The Dark One: Dark Knight (85 page)

     “Thank God they are gone,” he said. “Now we
may speak the truth. How is it that you have become Henry's pawn, Remington?”

     “I am not his pawn.” She was still on the
other side of the room, a good distance away. “And I have been speaking the
truth the entire time. I hate you and I want out of this marriage.”

     His jaw ticked and she involuntarily
flinched, waiting for the pain that was sure to follow. Surprisingly, he did
not come toward her with murder on his mind. Instead, he turned toward the
narrow window, feeling the heat wafting on the stale breeze.

     As you say, Remi,” he said lightly. “But I
warn you, if you intend to go through with this, it will cost you. Dearly.”

     “It can cost me nothing more than you have
already taken,” she said flatly. “You have stripped me of everything in life,
Guy. What more could you possibly want from me?”

     He smiled humorlessly, still staring out
the window. “Do you wish to know my terms?”

     “I do.” She was shocked and wary that he
did, indeed, have terms. He had insisted to Gaston that there were no terms to
be met.

     He looked at her, then. “Kiss me.”

     She blanched. “What?”

     “I said kiss me.”

     She backed away, shaking her head but he
held up a finger of warning. “Kiss me or there will be no more discussions.”

     She froze, bile rising in her throat. Dear
God, did this man have no mercy? Forcing her feet to move, she shuffled
unsteadily to where he was standing. Expectantly, she stood in front of him and
prayed fervently that she would not vomit on him.

     “Kiss me, Remington,” he repeated.

     It suddenly occurred to her that he wished
for
her
to do the kissing. As if she were servicing him. Like a whore.
She stood on her toes and pecked him lightly on the lips, backing away so fast
she nearly tripped. He frowned.

     “That was not a kiss,” he said. “When I
said kiss me, I meant it. Let me feel your tongue.”

     She let out a whimper and closed her eyes,
hanging her head. “Guy, why must you...?”

     “Kiss me!” he snapped. “Do it or I will
speak with you no further.”

     She had to get it over with; arguing with
him would be to of no avail and she was desperate enough to do almost anything
to gain her means. Thrusting herself forward, she latched onto his lips and
pried his mouth open with her tongue, only to be met by his eager response.
Frightened and sickened, she pulled away as quickly as it started and staggered
away from him, truly fearful that she would become ill.

     Guy smiled. “You see? That was not so bad.”

     She wiped at her mouth with the back of her
hand, ashamed and disgusted. “Get on with it, Guy. What are your terms?”

     He was smiling smugly at her. He wandered
away from the window and seated himself comfortably in a chair. His gaze was
lingering, while hers was hateful. The tension in the room was building as far
as she was concerned, but he seemed very much at ease. Her impatience was
growing.

     “Go and sit,” he ordered.

     Haltingly, she looked for the nearest chair
and planted herself rigidly, waiting.

     Guy continued to stare at her, entirely too
confident.

     “You will sit there for the remainder of
the hour,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “You will not say a word, and you
will return to me tomorrow when I have decided just what precisely my terms
are. And I will have terms have no doubt. And you will not tell de Russe what
has transpired during this hour. Is that clear?”

     Stunned, she nodded. She knew him well
enough to know there was nothing more to say; she had heard the tone before,
and she was scared to death of it.

     When Gaston opened the door an hour later,
she bolted from the room as if her hair was on fire.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Gaston carried her from
the third floor of the White Tower, all the way to his quarters near the Martin
Tower. She was so upset that she was having difficulty walking and fury seized
him as he held her tightly in his arms. He was terrified to know what Stoneley
had said to her, and furthermore terrified that he would no longer be able to
maintain his slimly held control. If Stoneley had threatened or harmed her,
then he would truly kill him this day.

     She pushed herself from his arms when they
reached the small, but comfortable room he had occupied the previous night. As
she sat, he poured her a strong drink and bade her drink the entire glass.

     It was strong and she choked it down. As
the warmth of it seeped into her veins, she felt herself calming. She calmed
even more when Gaston pulled her out of the chair, took it himself, and then
seated her on his lap.

     His strength filled her. Free of Guy's
piercing stare, she was able to rationalize herself somewhat. Gaston waited for
her to speak first.

     “Bloody hell,” she mumbled, laying her head
on his massive shoulder as he sat back in the chair.

     “What did he say, angel?” he asked gently.

     She thought a moment. Guy had told her to
keep silent, but she would be damned if she was going to keep secrets from
Gaston. Besides, there had been nothing much said.

     “He told me not to tell you anything,” she
began.

     Gaston was torn between forcing the truth
out of her and leaving her alone. She did not give him the chance to make a
decision.

     “But I did not promise him anything, so I
would not be breaking my word,” she continued, snuggling against him and
relishing the feel of his body. “But promise me that you will not become irate,
no matter what. I cannot take any more strong emotion this day, Gaston. I will
surely swoon.”

     “I promise you, angel, I shall remain
calm,” he assured her, but he wondered if he meant it. “What did he say?”

     She sighed. “I get the impression that he
believes I have been brainwashed by Henry somehow; he asked me why I was
allowing myself to be the king's pawn. Then…,” she paused, still disgusted by
what had happened. “Then he told me to kiss him. I had to, Gaston, or else he
said he would not speak to me anymore. After that, he had me sit in a chair for
the rest of the hour. He told me to return to him on the morrow and he would
relay his terns for his cooperation. He promised he would have terms, and he
furthermore promised that it would cost me dearly. I wonder what he could mean?
I have nothing of value.”

