The Dark One: Dark Knight (14 page)

     He assumed most women were like his wife;
he even hated the word wife.  If they were not cold and ruthless, they were
brainless and silly. There was no in-between; there was only black and white to
him, as always.

     Except for Remington.  He did not know
quite what to think of her yet, but he knew one thing; she frightened him.  And
he had never been frightened of anything in his life.

     He gradually became aware that she had gone
limp against him, her breathing soft and regular.  He smiled faintly to realize
she had fallen asleep in his arms.  Her soft body molded against him like the
missing piece of a puzzle and he could feel her sweet warmth radiating against
him.

     Slowly, he slid back on the bed so that he
was leaning against the headboard.  Remington sighed ragged in her sleep and
snuggled closer to him and he instinctively pulled her tighter.  With a long
sigh of his own accord, Gaston lounged away the afternoon with the lady of Mt.
Holyoak sleeping in his arms.

     And he wasn’t the least bit distressed
about it.

***

     Remington awoke to a gentle shaking.  She
tried to ignore it, burrowing deeper into the bed, but the shaking was
persistent.  Dear God, but her bed was warm and comfortable.  And it smelled
nice, too.  Like leather and sandalwood.

     … Leather and sandalwood?

     Her eyes opened and she found herself
staring into white linen.  Tanned skin peeked out from beneath the folds of a
shirt.  She blinked, remembering what had happened and embarrassed to the
hilt.  Slowly, she sat up and found herself face-to-face with smoky eyes.

     He smiled gently.  “I am sorry to wake you,
madam, but supper will be served soon.”

     “Supper?” she blinked, smoothing away an
errant lock of hair.  “How long have I been asleep?”

     “A few hours,” he said.  “You were
exhausted.”

     She put a hand to her face, feeling groggy
and her head hurt.  She was aware he was looking at her and she fought down a
blush.

     “I…I do not know what to say, my lord,” she
said sheepishly.  “I feel most foolish for my outburst.”

     She felt his hand on her hair, stroking it.
 “No need, angel.  I rather enjoyed watching you sleep.”

     Her eyes snapped to him.  “Why do you call
me that?”

     “Call you what? He looked confused, and
then suddenly realized what she meant.  “Angel?  Because you remind me of one.”

     Her brow furrowed faintly.  “I remind you
of an angel?  How do you know?  Have you ever seen one?”

     “I have,” he said firmly.  “The moment I
saw you crossing the drawbridge nearly a week ago.  I knew that I was gazing
into the face of an angel.”

     He was smiling slightly and she was unsure
if he were jesting or not.  Perplexed, she slid from his thighs and stood on
unsteady feet.  Reluctantly, he let her go.

     “I apologize again for falling asleep on
you,” she said quietly.  “I have kept you from your duties overlong.”

     “Look at me,” he said quietly.

     Hesitantly, her eyes came up and locked
with his, and her entire body washed with a warm, languorous feeling.  Was he
indeed in league with the devil to have this effect on her?

     “Do you not believe me when I tell you that
you are beautiful?” he asked, his voice like warm honey.

     She stared back at him; he obviously wasn’t
going to let the subject rest without an explanation.  Dear God, she had never
truly allowed herself to voice her feelings.  She wasn’t even sure how to
start.

     “Nay,” she whispered.

     He blinked, puzzled.  “Do you think I would
lie to you?”

     She shook her head, the look of hurt
filling her face again.  “Nay, I do not,” she gestured lamely, turning away
from him.  “I…I just do not like hearing it.”

     “Why in the hell not?” he demanded, raising
his voice.

     She jumped, spinning around to face him. 
He put up his hands soothingly.  “I am sorry, I did not mean to yell.  But why,
angel?  I would like to tell you what I am thinking, but not if you do not want
to hear it.”

     She looked at him for a moment, long and
hard.  Then she licked her lips, thinking.  “My husband told me I was beautiful
all of the time,” her voice was barely a whisper, sickened at revealing her
innermost terrors.  “Especially…especially when he…would couple with me.  He
used to tell me how beautiful I was as he slapped me senseless.”

     Gaston was stunned.  He stared at her a
moment before letting out a long, hissing sigh.  “My God, Remington,” his voice
was hoarse.  “I had no idea.”

     She sat slowly on the silk chair, staring
at the cracks in the floor.  She curled her legs underneath her bottom, somehow
feeling strangely relieved that she had confessed to him.  Her courage grew.

     “He made love to me hours after Dane’s
birth,” she murmured.  “I almost hemorrhaged to death, but no one could stop
him.  Eudora tried and he almost killed her.  That is why she walks with a
limp, you know.  When my sisters came to live with us, he took fiendish delight
in deflowering them one by one.  Jasmine was the first, then Rory.  Rory gave
him a good fight, but she succumbed in the end.  Even Skye; he took her when
she was eleven.”

     Gaston closed his eyes tightly to the
horrors her disclosure brought to his mind.  Dane’s small tale did nothing to
encompass this disgrace.

     Remington rested her chin in her hand.  “If
he wasn’t beating us, he was taking us to bed.  Sometimes he would bed three of
us in a night.  Yet to make up for his cruelty, he would buy us clothes and
finery and perfumes.  He always thought that made up for the worse of times.”

     Gaston couldn’t imagine the shame she had
suffered, all of them had suffered.  His gaze was incredibly compassionate as
he watched emotions play on her lovely face.  After a moment of thought, her
eyes came up to him.

     “You wanted to know about us, my lord.  Now
you know.”

     He shook his head faintly.  “I know your
husband, Remington.  He’s an unscrupulous bastard, but I had no idea just how
foul the man was.”

     She shrugged, unwinding her legs and
rising.  “He’s in the Tower now and hopefully he shall rot there.  I’d sooner
kill myself than allow him back into my life.  Back into Dane’s life.”

