The Dark One: Dark Knight (45 page)

     Arik moved down to allow Mari-Elle to sit. 
Remington moved away from the table and returned moments later with a trencher
of mutton, gravy and bread. She sat it heavily in front of Mari-Elle, testimony
to her irritation.

     Mari-Elle eyed the food.  “What is this
meat, madam?”

     “Mutton,” Remington answered shortly.  The
woman had piqued her temper calling her son an urchin.

     Mari-Elle turned her nose up.  “Mutton. 
Have you no beef or fowl?”

     Remington's pretty jaw clenched and Gaston
watched her reaction. “Nay, my lady, only mutton.  If you want beef, then you
will have to kill the cow yourself.”

     Mari-Elle's eyes narrowed at her.  “Do not
get flippant with me, mistress.”

     Remington lifted an eyebrow, remarkable
cool, but there was no mistaking the challenging air of her stance.  “I was not
attempting to be rude, my lady, merely stating a fact. If you will only taste
the meat, I am sure you will find it most delicious.”

     Mari-Elle glared at her a moment before
lowering her eyes to her plate. Gingerly, she took a taste and pushed it away.
“Awgh.  I cannot stomach mutton,” she declared. “You will serve me something
else, mistress, and no more of your backtalk.”

     “But it’s good.” Dane insisted, across the
table. “Do not you like it?”

     Mari-Elle looked imperiously at the boy. 
“You were not invited to speak and I would demand you to hurry and be gone.”

     Remington couldn't stop herself.  She
walked around to Dane and put her hands protectively on her son.  “He is more
welcome at this table than you are, my lady. Or had not you noticed?”

     Gaston looked sharply at her, but Mari-Elle
was faster to the draw. The Mari-Elle of old suddenly burst forth in all of her
sinister glory and the trencher of mutton and gravy went flying, missing
Remington and Dane by mere inches.  Gone was the woman trying to impress her
husband. 

     “How dare you speak to me like that.” she
snapped savagely.

     Dane scrambled off the bench; he did not
want to be between his mother and the angry lady. Across the table, Trenton
lowered his head and started to cry softly.  As Gaston rose to his feet, Dane
did the only thing he could think of; he ran around the table and grabbed
Trenton by the arm.

     “Come on,” he hissed.

     Trenton yanked back from him, but Dane
grabbed him again.  “Come on unless you want to get hit.”

     Trenton saw his mother and father on their
feet, and after a split second of indecision, allowed himself to be pulled
along by the younger boy.

     The boys were forgotten by the adults at
the table.  Gaston's face was severe.

     “Mari-Elle, I want you out of my sight,” he
said in a low, controlled voice.  “You were not invited into my dining hall and
I do not wish to see you here.”

     “I did not start this and refuse to be
punished,” Mari-Elle snapped back, although her voice was not raised.  “Your
Lady Remington is quite insubordinate.”

     “And you my lady, are insulting and
arrogant.” Remington shot back.  “How dare you tell my son he is not welcome at
his own table.”

     Mari-Elle opened her mouth but Gaston cut
her off. “Out, Mari-Elle, or I will remove you myself.  Lady Remington, you
will retreat as well. I will hear no hollering to spoil my appetite.”

     Mari-Elle spun on her heel, already moving
to do his bidding, but Remington stared at him in shocked silence.  He took his
seat and refused to look at her.

     “I meant it, Remi,” he said softly. “I will
seek you later.”

     Humiliated and stunned, she took several
calming breaths before replying.  “Do not bother, my lord.”

     He drained half his goblet of wine, his
eyes moving up to her as she turned away from him. He watched the straight
back, the luscious hair, knowing she did not understand his reasons for
punishing her, but he had to show who was in control.  Additionally, it would
not do at all to show favorites in front of everyone.

     Mari-Elle was halfway across the room when
she suddenly stopped and swayed.  Clutching at her stomach, she let out a
piercing cry and sank gracefully to the floor in a dead faint.

     The entire company of knights were on their
feet, looking curiously at the crumpled woman as Arik and Patrick went over to
her. Gaston, knowing this to be more of his wife's melodramatics, drained his
cup before rising. Damn woman was a bloody pain in the ass!

     Remington paused at the entrance to the
kitchen, watching as Gaston crossed the floor to his wife.  He stood a moment
over her, his hands on his hips impatiently as he listened to Arik's
assessment.  Then, reluctantly, he swooped down and took her in his arms.

     The last glimpse Remington caught of Gaston
was as he left the hall with Mari-Elle in his arms, her rich ruby dress flowing
about him.  Jealousy shot through her like a spear and she clenched her jaw
painfully to keep the tears from coming.  No one would see how hurt she was,
especially Rory and Jasmine when they passed her an inquisitive glance. 
Without a word, she disappeared from the hall.

     Mari-Elle had regained consciousness by the
time he reached her rooms.  Her physician, a thin man with sparse gray hair,
was summoned and took special care with his examination while Gaston waited
with little tolerance.  It made him all the more peevish that his wife's ladies
were tittering in the corner, paying more attention to him than to their
mistress.

     “Well?” Gaston demanded.

     The physician straightened, digging into
his bag.  “It is her stomach, my lord. Ever since her arrival, she has been
most sensitive.”

     In other words, the crushed apricots seed
had upset her system more than intended. Gaston sighed.  “And?”

     “And I believe I must tend your wife in
private, my lord,” the man said. “There are certain things I must do to her
and....”

     Gaston put up a silencing hand, “I
understand.”

     The physician kicked the ladies out, too,
and when the room was vacant, he lifted his eyebrows at Mari-Elle. “There is
something you are not telling me.  Have you been bleeding?”

