The Dark One: Dark Knight (37 page)

     In pure agitation, he tossed his helm to
the ground and ordered his men to take a rest.

***

     Small dots representing Rory, Dane and
Charles were racing up the hill toward Mt. Holyoak under the hot afternoon
sun.  The sentries on the wall saw them and set forth the warning cry.  There
would be no reason to run in the sun unless something terrible had happened;
the fact that there were only three of them returning being reason enough to
worry, and the sergeant made the decision to give the alerted call.

     Gaston, in the sublevels with Arik, heard
the cry and knew in his gut that Remington was in danger.  Some sixth sense
told him something had happened and he fought off his panic as he made his way
to the fortified drawbridge.

     Rory, Dane and Charles were pounding across
the bridge about the time Gaston arrived.  Rory, exhausted, tripped and plowed
into Arik.  Dane went straight for Gaston, sobbing as the huge man picked him
up gently.

     “Rory, what the hell is going on?  Where’s
Remi and the rest of them?” he demanded harshly.

     Rory was gasping for air, trying to
answer.  Charles, on his knees, raised his flushed face.  “Knights, Sir
Gaston.  Lots of them.”

     A bolt of terror shot through him.  “Were
they wearing colors?  Did you recognize them?”

     Rory and Charles shook their head.  “The
armor was very fine, hardly damaged,” Charles breathed.  “And one of the
destriers was red.  Very red.”

     Charles described no one Gaston knew.  Dane
was clinging to him, his little arms wrapped around his neck and his legs wound
around his narrow waist, sobbing.  Gaston clutched Remington’s son, patting his
back as he talked.

     “The knight at the faire had a horse like
that,” Dane whispered against Gaston’s neck.

     It took Gaston a second to comprehend the
boy’s words.  Then, he pulled back to look the lad in the face.  “What knight,
Dane?”

     Dane sniffled, wiping his eyes.  “The
knight that talked to my mother.  You called him a whip.”

     Gaston looked at him a moment, trying to
figure out what in the hell he was talking about.  Then, suddenly, it dawned on
him.  “Sir Derek?  The knight I called a whelp?” 

     Dane nodded fearfully.  “It looked like him
because they had the same horse.”

     Gaston slanted a glance at Arik, who
understood the silent command. He fled.  Charles and Rory clung to each other,
finally catching their breath but still very, very frightened.

     “Rory, do you know Sir Derek?” Gaston
asked.  “Did you recognize him?”

     “I wasn’t looking, to be truthful,” she
said weakly.  “Remington said to run, and I did.”

     Remington.  The sound of her name brought
the reality of the crisis slamming into him like a ton of bricks and he felt a
sense of urgency shoot through him such as he had never known.  He sat Dane
gently to the ground.

     “Charles, I have an important task for
you,” he said sternly.  The young man instantly straightened.  “Aye, my lord?”

     “You will take Lady Rory and young Dane and
escort them to their rooms.  I will depend on you to make sure they do not
stray,” he said. “I will trust their safety to you while I retrieve Lady
Remington and her sisters.  Will you do this?”

     “Aye, my lord,” Charles nodded, his eyes
suddenly turning wistful.  “I may not ride with you?”

     “Nay, lad,” Gaston said.  “I need you here,
at the fortress.”

     Gaston had put his words nicely and Charles
was not disheartened.  The fact that he had the Dark Knight’s trust actually
made him feel quite important.  Taking Dane’s hand, he led the boy and Rory
away.

     Gaston was on the move, a man with a
mission.  Knaresborough was not far and he wanted to intercept the party before
they made it to the fortress.  His two squires followed him, latching on pieces
of armor and strapping on his sword.  Gaston paused a moment, still
coordinating orders and troops, lifting his arms as the boys locked on the rest
of his plate armor.  When one squire secured the last latch on his grieve and positioned
the plate over his boot, Gaston was completely protected and therefore,
impatient to get going.

