
two of her sisters. When I caught up to him, he threatened to kill Lady
Remington if I did not let him continue home unmolested. One of my men took him
out and, therefore, saved the lady's life and possibly the lives of her
sisters.”

     Ripley nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “He
harbored a softness for Lady Remington. So did his father, after he was
widowed. They were allies with Stoneley because of her, you know. They knew
what went on around here and they both imagined she would welcome a lover.”

     Gaston couldn't help himself from asking.
“She never did?”

     Ripley shook his head faintly, observing
his cup. “Guy would not have cared, of course, but she did not want anything to
do with anyone. I. . . I feel sorry for her. She's the most beautiful woman in
these parts and she's condemned to a living hell with Stoneley. I pray every
night that Stoneley dies in prison, the bastard. He was a terrible ally and an
even worse husband.”

     Gaston's careful facade was nearly gone. He
wasn't so much jealous anymore as he simply wanted to run to Remington and hold
her. He wondered if she knew just how public her 'secrets' were. Hearing it
reflected in someone else's words shook him.

     Ripley looked up at Gaston from where the
man stood, emotionlessly, contemplating the bank of tapers against the wall.
“Forgive me, my lord. I am off the subject already. Please continue with your
agenda.”

     “Indeed,” Gaston looked at the man. “You
will forgive me, then, if I seem rushed. As I said, I am due in London.”

     “Henry could never do long without you, my
lord,” Hubert said praisingly, thrilled to be in the presence of the Dark
Knight again. “Tis unlikely he would leave you alone for long, especially this
far north.”

     Gaston looked at the man. “Actually, I am
taking Lady Stoneley to London, but that is a long story. And you, Doyle; you
are now sworn to Lord Ripley? What happened to the tournament circuit?”

     Hubert shrugged. “I prefer real fighting to the slap
and tickle of the tournament. Moreover, Lord Ripley made me his captain when he
heard I had fought with you for Edward. I have charge of a fortress nearly as
large as yours.”

     Gaston nodded faintly, moving around
Patrick and toward the oaken desk. Reaching the table, he lowered himself
slowly into the chair. When he raised his head, his face was unreadable.
“Pleasantries out of the way, it would seem we have several things to discuss.”