     Gaston fought down his rage, concentrating
on stroking her lovingly.

     “He's a clever bastard,” he muttered. “He
was told he would only be able to see you one time, and now he has managed to
stretch it into two visits. Do not be surprised if he does not have his terms
readied by tomorrow. He might drag this out as long as he can.”

     But why?” she sat up and looked at him.
“What can he possibly gain by my repeated visits?”

     He smiled ironically. “He knows that you
have my ear, angel. And I, in turn, hold Henry's ear. He is not a fool, and I
fully believe he realizes what his possibilities are.”

     She sank back against him, silent and
thoughtful. “I want this to be over with so badly when, in fact, it has only
begun.”

     He lifted an eyebrow in agreement,
continuing to caress her gently as the heat of the afternoon seeped into the
walls.

     “At least he promised me that he would have
terms,” she said after a moment. “That, I think, is something.”

     He let out a long sigh. “I am curious as to
what those terms are. I fear for what he will demand.”

     “Mt. Holyoak?” she asked.

     “I care not about the keep; as much as I
have grown fond of it, I will not hesitate to return it. However, it will leave
me one less bribe for the church. I am afraid I shall have to rely on Henry for
donations to our cause.”

     “He will do this for you,” she murmured.

     “Fortunately, Henry would do most anything
for me,” Gaston replied, thinking about Warminster and suddenly wishing he had
accepted the dukedom. If it was his, then he could donate it to the church and
Henry would have virtually no say in the matter. He regretted that he had asked
Henry to donate it on his behalf.

     “Will I like living at Clearwell?”

     She broke into his thoughts and he shifted
her in his arms. “It is rugged terrain, not the sweetly rolling hills of
Yorkshire,” he replied, thinking of the home he had not seen in a long time.”
But I find it peaceful and lovely. The Welsh border is not far.”

     “If the church takes Clearwell, then we can
live with Uncle Martin, can't we?”

     “I thought you did not like him.”

     She grinned. “I have changed my mind. I
like him a great deal, although he talks too much.”

     He smiled, too. “He does everything in
excess; drinks, eats, wenc... everything indeed.”

     She laughed softly and sat up, rising from
his lap. Her silk dress was becoming damp in the heat and she did not wish to
muss it before supper. In fact, she wanted to strip down to her skin and take a
soothing nap, far from the horrors of the day. She wanted to forget about Guy
for a short while.

     “Gaston, help me from this dress,” she
motioned the stays. “I shall stain it in this heat.”

     He obediently released her from the
garment, throwing it over the chair when she stepped from it. She sat on the
bed and kicked off her slippers, unrolling her stockings and shaking them out.
Clad only in her thin shift, she lay heavily on his cool linen coverlet.

     He raised an eyebrow at her. “You intend to
sleep, do you?”

     “I do,” she sighed, hugging the pillow. “I
am exhausted. This child of yours makes me weak.”

     He snickered, his gaze licking over her
luscious form underneath the nearly transparent shift. He put his hands on his
hips.

     “I have a better idea.”

     She smiled, her eyes closed and pretending
to ignore him. She heard his armor coming off, hitting the floor with
resounding clangs. When she finally heard his boots hit the ground and the
rustle of his clothing, she pulled the coverlet over her protectively.

     “Leave me alone, Gaston. I have no desire
to satisfy your lusty urges.”

     He ripped the coverlet off her so hard that
he tore it completely free of the bed. She giggled as he plopped into bed
beside her, and then squealed loudly when the feather mattress nearly swallowed
her whole because of his weight. He pulled her against him, smiling into her
hair.

     “I did not believe we would be together so
soon,” he purred. “But I see that the opportunity has presented itself. No de
Tormo, no Uncle Martin, no king to interfere.”

     She was facing away from him, her giggles
turning into moans of pleasure as he ran his hands under the shift and latched
onto her rounded breasts. His breathing was hot and heavy on her neck.

     “God, Remi, you are so sweet,” he
whispered.

     She smiled, her eyes still closed as his
huge hands massaged her sensually. “I missed you last night. ‘Twas the first
night we have spent apart in many weeks.”

     “I do not think I slept but an hour or
two,” he confessed, teasing her nipples into taut buds. “I found myself on the
battlements before the sun rose, gazing across the river at Braidwood.”

     She was rapidly losing her control with his
attentions. His hot hands were working her into a frenzy. With a grunt of
pleasure and frustration, she sat up quickly and tore off the shift. In a
flash, she was supine again, her back to his taut chest. He buried his face in
her neck as his hands roamed freely.

     He wanted to go slow with her, gentle, but
his passion overwhelmed him and grasped her knees and pulled her into a fetal
position. Knees almost into her chest, he thrust into her from behind and she
cried out, clutching at the bedclothes as he drove in his long, hard length.
Withdrawing, he lurched into her again deeply.

     Remington pulled the sheets into her mouth
to keep from screaming with passion. In the small quarters, she was positive
someone would hear her.

     He held her tightly as he thrust into her,
again and again, building the heavenly friction. She whimpered over and over,
her mouth stuffed with sheets, feeling his hot breath rapid on the back of her
head.