     Mari-Elle, looking pale, shook her head. 
“Nay, I have not.  This child is making me exceedingly ill.”

     The physician shook his head. “My lady, I
have taken care of a good many pregnant women, and your womb does not feel as
if there is life within.”

     “And I have actually borne a child and know
exactly what pregnancy feels like,” she snapped back. “Do not tell me that I am
not with child, physician. I have all of the symptoms.”

     He crossed his arms.  “Do your breasts
ache?”

     “Aye.”

     “And your menses have stopped?”

     “Aye, nearly three months now,”

     “And do you feel weak and ill?” '

     “All of the time.” Mari-Elle insisted. “Why
are we repeating what we already know?”

     He sighed and moved toward her again,
poising his hands over her belly.  “May I?”

     She grunted with annoyance.  “Very well. 
But be quick about it.”

     He prodded and probed, pushed and jabbed
until Mari-Elle was near to exploding.  Finally, he straightened again.

     “It does not feel right to me,” he said. 
“Your womb should be hard, but it is soft for the most part except in one
area.  Only there is it firm, and the firmness is too high.”

     “Too high?  What do you mean?” Mari-Elle
felt her own stomach.

     He shook his head. “I am not sure, my lady,
but I believe something is wrong.  Very wrong.  Was your fainting spell tonight
for real of simply for your husband's benefit?”

     She looked puzzled, perhaps a bit
cornered.  “It was real enough at first, but I felt fine by the time Gaston
brought me back to my room.”

     The physician scrambled about in his bag.
“I shall give you something to help you sleep this night.”

Fine,” Mari-Elle said irritably. “And you will
send Gaston to me.”

     “And if he asks me what is wrong?” the
physician wanted to know.

     “Tell him it is a private female ailment.”
she snipped.  “We have been over this before.”

     He did not answer as he stirred a bit of
white powder into a cup of wine. “Drink this.”

     She did and made a face at the bitterness. 
Settling herself back on the pillows, she nodded to her surgeon.  “Now, Dooley,
you will send my husband to me.”

     The old man rose, bag in hand, and opened
the door.  His gaze lingered on his mistress a moment, a sense of doom filling
him.  There were a couple of possibilities for her condition, both fatal, but
he would not tell her that.  She was a demanding, spoiled bitch and he had
little like for her, but she paid him well for his services and he enjoyed the
money.  Besides, if it were either of the two possibilities he suspected, there
was nothing he could do and he did not want to alarm her needlessly.

     The first potentiality for her condition
was indeed a pregnancy that had planted itself too high in her womb.  If that
were the case, she would rupture and bleed to death within a few weeks at
most.  The second was a cancerous tumor growing within her, and her life
expectancy might not be much longer than with the first possibility.

     Dooley knew for certain he would be
searching for a new mistress before too long.

***

     Gaston went to seek out Remington.  Her
family was still down in the dining hall, save Charles, and the lad was
probably up in his tower room.  He was glad that the wing was deserted as he
rapped softly on her door.

     Remington heard him, but she was angry and
jealous and refused to answer.  He knew she was in the room.

     “Remi, open the door,” he said softly.

     Still she did not answer, lying on her bed
in a heated rage.  How dare he punish her, send her away like a naughty child,
and then presume to act as if nothing had happened.  And carrying Mari-Elle
from the hall had simply added fuel to her fire; if he hated his wife as he
said he did, then why did not he let someone else take her to her room?

     He rapped again.  “I know you are in
there.  Open the damn door or I shall break it down.”

     She rolled over on her side stubbornly. 
She would not answer him.  In fact, he would be lucky if she ever spoke to him
again.

     There was a loud slam that shook the very
walls of the castle and her door popped and snapped and then exploded into
kindling. Splinters of wood shot across the room and sprayed her where she lay
upon the bed.  Remington cringed but she did not move; she knew Gaston had been
true to his word and had destroyed the door.  And she trusted him enough to
know that the door was the only thing he would tear apart.

     He stood just inside the archway, his hands
on his hips as he glowered at her.  He had not even raised a sweat busting the
old door. Frustrated, he kicked a large piece of wood away and went directly to
her wine decanter.

     “You are drinking too much,” she said,
hearing his movements.

     “I will be the sole judge of that,” he rumbled.

     She still lay on her side, her arms wrapped
protectively around her body.  “You always drink too much after you have had
contact with your wife.”

     He paused, the goblet mid-way to his lips. 
After an eternal pause, she heard him sigh and then the sound of the cup as it
met with the table.

     “Can we dispense with the animosity
tonight?” he finally said.  “I am in great need of your comfort.”

     She felt her anger abate with his words;
they were soft, almost pleading.  She had never heard him beg before.  Slowly,
she rolled onto her back and looked at him.

     “What's wrong?” she asked.

     He shrugged irritably.  “Everything.  But
the last thing I want to be wrong is you and I.  Get up and come to my
chamber.”

     She sat up and raised an eyebrow at the
door.  “Heaven only knows there will be no privacy here.  Did you truly have to
break it down?  A little more pleading and I would have opened it.”

     “I did plead but you ignored me,” he held
out his hand and pulled her from the bed.  “I shall have it repaired tomorrow.”

     She picked her way over the broken frame, a
remembrance drifting over her as she viewed the carnage.  It was horribly
disturbing and she felt her stomach twist as she recalled the event, but
somehow with Gaston beside her, she was able to face it quite rationally.  His
strength had become hers.

     “I tried to lock Guy out one time,” she
said softly.  “He took an axe and chopped the door down.  Then he took the butt
and beat me with it.  My eyes were swollen shut for three days.”