     He put Patrick in charge of the fortress
with explicit instructions regarding Mari-Elle and Remington’s family.  He did
not want any unexpected confrontations while he was away, especially not
between Rory and Mari-Elle.  With the temper of the two women, they would most
likely kill each other and he did not want any surprises upon his return.

     A groom brought Taran forward, still
fumbling with his tack.  Gaston mounted the animal as the groom secured the
last strap and adjusted his reins as Arik moved the last mounted soldier into
formation.

     This was a light company, well-seasoned
warriors that were worth their weight in a fight.  They were mayhap the most
elite of the men-at-arms, a step above, yet not on par with the knights.  They
were tough and Gaston roved an approving eye over them as they settled in and
waited for his final command.

     He would catch the fools before they had a
chance to make it to Knaresborough, and he would take great pleasure in gutting
every one of them personally.  If Remington were unharmed, he would be
merciful.  If they had been unfortunate to touch her, then he would make sure
they were so miserable that they would beg for death.  Every time he thought of
her in the clutches of her kidnappers, his heart beat so fast that his palms
sweated and the tightening of his chest was unbearable.

     He set out with unmovable determination,
the likes of which he had never known.  No battle ever held as high a stake,
including Bosworth.  He would retrieve what was his and he would make those
responsible pay in the worst way. 

     “What is our elapsed time?” he asked Arik
as they went charging under the portcullis. 

     “Since Rory and Charles informed us? 
Around ten minutes,” Arik replied over the thunder of the hooves.

     “And we assume that the abductors have at
least a ten minute start on us,” Gaston thought aloud and he tightened his grip
on the reins.  “We have got twenty damn minutes to make up for.”

     The army rumbled into the lake clearing and
Gaston’s eyes fell on Roald.  He drew Taran close to the knight and dismounted,
kneeling beside the body.  He was sickened by the senseless loss of a
long-devoted knight.

     But Roald wasn’t dead.  Yet.  He gave a
little twitch and tried to move somehow, but Gaston and Arik held him still.

     “Roald.” Gaston said urgently.  “Did you
see which way they went?”

     Roald opened one eye, seeing Gaston and
knowing if the arrow did not end his life, his liege would.  He had failed
miserably in the fulfillment of his duties.

     “I…I do not know, my lord,” he rasped.  “I
remember being struck and then nothing more.  They were taken and not killed
outright?”

     “It would seem so,” Gaston said.

     Roald felt a bit of relief, but he knew he
would still answer for allowing such a thing to happen.  “I apologize for
failing you, my lord.  ‘Tis inexcusable and I ask that you be merciful with my
punishment.”

     Gaston waved a couple of soldiers over.  “I
believe the arrow in your chest is punishment enough, Roald,” he turned to the
soldiers behind him.  “Return him to the fortress and then comb the woods for
the bodies of the other two knights.  I want them found.”

     He was met with a sharp response and he
rose, his eyes gazing over the landscape.

     “They went south,” Arik said.  “The
quickest way would be to avoid the towns and cross the river where it is least
used.”

     Gaston nodded faintly.  “Send the scouts to
pick up the trail.  We ride.”

     Arik let out a piercing whistle and two soldiers
broke off from the troops, racing in the direction Arik indicated on Saracen
stallions.  They were the fastest beasts Gaston had ever seen and an invaluable
intelligent asset.

     He and Arik were mounted and waited when
one of the soldiers came racing back.

     “We have found obvious evidence, my lord,”
the man said, pointing.  “Almost due south.”

     Gaston nodded sharply.  “Ride ahead, then,
and mark my trail.  Waste no time.”

     The soldier was gone and the army followed
close behind, trampling over the soft green grass and tearing up the growth
with their mighty warhorses.

***

     Jasmine, through a good deal of expert
acting, managed to delay their departure for nearly an hour.  Every time
someone would raise their voice or move in to pick her up, she would scream and
grab her gut as if she were going to explode.  Intimidated, the knights and
soldiers accompanying them were reluctant to force her. 