     “Dane seems remarkably unaffected by all of
this,” Gaston murmured. 

     Remington nodded firmly.  “He’s been spared
the brunt of it, thank God.  Guy never actually went after him, but Dane had to
witness what his father did to us.  He is most protective of me, as you have
seen.”

     “He’s a good boy,” Gaston agreed.  “He
shall make a fine knight.”

     Remington hugged herself, rubbing her arms
against the chill of the room now that the sun had set.  “What about your boy,
my lord?  How old is he?”

     Gaston rose from the bed with a grunt. 
“Trenton is eight years old, tall and well-built.  And smart.”

     “Like his father, I am sure,” Remington
said.  “And your wife?  What is her name?”

     His warm exterior deteriorated rapidly. 
“Mari-Elle.  And I do not speak of her.”

     Remington was shocked at the reprimand. 
She instantly lowered her gaze uncertainly.  “Then I apologize, my lord.  I
meant no harm.”

     He wiped his hand across his face, letting
out a harsh sigh to regain his composure.  “Of course you did not.  It’s just
that…well; do not speak of my wife.  I prefer to imagine that she does not
exist.”

     Remington was deeply curious but banked
herself.  She did not want to provoke the man on an obviously sore subject. 
“As I prefer to imagine that my husband does not exist.  Mayhap they can slip
into non-existence together and we can be rid of them.”

     She was smiling faintly, an innocent remark
and nothing more.  But he was acutely aware of how true he would like that to
be, not simply to be rid of Mari-Elle, but so that he and Remington could
become…friends.  He wanted Remington for a friend.

     “Too bad they did not marry each other,” he
grinned back. 

     Remington laughed softly and he was
enchanted by the white, straight teeth and bow-shaped mouth.  She was
absolutely stunning when she smiled.

     He had a tremendous amount of work to
attend to, but he was reluctant to leave.  He liked talking to Remington; he
liked the way she made him feel.  And he liked the way she smiled.

     “I suppose I must go now,” he said, but he
was not moving for the door.  Instead, he was moving for Remington and she was
watching him openly.  The fear was gone.

     “I have ordered roast mutton and venison for
supper,” she said.  “I hope it is to your liking.”

     “You eat a lot of mutton, do not you?” he
asked, jesting with her.  “Can I expect a fleece pie for dessert?”

     She smiled broadly, her dimples deep. 
“Sheep is the primary crop of Yorkshire and we eat everything but the coat, my
lord.  But I will order you up a fleece piece if that is your wish.”

     He studied her a moment, his gaze
softening.  “My wish is for you to call me Gaston in private,” he said.

     She looked surprised, but recovered.  “I
would be honored, my lo…. Gaston.”

     He gave her a lop-sided grin.  “It will
become easier with practice.  I shall see you in the dining hall, then.”

     He moved for the door, leaving her feeling
breathless and warm.  She had no idea why.

     “Can’t I call you the Dark Knight?” she
asked, still jesting with the light mood.

     “No,” he said flatly as he reached the
door.  “I do not like that title.”

     “You do not?” she was genuinely surprised. 
“But everyone calls you that.”

     “Edward started it, and I hated it even
then,” Gaston said, his hand on the latch. “But there is naught I could do
against our king.”

     She cocked her head at him.  “Can I call
you the Devil, then?  Or Satan’s Spawn?  Or Fruit of Lucifer’s Loins?”

     He raised a black eyebrow.  “Call me those
things and I shall take you over my knee.  I am none of them.”

     “But I am an angel?” she was smirking
playfully at him and he found himself swept up by her light, jesting manner.

     “Aye, you are that,” he said with a vague
tug of the corner of his lips.  “A saucy wench, but an angel just the same.”

     He quit the room, leaving Remington feeling
as if the weight of the entire realm was lifting from her shoulders. 

***   

     “You told him, Remi?”  Jasmine asked with
disbelief.  “Everything?”

     Remington, Jasmine, Skye, Charles and Dane
were gathered at the small lake near Mt. Holyoak.  Charles and Dane were
swimming and frolicking in the cool water to stave off the heat while the
ladies were lounging underneath the trees several feet away.

     Remington fanned herself slowly, her lightweight
blue surcoat hiked up around her knees.  “I did not tell him everything,” she
said.  “I did not tell him about your babe, Jasmine.  He does not need to know
that.”

     “But why did you tell him anything at all?”
Jasmine lamented.  “He’s a stranger.”

     “He’s lord of Mt. Holyoak now and our
master,” Remington replied, sighing.  “But to answer you, I do not know why I
told him all that I did.  He made me feel comfortable and safe, and I told
him.  He had promised to protect us, and I suppose I wanted him to know what he
was protecting us against.”

     Jasmine lay back on the grass, her arm
resting on her forehead as she gazed up into the old oak tree.

     “He was certainly staring at you last night
during supper,” Jasmine said softly.  “Do you suppose he likes you?”

     Remington shrugged.  “He told me I looked
like an angel,” she said.  “He’s not as fearsome as I once thought him to be.”

     Jasmine sat up.  “You did not answer me. 
Do you think he likes you?”

     “It does not matter if he does or not,”
Remington said firmly.  “He has a wife and I have a husband.  Besides, I do not
want a man.  I do not even want the one I have.”

     Skye looked up from the flower wreath she
was weaving.  “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

     Her sisters looked over their shoulders in
the direction of Mt. Holyoak and were not surprised to see four destriers
crossing the field towards them, most recognizably the Dark Knight’s
charcoal-gray charger.

     “Now, I wonder what they are doing here?”
Remington said, shading her eyes from the sun.  “I thought they were busy
building a team house.”

     Jasmine’s eyes riveted to Antonius. 
“Mayhap it was too hot for them.”