The Dark One: Dark Knight (89 page)

     Remington merely nodded; she sensed
tremendous hostility from the queen and was not about to enter into any sort of
verbal battle. Puzzled at the reception, she lowered her head to her trencher.

     The evening passed, the conversation mostly
between Gaston and the king. Remington kept silent for the most part, still in
awe of her dinner mates and furthermore fearful to antagonize the queen. The
woman kept glaring at her.

     Lady Beaufort, however, kept her eyes on
Remington in a sort of appraising manner, as one would inspect a side of beef.
Remington met the woman's eyes a few times, smiling weakly and quickly
returning to her food. Nauseous as she was, it was the only thing she could put
her attention to that wasn't staring back at her.

     Gaston kept his hand on her knee underneath
the table. Every so often he would squeeze it gently, just to let her know he
had not forgotten about her. She appreciated his support and wished she could
tell him so.

     When dinner was cleared and dessert was
brought, an elderly man entered the dining hall and, without a greeting, kicked
Christopher Urswick out of his chair next to Henry and resumed it himself. Muttering
and tugging at his tunic, he demanded his share of the pastries first.

     Obviously, everyone at the table knew who
he was, except Remington. She stared at him curiously as he grunted and
bickered about anything and everything. Then, his eyes came up and he focused
on her.

     “Lady Stoneley, I presume?”

     Remington blinked, almost as if she had
been physically jarred by his words. “Aye, my lord.”

     His eyes narrowed, as he looked her over.
“Stand up, girl.”

     Hesitantly, she stood. The old man let his
eyes wander over her a brief moment before turning to Gaston. “She’s marvelous.
What in the hell does she want with the likes of you?”

     Gaston smiled faintly. “She is with me out
of pity, most likely, my lord. She is a gracious woman with a good heart.”

     “And a figure to match,” the old man
snorted, gazing at her once again. “She's the best piece of female flesh I have
seen in many years, Gaston. No wonder you stole her from that Yorkist bastard.”

Remington sat down
quickly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She still had yet to discover who
this crass man was, but Gaston turned to her.

     “Remi, this is the Duke of Bedford. Henry's
Uncle Jasper.”

     As if a light suddenly blazed, Remington
understood. This small, boorish old man was Henry's powerful uncle. Militarily,
she understood he was brilliant and had been by his nephew's side for years as
Henry fought for the throne.

     She found it difficult to believe the man
was Uncle Jasper. The man had been of such value to Henry that he had been
named the new duke of Bedford after Henry was crowned. Somehow, she had
imagined the duke more….refined. But then again, she had made the same
superficial observation of Martin and had been completely wrong.

     Gaston served Remington a custard tart
himself, smiling gently at her until Uncle Jasper roped him into a discussion.
She ate politely, eyes downcast, listening to Jasper rattle on. The ladies of
the table seemed to have been forgotten.

     The evening wore on and Remington was
growing exceedingly bored, even in the company of greats. Lady Margaret and
Elizabeth had yet to say one word, even to each other, so Remington pressed
herself close to Gaston's side and sat quietly. His hand, back on her knee,
caressed her through her surcoat.

     Unfortunately, when the men’s conversation
lulled, Jasper's attention turned to her once again.

     “I hear your husband beat you,” he said
bluntly. “What kind of bastard is he? I understand he is as black as Satan.”

     She looked at him, stunned, and struggled
to recover. “He...he is an evil man, my lord. Which is why I am endeavoring to
obtain an annulment.”

     “But what if Gaston had not come along?
What then?”

     She swallowed, feeling Gaston's hand
squeeze her gently. “Then I suppose I would still be at Mt. Holyoak with my
family, praying that Guy Stoneley rots in his cell.”

     Jasper wiped his nose, picked at it, still
scrutinizing her. “He's a smart man; proved it at Stokes. I know this, for I
was in the battle,” he sat back in his chair, his manner somewhat less crude.
“I pity you, sweetheart. I sincerely hope the church sees its way clear to
grant you what you seek. If they do not, let me know and I shall kill Stoneley
myself and say it was an accident. You shall have our annulment then.”

     Henry smiled faintly, but Remington looked
shocked. She had no idea whether or not he was jesting until Gaston stepped
into the conversation.

     “We shall keep that in mind, my lord,” he
said.

     Remington was terribly thankful for
Gaston's intervention, but she was entertaining a more embarrassing thought;
did the whole court know of her beatings? How much did they know? Was her life,
unfortunately, now for public display? She realized that Gaston had to reveal
all of the reasons why she desired an annulment, and she had further realized
that the facts and gossip had spread.

     But she wasn't surprised, truly. She had
not expected less, but it did not prevent her from feeling somewhat ashamed.

     The dessert dishes were cleared and the
servants set out bowls of water for cleansing. The men were still conversing
about something unimportant, tax tariffs from what Remington could gather when
she decided to pay attention, when a soldier entered the room and saluted
sharply before his king.

     “Speak,” Henry commanded lazily.

     “My lord, Sir Richard Guildford has arrived
to the Tower,” the sergeant said crisply. “He is being shown to the Brick
Tower.”

     “I sent for him,” Henry mumbled to Jasper,
then looked at Gaston. “Gaston, would you be so kind as to greet Guildford and
bring him to me.”

     Gaston rose without question, but Remington
suddenly looked frightened. Her huge eyes gazed up at him and he patted her
cheek gently. “You are in good company, my lady. I shall return shortly.”

