The Dark One: Dark Knight (74 page)

     There were farmers about, peasants
traversing the road, jumping out of the path to make way for the Dark Knight
and his party. The papal colors next to Gaston's standards made a rightfully
impressive sight to all who gazed upon them.

     They rode until after dark, when Gaston led
them into a small village with a bright inn. Even in the carriage, Remington
could smell roast beef and hear the sounds of merriment inside. She was smiling
with excitement, trying not to hang her head from the carriage like an eager
child. Loud people full of ale and food burst in and out of the inn, laughing
and singing and chatting. Remington wanted to be one of them.

     De Tormo eyed her, knowing her heart’s
wishes, and furthermore knowing the inn was no place for the young lady. But it
was out of the elements and she could have a hot meal on a real table, not eat
off her lap. Watching her face, he groaned inwardly; he knew her demand before
she ever spoke a word.

     “I want to go to the inn,” she declared,
watching curiously as a soldier and a busty wench came falling out of the door,
screaming with drunken laughter. She looked at the priest. “I have never been
to an inn.”

     De Tormo raised his eyebrows, eyeing the
hostel. “I'd hardly call that a reputable establishment. It looks more like a
den of iniquity to me.”

     Remington watched the soldier and the wench
push themselves off the ground and stagger into the night. “They're simply
having fun, de Tormo. It sounds like a lovely place.”

     The priest snorted and looked away, knowing
that de Russe planned to take her to the tavern.  But even as he thought of a
pretty speech to refuse de Russe, his mind wandered to the soft bed within the
inn that surely awaited him.  Lord God, he would love to sleep on something
other than the ground this night.  He was, after all, not a hearty man and the
thought of a feathered mattress ‘neath his body soothed him like a sexual
favor.

     How could he deny the two of them what he
so desperately sought? After all, if de Russe was paying....

     A knight appeared at the carriage, a man
Remington recognized but did not know his name. He focused soft brown eyes on
her. “My lady, Sir Gaston is seeing to the settling of his men and will be with
you shortly,” he said. “He asks that you remain in the carriage until such
time.”

     Remington nodded, glancing at de Tormo as
the knight bowed away.  “He must think I am going to forget myself and go
bounding into the inn.”

     “I can see by the expression on your face
that you indeed wish to,” the priest replied.

     She scowled at him, but it was a humorous
frown. De Tormo cracked a smile and looked away.

     Remington leaned back against the bench of
the carriage, letting out a weary sigh. She was tired of riding and eager to
sample the atmosphere of the tavern. More people came in and out of the
business, and she watched them closely. Most were soldiers, and the women were
whores, ready for another night of business.

     She watched the women thoughtfully,
wondering how a woman could sell her body. She could not imagine consenting to
sex with a man she did not love, paid or not. But, then again, she had been
sleeping with a man she did not love for the majority of her adult life. Mayhap
she was a whore, too, in a sense. After all Guy had called her one.

     She shook herself, away from the degrading
memories. She would not think on them, although the closer they drew to London,
the more terrified she became. To even be in the same city as her husband made
her break out in a sweat.

     Gaston suddenly appeared at the door of the
carriage, his face wet with perspiration. His visor was up as he threw open the
door to the carriage.

     “Out, my lady, unless you wish to spend the
night here,” he said, his mood obviously light. “De Tormo, you will join us.”

     “Of course,” the priest slanted him a wry
look. “I am my lady's shadow.”

     Gaston raised an eyebrow at him but said
nothing as Remington climbed out of the carriage. She turned to look at the
inn, her face bright. “Are we truly going to eat at the inn tonight? I have
never been to an inn.”

     He couldn't help but grin at her
enthusiasm. “Aye, we will be sampling their fare.”

     “Are we sleeping there, too?” she asked
eagerly.

     “Remi, if you slept in the tavern, you
would certainly never get any sleep,” as if to prove his point, three loud
soldiers and one woman came stumbling out of the door, singing at the top of
their lungs.  He shook his head in disgust.  “You would do much better in
camp.”

     She looked crestfallen and, to Gaston’s
surprise, so did de Tormo.  He raised his eyebrows at both of them. “So the two
of you would rather stay in a noisy, smelly establishment and not gain a moment’s
sleep rather than endure a bit of nature’s canopy?”

     Remington lowered her gaze guiltily. De
Tormo fixed his eyes on Gaston. “I could sleep though the return of Christ, de
Russe, so noise matters little to me. I am not ashamed to admit that I crave
creature comforts, such as a soft bed and a roof over my head. Besides,” he
passed a glance at Remington,” I would suspect that you two would spend tonight
as you did last night. What better way to be rid of me than to pay for my room
at the inn?”

     Gaston's eyes widened slightly. “You would
be bribed?”

     De Tormo held up a chastising finger. “Not
bribe, de Russe. I prefer to call it a gift. After all, you expect my services
in London, do you not? My assistance does not come without cost.”

     Gaston eyed the short man and Remington
held her breath. De Tormo merely smiled a humorless smile. “I am not stupid, de
Russe. All of the nonsense regarding Guy Stoneley's devil worship was just
that, nonsense. Young Dane had the consideration to tell me that the tower room
was his cousin's. I can see that you would go to great lengths to obtain this
annulment, and do it any way you can within the legal confines of the church.
Therefore, it would stand to reason that you need me, and you need me badly.
Badly enough to lie,” he looked at Remington; her face flushed, she was staring
at the ground. His face softened somewhat. “I can see the feelings you hold for
each other, and I am not so aloof that I did not hear the tales of Guy's
cruelty. So, in the spirit of true love, I will do what I can for you against
the papal counsel. But I expect to be compensated, and I furthermore expect my
advice to be heeded. Do we understand one another?”

