The Dark One: Dark Knight (91 page)

     Henry passed a glance at Stoneley, grossly
swollen. “I suspect you have me to thank for your life this night. I can see
that the Dark One was quite efficient.”

     “That may be, my lord, but he still did not
gain what he set out to obtain,” Stoneley replied, looking at Gaston's profile.

     Henry's face hardened. “Then I can see I
must do the bargaining. Well, out with it, then. What are your terms for an
annulment agreement, Stoneley? And do not waste my time with haggling. Spit it
out.”

     Guy looked up at Henry, seeing the other
important men in the room. Men he had fought against, despised. But to actually
be negotiating with Henry brought a whole new meaning to the game and he felt
most powerful, in spite of his aching body. He shifted in his seat.

     “Look at me, de Russe, when I speak, for I
shall not repeat my words,” he said icily.

     Gaston stiffened a bit. Reluctantly, he
turned to face Guy, his face like stone. All of the rage, the fury, the hatred,
was expertly banked and Stoneley's twisted mouth smiled.

     “Excellent,” he glanced up at Henry. “I
will list my terms in order. First, I would be released from the Tower.”

     “Done,” Henry did not miss a beat. “And?”

     “The return of my keep. My lands and
wealth, as well.”

     Henry glanced at Gaston. Seeing no
reaction, he nodded his head. “Agreed. Is that all?”

     “No,” Guy said flatly. If the king were
responding so agreeably, then he would push him to the limit. “Since I will be
losing my wife, I wish another in return. Her sister, Jasmine.”

     Gaston's eggshell composure cracked.
“Impossible. She is married and with child.”

     Guy raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? My wife
neglected to tell me that. Oh, well. With Rory dead, I suppose that leaves
little Skye.”

     “Out of the question,” Gaston's jaw ticked.
“She is also married and with child.”

     Guy raised both eyebrows. “Truly? Now that
is remarkable. I wonder if it is also true.”

     “It is,” Nicolas stepped in beside his
cousin, his youthful face taut. “I married Skye.”

     Guy looked between Nicolas and Gaston as if
seeing right through their half-truths. Then he looked at Henry. “I would have
my son returned to me. When Remington marries de Russe, my son stays with me.”

     Another crack appeared in Gaston's facade.
“The boy is fostering.”

     “At Mt. Holyoak, I am told,” Guy, said
coolly. “He will stay there and remain with me.”

     Dane. Remington's most prized possession,
her beloved son, and the boy Gaston himself had come to love. Gaston could not
make that decision; neither could Henry. “Gaston?” the king pushed.

     Gaston’s eyes flicked to his king
helplessly.  “I cannot agree, my lord. That will be for Lady Remington to
decide, but I can tell you without a doubt that she will refuse it.”

     “All or nothing, de Russe,” Stoneley said
with a confident growl. “All of my terms or no agreement.”

     “Is that everything?” Henry demanded
roughly.

     Guy looked thoughtful a moment. “Aye.”

     Henry looked to Gaston, who was staring at
Guy as if the man had just declared he was Christ in the flesh. “Well, Gaston?”
Henry prodded gently. “You have his terms. They are not entirely disagreeable.”

     Gaston stared a moment longer. “Nicolas,
send word to Mt. Holyoak. All troops and weaponry is to be dispatched to
Clearwell. The keep is to be vacated without delay.”

     Nicolas blanched. “What of... what of
Jasmine and Skye?”

     “To Clearwell,” Gaston still wasn't looking
at him. “Dane and Charles will remain at Mt. Holyoak.”

     Nicolas' jaw swung open. “Christ, Gaston.
You are going to leave them? What about...?”

     Gaston's eyes riveted to his cousin, boring
a hole clean through to his brain. Nicolas met the gaze, feeling its impact as
if he had been physically hit. Without another word, he quit the room.

     Gaston turned back to Guy. “De Tormo will
write up the agreement this night.”

     “Shouldn’t you discuss my terms with Remi?”
Guy asked, his mood lightening. “She will not want to leave Dane, you know. She
could end up hating you for leaving her son behind in your haste to gain her.”

     Gaston knew that only too well, but he had
no other choice at the moment. Hoping to throw Stoneley off the track, he said:
“We will have more children, Stoneley. One son will not matter in future years,
not when she will bear me ten.”

     Even Henry thought the remark was rather
callous but he did not reply. He had done his work and moved for the door,
making sure de Vere and Uncle Jasper had hold of Gaston.

     “When can I expect my freedom, my lord?”
Guy asked pleasantly.

     Henry paused coldly. “After the priest
writes up the consent, and after the annulment proceedings have been completed,
and no sooner. You are still an enemy of the crown, Stoneley. I do not take
those charges lightly.”

     Guy lowered his head respectfully, watching
the great group of men file from his room.

When the door closed and he was alone, he
smiled. Remington would never leave Dane behind and he knew it. De Russe had no
right to agree to that particular term, but he had taken the liberty anyway.
Guy snickered into the darkness; he had his freedom promised and his keep
returned. And mayhap, after all, he would still retain his wife. There was no
reason to gain an annulment if she was not going to marry anyone else.
Especially if she ended up hating the reason for all of these troubles -    Gaston
de Russe.

     Remington did not sleep at all that night.
The convent was cold, her pallet made of straw, and her stomach hurt with all
of the emotions she was feeling.

     She wondered where Gaston was and how he
was handling her removal. He had always seemed remarkably calm, with the
exception of when she'd met with Guy. It was the only time she had ever seen
him rage, but she wondered if he had not torn the Tower apart when he realized
what had happened.

