The Dark One: Dark Knight (115 page)

     Keith looked at him a long moment. “I shall
ride with you.”

     Guy's smile turned real. “Of course you
will.”

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

     Gaston skirted the edges of the trees that
lay at the bottom of Mt. Holyoak's rise. The very same trees and shrubs where
Remington had once collected flowers the summer before, the very first time he
had actually had a chance to speak with her. When he met Dane. When he realized
that he felt something for her.

     In early summer they were awash with
gardenias, wild roses, jasmine, dogwood and other delightful blooms. The smell
was heady in his nostrils as he paused at the very border of the trees, his
eyes scanning the walls of the great fortress that two men so dearly claimed.

     He drank in the sight of the stone edifice,
feeling the warm memories and possessiveness fill him like a bottomless well;
it ran much deeper than he realized. True, he was extremely fond of the
fortress, but gazing at it again brought him to the realization that he was
home. His and Remi's.

     His eyes scanned the battlements and he
could see sentries walking their posts.
His
sentries. Although he knew
it was not possible, somehow he had wildly imagined that Guy would return and
kill all of his men, replacing them with rebels. He could see now that that was
not the scenario.

     Spurring Taran on, he galloped up the steep
narrow road that led to the drawbridge of his might keep.

     The men stationed on bridge-duty saw him
storm up. Shocked, the cries that the duke had returned bounced among the
soldiers until every one of them had turned up to greet their liege. By the
time the bridge was lowered and the sharp-teethed portcullis raised, Gaston's
men were assembled with waiting arms.

     He rode in, balanced atop his excited
warhorse. Roald and Charles were the very first to rush forward and greet him.

     “My lord.” Roald called, smiling. “What
brings you back to Yorkshire?”

     Gaston bailed off Taran, sidestepping all
pleasantries. “Did Guy Stoneley return here?”

     Both Roald and Charles looked shocked.
“Returned?” Charles gasped. “Is he free?”

     Gaston's answer was before him; they had no
such knowledge of Stoneley's return and Gaston felt as if he had been hit in
the stomach. No Guy, and no Remington.

     His breath exhaled painfully, laboriously.
“He escaped and took Remington with him. I was expecting…nay, I was hoping he
would come here.”

     Charles went white and closed his eyes.
“God help her. Oh, dear God, help her.”

     Roald looked concerned, glancing at his
young friend before turning his attention back to Gaston. “We have heard no
word of his escape, nor of his presence anywhere in the area. He took Lady
Remington, did you say?”

     Gaston nodded, suddenly very weary and
sickened. He had no idea where else to look, or where to go. But he knew
without a doubt he would spend the rest of his life looking for her. He would
never, ever rest.

     Roald could read the fatigue and the defeat
in his liege, an expression he had never seen before on Gaston's face.

     “You are exhausted, my lord,” he said
quietly. “Mayhap a bit of food and rest and we can help you search. In fact,
Charles can send messages to the likes of Brimley and Ingilsby and ask for
their help. Can't you, Charles?”

     Charles was nearly overcome by the news,
but he managed to nod. “I…I can go to the solar and compose the necessary
letters.”

     “Good lad,” he gave the boy a shove in the
direction of the castle. “On your way, then. The duke will rest while you write
the directives.”

     Gaston couldn’t speak for the moment, too
overwrought. He felt Roald give him a slight nudge and he followed, into the
familiar interior with the familiar musty smell. Inside, Roald directed him to
go to the master chamber and promised he would have food sent up to him. Not
realizing that his knight had just ordered him about, Gaston did as he was
told.

     The bed that greeted him was the same bed
he and Remington had shared, the same bed where the twins were conceived. He
simply stood and stared at it, the pain welling within him almost more than he
could bear. Tears filled his weary eyes and dripped down his stubbled cheeks
and he did not care; he felt as if he could cry rivers.

     Armor and all, he fell forward onto the
mattress, his entire body aching with fatigue and anguish. My god, if she
wasn't here, then where could she be?

    
Where could she be?

     Roald came up not a quarter hour later,
bearing food for the duke. The meal was set quietly on the table by the hearth
and Roald closed the door softly, listening to Gaston’s snores rattle the
furniture.

     The rest did him wonders. When he awoke
several hours later, it was with a clear mind and a determined heart. He bathed
and shaved, donning clean clothes. An off-white tunic that Remington had made
for him embraced his torso, resting next to his heart. Somehow he felt closer
to her as he wore it, to be clad in something that she had made with her own
hands. It eased his ache and intensified it at the same time.

Charles and Roald met
him in the solar. Charles presented the two missives destined for Castle Crayke
and Ripley Castle and Gaston nodded his approval.

     “You will write one more missive for me,
Charles,” he said.

     “I would like you to send word to my cousin
Nicolas and instruct him to bring four hundred of my men here to Mt. Holyoak.
If I am going to reside here for the present, then I would be well supported.
And instruct him to bring at least fifteen knights as well.”

     Charles, eager to do the duke's bidding,
sat and drew out a length of parchment.

     Unfortunately, it was late and the sun had
set, rendering any searching out of the question for the time being. Even so,
Gaston and Roald sat in the solar discussing the possibilities as Charles wrote
a careful missive to Sir Nicolas, instructing him to bring the duke's army to
Yorkshire.

***

     Near dawn, a rider was sighted. In fact,
two riders on one horse and the sentries on the wall sounded the alert loudly.
Gaston and Roald, still in the solar, left Charles sleeping at the desk and
made their way to the outer bailey.