     Gaston's smoky gray eyes glittered. “We
do.”

     “Good,” de Tormo turned for the inn. “I
expect a meal fit for a king and the biggest bed in the house. See to it, de
Russe.”

     Gaston watched the priest walk away, his
head spinning with thought. De Tormo's manner had been assured, confident, and
factual. There was not the least bit of evil in his tone, and his motives did
not appear to be sinister. He would help them, but he wanted something out of
it. Gaston's clue as to what that might entail came in the priests own words;
creature
comforts
.

     “Oh, Gaston,” Remington breathed, breaking
out of his train of thought. “What have I done?”

     He turned to her. “Nothing, angel. In fact,
I like his courage. He is not afraid to say what he feels, nor obtain what he
desires. I feel we shall have a staunch ally in de Tormo, for he will not give
up,” he took her arm, smiling encouragingly. “Cheer up, love. I have not made a
deal with the devil.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The inn was loud and
stank of old ale and bodies, but it was warm and lively and Remington was
delighted. It was much larger inside that it appeared outwardly, and it seemed
as if every possible inch was crammed with people.

     Nicolas and the four knights had cleared a
table for them to sit at, literally. Six soldiers from Earlingham had been
enjoying a pleasant meal when the Dark One's knights had descended upon them
and threw every man from the table.

     De Tormo was already seated, enjoying a
massive trencher full of meat. Gaston gripped Remington’s elbow possessively as
they crossed the great room, his eyes focused on their destination, yet acutely
aware of the looks from the crowd. Not only were they looking at him, as the
Dark Knight, but also at Remington. He could feel the lustful stares.

     Remington was thrilled to be in a busy,
crowded place. She loved to people-watch and seated herself eagerly beside the
priest. Gaston sat heavily on her opposite side, followed by Nicolas and the
other knights. No sooner were they seated, than serving wenches were rushing
forward with food and ale.

     The innkeeper, a fat man with sparse, wild
hair, followed the serving women. “'Tis a pleasure serving, the Dark Knight
once again.” he looked at Gaston, who did little more than glance up from his
food. “We were told of your arrival and I demanded another sheep upon the
spit.”

     He laughed loudly and Remington couldn't
help but smile at him. The other knights, as well as the priest, ignored him.
Then the innkeeper focused on her.

     “Ah, you must be the Dark One's wife,” he
moved around Gaston and took her hand. “Only Sir Gaston could warrant such a
beauty.  What a pleasure, my....”

     Gaston's hand shot out, yanking Remington's
soft hand out of the fat, greasy one. The innkeeper looked surprised and took a
step back, suddenly terrified that he had overstepped himself. Gaston finished
chewing before he turned to the man.

     “You will not touch her,” he said, his
voice low. He studied the man a moment, coldly. “Father de Tormo requests your
best room for the night. See to it.”

     The innkeeper stammered. “But...but, my
lord, that room is taken by Baron Marchant's son. He is already asleep. But I
have another room that....”

     “Rouse him. Move him. I care not what you
do with him. Father de Tormo wants his room.”

     “But, my lord, be reasonable,” the fat man
pleaded. “One room is a good as the next. As long as there is a soft bed and a
soft wenc….oh, sorry, Father.”

     Gaston’s eyes were like ice.  “Where is the
room?”

     “To the top of the stairs, last door at the
end of the hall,” the innkeeper replied.  “But the room right next to it is
quite pleasant and….”

     Gaston turned to Nicolas and Matts, jerking
his head slightly in the direction of the stairs.  Before the innkeeper could
finish his sentence, the two knights were up and mounting the stairs.  The
proprietor, as well as Remington and de Tormo, watched with open mouths as the
knights disappeared down the upper hallway.  Not even a minute passed before
they heard a woman scream and a great deal of scuffling.

     Remington, her eyes wide, looked at Gaston,
who was quite calmly finishing his meal. He acted as if nothing in the world
were out of sorts, even though there was a good fight going on upstairs.

     From a table across the room, four men
jumped up and started to mount the flight of steps to the second level. Gaston
eyed his remaining three knights with a silent command and the men were up, intercepting
the soldiers before they could assist their lord.

     The innkeeper was beside himself, watching
a heady fight blossom. “Please, my lord. No fighting. I shall clear the young
lord out myself if you will call off your men.”

     “Too late,” Gaston drank deeply from his
cup.

     Remington put a soft hand on his arm.
“Gaston, there is no need for fighting. Father de Tormo can take any room.”

     Upstairs, swords came together and
Remington jumped. Gaston, for the first time, turned to look toward the source
of the scuffle with a bored expression.

     “Gaston?” she pleaded softly.

     He glanced at her, seeing that her very
first visit to an inn was close to being ruined. He, personally, did not care
if his men tore the place down around his ears. It would have been the
proprietor’s fault for denying him his request. However, he did not want to
upset Remington and purely on that basis, he submitted to her wishes.

     Draining his cup, he stood up and the
entire roomful of men and women cringed; he was by far the tallest, most
massive man in the room and therefore a distinct object of fear. Moreover,
there was not a soul in the place who did not know who he was. Should he join
the melee, there would be several newly dead men.

     “Halt.” he roared.

     The entire room came to a grinding,
startled arrest. All eyes turned to him, including the soldiers fighting on the
stairs. From back down the upstairs corridor, Nicolas appeared, his sword
gripped in his hand. His eyes were questioning on his cousin.

     Gaston put his huge hands on his hips,
eyeing the combatants. Then he gazed up at Nicolas. “Where is the young lord?”

     Nicolas jerked his head. “With Matts. Truly
not a problem, my lord.”