     “Good company, indeed.” Jasper sniffed.
“Get out of here, Gaston, before I am driven to return the insult.”

     The corner of Gaston's lips twitched and he
gave Remington one final wink before quitting the room behind the sergeant.

     Remington couldn't help it; she watched
wistfully until the door closed, acutely aware that nearly the entire royal
family was watching her. Feeling horribly alone and anxious, she forced herself
to turn around and smile.

     They did not smile back.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

     “I am sorry, my lady, but there seemed to
be no easy way to do this,” Henry said softly.

     Remington blinked in confusion. “I do not
understand, Your Grace.”

     Henry stood up. On the opposite side of the
room from where Gaston had just left, there was another door. The king opened
it.

     Two large knights and four soldiers filed
in quietly and Henry beckoned the two knights to follow him. Remington watched
with growing apprehension as they made a path directly to her.

     “This is Lady Remington Stoneley,” Henry
said quietly to the armored men. “Her items have already been loaded into the
wagon and she is ready to leave. If you will be so kind as to escort her to St.
Catherine’s.”

     The impact of the situation slammed into
Remington and her eyes widened.  She sought the king's eyes.

     “I cannot say good-bye to Gaston?” she
whispered.

     Henry took her arm gently and pulled her to
stand. “My lady, Gaston means more to me than you could possibly know and
believe me when I tell you that I do not relish provoking his anger. But I
believe it best to whisk you away while he is calm and controlled, not wait
until painful farewells crack him, I am afraid.  Truthfully, he will have the
utmost difficulty letting you go; even though he knows he must. This way, it is
less painful for you both.”

     She was stunned. “You tricked him into
leaving?”

     “I did. But I had to.”

     Her mouth opened in shock, but she quickly
closed it. Her whole body started to shake and she struggled to maintain her
composure. Should she scream for Gaston? Should she balk, fight, fall into
fits? Dear God, she did not want to go without saying good-bye to him!

     Lady Margaret was up, moving to her side
and taking her other arm. “Henry, let her go. I shall walk with her to the
courtyard.”

     Remington was trying so desperately not to
cry as Lady Margaret’s warm hand clutched her. She was so shaken she could
barely speak, but she felt compelled to. She knew Gaston's rage would be great
when he returned and she did not want him to do something he would regret.

     “Very well, my lord, if you think this
best,” she said hoarsely. “But be sure and tell Gaston that I went willingly,
with no struggle. Make sure he understands that.”

     “She needs a cloak,” Lady Margaret mumbled,
looking at her son, the knights. “Where is her cloak? The night grows damp.”

     “On her mount, my lady,” one of the knights
replied. “She is prepared to face the evening air.”

     “Where is Courtenay?” Henry asked the same
knight.

“At St. Catherine’s, my
lord,” the man's voice was deep and husky. “He awaits the lady there.”

     Henry nodded. “Good. Waste no time, then.
Take her to the convent and make haste; I fear when de Russe returns, he shall
not be pleased and I want the lady far away.”

     The knights bowed as Lady Margaret led
Remington toward the open door. When the panel closed softly behind them, Henry
turned back to the table with a weary sigh.

     “Easier than I thought,” he muttered,
moving back to his chair. “I hated to do that, you know. I took no pleasure in
deceiving de Russe.”

     Jasper drank from his cup. “I hope you can
explain that to him before he tears your throat out.”

     “Your support, as always, is appreciated,”
Henry took his goblet and drained it, aware his wife was looking at him. “Do
you wish to say something?”

     Elizabeth shook her head. In spite of the
fact that she was extremely envious of Lady Remington, she thought what her
husband had done was cruel. But she did not voice her opinion. “I would ask
your permission to retire, my lord.”

     Henry barely nodded and Elizabeth rose,
silently leaving the room. Henry did not give her a second thought as he
returned to the conversation, mentally planning his speech for Gaston when the
man walked back through the door. Guildford wasn't at the Tower; he was in
Dorchester.

     Henry suspected by the time Gaston reached
the Brick Tower and realized there was no Guildford, that he would suspect
something was afoot. He kept glancing at the door, waiting for Gaston to tear
it off its hinges.

     Elizabeth wasn't heading for her chambers
as she had told her husband; she was walking the path to the Brick Tower that
she had suspected Gaston had taken. Passing by a bank of narrow windows that
opened out onto the courtyard, she could see her mother-in-law loading Lady
Remington onto a small brown palfrey while the two knights stood by the animal,
making sure the lady was comfortable and properly set. She knew they would be
leaving soon, and she knew she must hurry and find the Dark Knight.

     It wasn't that she had a particularly good
heart; Elizabeth was shallow and petty, and she never did anything for purely
unselfish reasons. She was afraid of the Dark Knight; everyone was, even her
husband, but he would not admit it. She thought that, mayhap, informing de
Russe of her husband's devious deception might somehow put her in his good
graces. She would do a favor for him, and he, in return, might someday
reciprocate.

     The path from the Queen's House to the
Brick Tower was a long one. The corridors were quiet and dimly lit, a household
soldier occasionally seen. This portion of the Tower was always quiet and,
Elizabeth thought, haunted. Her fine silk slippers scuffed the stone floor
faintly as she rounded a sharp corner and proceeded down the straight hall to
her destination.

     She was preparing to mount the stairs to
the tower when she nearly ran headlong into Gaston, who was descending. She let
out a small cry and he reached out to steady her, so that she would not tumble
to the floor.