     As they reached the bailey, the portcullis
was already going up. The closer Gaston drew to the opening, the more curious
he became. His soldiers seemed most eager to tell him that two young women were
approaching and his curiosity was piqued.

     Gaston stood just to the inside of the
portcullis as a dirty, ratty-looking nag plodded over the drawbridge. There
were indeed two figures slouched over the horse, two small figures, and he
nearly turned away from the riders to leave them in the hands of his soldiers
when something made him stop.

     A familiar face with sea-crystal eyes was
looking back at him.

     “Sir Gaston!” Dane gasped.

     Gaston was stunned. “Dane!” Another head
came up behind Dane, even more familiar because it was Gaston's mirror image.

     “Trenton!”

     “Hello, Father.”

     Gaston rushed forward, taking both boys off
the ancient animal. They clung to each other for several long moments until
Gaston pulled back to look each boy severely in the eye.

     “By God's Bloody Rood, what in the hell are
you two doing here?” he demanded.

     “Where's mother? Did you find her?” Dane
countered swiftly, urgently.

     Gaston felt as if he had been slapped. Now
he knew why they were there and he felt his pain and anguish start anew. “Nay,
Dane, I have not found her yet. Did the earl tell you what happened?”

     The two young men looked at each other
guiltily. “Nay, he did not. We overheard Antonius tell him that my father had
abducted my mother,” Dane replied.

     Gaston raised an eyebrow.  “Then I would
assume that the earl does not know you are here?”

     Dane shook his head firmly. “Nay, he does
not. But I had to come to protect my mother. Why have not you found her yet?”

     Gaston's heart was being squeezed as he
gazed back at the young face. “Because I do not know where your father has
taken her. But have no doubt that I will find them both, and I will kill....”

     He stopped himself but Dane finished the
sentence for him. “You will kill my father, isn't that right? I should like to
help you.”

     A flicker of regret crossed Gaston's face
and he put a hand on each boy's shoulder, leading them forth into the outer
bailey. “No matter what your father had done, and no matter what your
differences, 'tis not right that you should want to kill him, Dane. He is still
your father, the man from whose loins you sprang.”

     “I hate him,” Dane said simply. “Why is it
acceptable for you to kill him and not me?”

     Gaston thought a moment. How could he
answer the question? He could give the boy a myriad of empty reasons, moral
ones, but somehow none of them applied in this situation. How could he tell
Dane it wasn't right that he should want to kill his father?

     “Because I am not his son,” he said lamely,
knowing it was no reason at all.  “No matter what has happened, a son should
not kill his father. I know that my explanation does not make sense now, but
someday it will. You will not like to grow old knowing that you killed your
father in your youth. It will sit heavy on your soul.”

     Dane did not understand, but he did not
press. He had confidence that Gaston would regain his mother.

     “I know you do not believe in my dreams as
my mother does, but... well, I remember having a dream about my father trying
to kill my mother just after you came to Mt. Holyoak,” Dane said quietly.” It
was right before I dreamt about your death, but it turned out Sir Arik died
instead. Whenever my dreams come true, I do not dream about them anymore. But I
still dream about my father and mother sometimes.”

     Gaston led the boys into the inner bailey.
He paused a moment, facing Dane's solemn face. “What happens in your dream?”

     Dane hung his head. “I am not exactly sure.
My mother is afraid, and she's screaming. And I see blood. I can see swords,
mayhap two or three,” he looked to Gaston again, puzzled. “I am not exactly
sure what it means. It's never very clear.”

     Gaston put his hand back on the lad's
shoulder, pondering the statement. He did not believe in dreams, but he knew
Remington did. And Dane's dream of death did come true, although it wasn't
Gaston's death he foresaw. Ah, well, he attributed it all to a young man's
imagination.

     He squeezed Trenton's shoulder gently. “And
you, young master? May I ask why you are here on this foolhardy mission?”

     “Because you might need help,” Trenton said
simply.

     Gaston raised an eyebrow at the quick,
simple answer. He could only imagine the panic de Vere was feeling at the
moment, having misplaced the duke of Warminster's two sons.

     Hand on each boy, the three of them took
the stairs into the castle. Cool, damp musty air met with their nostrils and
Dane seemed particularly content. Gaston took them into the grand dining hall
and sat them down, ordering hot food and ale. As the boys ate, he stood over
them with hands on his hips. The more he thought of them riding all the way
north by themselves, the more angry and frightened he became.

     “I ought to take you both over my knee,” he
said. “The earl must be having fits with you two missing.”

     “We had to come.” Dane insisted, mouth full
of mutton. “You are going to fight my father, and someone had to protect my
mother while you were occupied. And Trenton wanted to assist you in your fight,
and....”

     Gaston put up a silencing hand. “Enough,
Dane. Finish your food and then you may finish your words,” he shook his head,
propping a massive boot atop the bench next to Trenton and leaning on his knee.
“I suppose I should commend you for your bravery. ‘Twas an astounding bit of
luck that you reached me unscathed.”

     “We hid in the trees and stole food from
peasants,” Trenton said, rather proudly. “We even stole a rabbit on a spit from
a traveling merchant. He fell asleep and Dane snagged his dinner.”

     The boys giggled as Gaston frowned,
although his expression bordered on amusement. He shook his head. “Thieves. My
God, your mother will have fits.”