     The nuns had been kindly to her, older
women with wrinkled faces exposed underneath their wimple. One had seen that she
was made comfortable, bringing her bread and wine before leaving her utterly
alone in her tiny cell. She felt as if she were in prison.

     The next day after her sleepless night
dawned sticky and hot. As soon as Remington rose, her stomach announced itself
loud and clear and she knew it was because of the child. Nibbling on bread
calmed it somewhat, and she was able to sponge herself with cool water and don
a soft linen surcoat. Her hair gathered back at the nape of her neck, she
continued to nibble bread and gaze from the narrow window, wondering what would
happen to her now. She had never felt so alone in her life, and memories of Mt.
Holyoak and her family seemed years past.

     St. Catherine's Convent was a huge place.
Young, noble girls were schooled and finished here, and the place was full of
novice nuns. She could see them down below occasionally, dressed in rough
woolen garments and wooden clogs, even in the oppressive heat.

     She spent the entire morning pondering her
future, loosing track of time. Before she realized it, the sun was over her
head and there was a soft knock at the door.

     A novice nun entered the room. Remington
turned to the girl, looking at her curiously.

     “My lady? The nooning meal is being served
below, and your knights said that you could enjoy it outside of your room,” she
said softly. “I would escort you there.”

     Remington stood up. “I'd like that. This
room is a might small.”

     The girl smiled, a beautiful smile. In
fact, she was very pretty in spite of the fact that her hair was hidden and she
was dressed in shapeless brown wool. Remington guessed that she was close to
her own age. “And this room will become quite hot as the day progresses,” the
girl assured her. “Which is why you have been allowed the coolness of the
common room.”

     Their walk down the corridor was silent.
Remington glanced about her curiously, having never been inside a convent
before. It was barren of anything other than necessary furnishings, but it was
absolutely spotless. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear children
laughing as they descended the stairs.

     The common room was a cavernous hall with
simple wooden tables and benches, reserved for travelers and others seeking
refuge. There were few people in the room, but the young nun dashed away from
her as one of Courtenay’s knights approached.

     It was a knight who had brought her in the
previous night, as tall as a tree and broad. His armor banged loudly and his
faceplate was up, revealing his handsome face.

     “My lady,” he greeted pleasantly.  “I
thought you would appreciate a change of scenery. Your meal is over here.”

She followed him
silently to a small wooden table. A variety of fruits, cheese and hard bread
awaited her, but she drank two large goblets of water before she even looked at
the food. Meanwhile, the knight had moved far, far away, watching her from the
shadows.

     She ate slowly, her confusion and
depression reflected in her movements. The food was fresh, but she thought it
tasteless. She missed Gaston so terribly that her whole existence was tasteless
at the moment. And she missed her son, her sisters.

     The novice nun came to her, making sure she
had enough to eat and drink. Remington almost asked the girl her name, but she
lost her nerve. The girl moved away again, leaving her alone. Depression
overwhelming her, she stopped eating and dropped her hands to her lap. She sat
and stared at the table.

     “You must eat more to keep up your
strength,” came a voice.

     She did not raise her head; instead, she
peered sideways toward the source of the voice.

A figure dressed in coarse, dirty garments sat a
few feet away. It was a large figure, with filthy hands that picked at a chuck
of bread. Remington looked away, ignoring the man.

     “I demand you eat what is put in front of
you,” the man said again, and Remington looked up sharply. There was suddenly
something strangely familiar about the voice.

     Martin de Russe pulled the hood of his
cloak back slightly, winking boldly at Remington. Her eyes widened and her
mouth opened, but she recovered her shock quickly, glancing about to make sure
no one was looking their way. The knight, over her shoulder but several yards
away, was of no immediate threat.

     “Uncle Martin.” she whispered sharply.
“What are you doing here?”

     “Watching out for you, lovely,” he
whispered back, pulling the hood down over him once again.

     “Did Gaston send you?” she asked, her eyes
flicking about nervously.

     Martin snorted, shoveling bread into his
mouth. “Good God, no. He does not even know I am here. He was adamant about not
sending anyone to protect you, but I thought he was being ridiculous. I am here
of my own accord.”

     “How did you find me?”

     “Waiting outside of the Tower entrance,
lovely. When your party passed, I followed you. 'Twas not difficult.”

     She eyed him with disbelief and amusement.
“Well, what are you doing dressed as a peasant?”

     A disguise,” he told her as if she were a
simpleton. “I can stay close to you this way,” he suddenly let out a series of
horrible, gravelly coughs and snorts. “And I am desperately ill until they see
it fit to move you, Remi. Then, suddenly, I will be gone that very day.”

     “To follow me,” Remington supplied with a
smile.

     He smiled back, eyeing the knight in the
corridor. “Exactly. These buffoons in their fancy armor cannot protect you
properly.”

     She snickered, her appetite suddenly
returning and she popped a grape in her mouth. “I do love you, Uncle Martin.”

     He stopped a moment, the gentlest of
expressions washing his face. “You do? Well, of course, I love you too, else I
would not be here.”

     “Have you heard anything of Gaston?” she
asked, more grapes in her mouth. “I am terribly worried about him.”

     “Nothing,” Martin drank from his cup. “I
have been here in this convent since you left the Tower. See here; here comes
your watchdog.”

     Surely, Courtenay's knight marched up on
her table, eyeing Martin threateningly. “Is he bothering you, my lady?”

     “Not at all,” she said steadily. “In fact,
I find him rather interesting. He deals in...rags.”

     The knight put himself between Remington
and Martin. “Be gone with you, filth. Leave the lady alone.”

     “It's all right, truly,” Remington,
insisted, rising and putting her hand on the knight's armored arm. “He's not
bothering me. By the way, I do not know your name, my lord.”