     Every man, whether he would admit it or
not, is intimidated by a female simply for virtue of her mysterious sex.  Women
breed and have strange, private afflictions that serve to scare the hell out of
any man.  They were positive Jasmine was suffering from a strange, female
affliction and none wanted to be cursed by touching her. 

     Remington and Skye sat vigilantly beside
their sister, fighting off smiles and praying Gaston was not far behind.  The
afternoon was waning away as the sun moved lower in the sky and Remington knew
they could not fight Derek off much longer.  He and Calvin stood in a huddle
several feet away, whispering to each other and glaring at the women.

     Finally, Derek broke off from Calvin and
marched to Remington. 

     “A word, if you will,” he said.

     Remington rose reluctantly and faced him. 
“Well?  Are you going to take us home?”

     His jaw ticked.  “You do not seem to
understand.  Mt. Holyoak is no longer your home, which is why I am taking you
to Knaresborough.  Is Jasmine well enough to travel?”

     She crossed her arms stubbornly.  “No.”

     Derek put his hands on his hips.  “Then
that is her misfortune.  We are leaving now, ill or no.”

     “You cannot.” Remington cried.  “She
shall…. she shall retch violently the entire way.  She shall faint and take to
convulsions.” 

     Derek snatched her arm.  “Let’s go.”

     She dug her heels in.  “Let me go, Derek.  I
told you we do not want to go with you.  Why can you not understand that?”

     He stopped suddenly and she almost fell
down.  “Because you do not mean it.  I do not know what de Russe has done to
you, but you are not acting yourself.  You are coming home with me.”

     She fought and twisted.  “No, Derek.  I do
not want you, and I do not want to go to Knaresborough.”

     His grip tightened and his eyes narrowed as
he studied her.  He did not say anything for a moment, but she could tell by
the way he was looking at her that he was not thinking pleasant thoughts.

     “You are his whore, aren’t you?” he said in
a low voice as if the thought just occurred to him.  “That is why you do not
want to leave.  He showers you with meaningless gifts and lies and you have
fallen for his ploy.” he yanked her hard when she tried to turn away from him. 
“Remington, how could you be so blind?”

     “You do not know what you are saying,” she
said through clenched teeth.  “Let go of me.”

     Instead he grabbed her face, forcing her to
look at him and she struggled to free herself.  “He has brainwashed you.  Can’t
you see that?”

     She kicked out and succeeded in breaking
his grip.  She stumbled a few feet away, still feeling his harsh grip on her
face.  “All I see is a spoiled young man who is being told no for the first
time in his life.” she spat.  “You cannot understand why I do not want you and
you are therefore trying to plant lies in my head to force me to bend to your
will.”

     He looked at her, pleading.  “He is not for
you, Remington. He is your captor, for God’s sake.  He shall use you a little
while and then when he tires of you, he shall move on.  They all do.”

     She was starting to lose her composure. 
Derek was voicing her very own negative thoughts that she had fought so hard to
suppress, thoughts she was even afraid to admit she had.  Dark, shapeless
phantoms in the corner of her mind; how could he know exactly what she had been
thinking?

     “You are wrong, Derek,” she said hoarsely. 
“Take me home.  Now.”

     Derek took a timid step toward her; smart
enough to know she was wavering. “He tells you that you are the most beautiful
woman he has ever seen, and he tells you that he is mad for you.  He likes to
hold your hand and he is very kind to your son, anything to gain entrance into
your heart and into your bed.  Tell me if I am wrong.”

     How did he know?  Her breath began coming
in short pants and her knees began to shake.  Tears, hot and confused, sprang
to her eyes.  It wasn’t true.  Derek was trying to unbalance her; anything to
convince her that going to Knaresborough was in her best interest.  He was
being spiteful simply because she had said she did not want him.