The Dark One: Dark Knight (95 page)

     He almost choked on the sour wine. “I
intend to be her husband, one day.” He did not know what else to say.

     The old nun nodded faintly and Gaston began
to feel uncomfortable and well as anxious. What had Remington told these women
of the cloister?

     “She did not tell me, my lord,” the nun
finally said, a twinkle in her dull eyes. “Prioress Mary Margaret confided in
me one day, and we prayed for thou both. It would seem that Remington doth not
put great stock in God. We felt it our duty.”

     Gaston set the cup down with a gentle thud.
“Thank you, sister. Your concern is appreciated.”

“There are apparently a great many people
concerned for you both,” Sister Josepha said. “Our prayers have been powerful
indeed.”

     “And how is that?” Gaston asked.

     She smiled, a cracked ancient smile. “Thou
has come, has thou not? Thou are not so dark, as the name implies. God speaks
and thou listens.”

     Gaston nodded faintly, not knowing what
else to say. His mind was increasing preoccupied with Remington and de Tormo.
He hesitated to ask the old nun where Remington was; she had avoided his
question twice.

     They heard rapid footfalls coming down the
corridor. Gaston smelled de Tormo before he saw him.

     “Gaston! Thank God,” he exclaimed quietly.
“You are finally here!”

     Gaston forgot all about the old nun
standing behind him. “What's wrong?”

     De Tormo glanced at the woman behind
Gaston; Sister Josepha moved for the door discreetly, but she did not leave
entirely.

     “It's Remington, Gaston,” he said quietly.
“She entered into labor two days ago and....”

     Gaston suddenly grabbed his head in agony.
“Dear God, she is dead!”

     “Nay, Gaston, she is not,” de Tormo assured
him quickly. “But she…she is not well, not at all.”

     “Take me to her,” Gaston was begging and de
Tormo was struggling to keep the man calm. He put up his hands soothingly.

     “Get hold of yourself, my lord, for there
is much to tell,” he instructed firmly. It would not do to have Gaston lose
control early on. “Listen to me completely, if you would. Remington went into
labor two days ago and delivered your children this morning. But she lost a
great deal of blood in the births, Gaston. Too much blood, and she continues to
lose a great deal of blood. A physic from Glastonbury is with her, and I must
be completely honest with you when I say that her outlook is grim. The physic
believes she will eventually bleed to death.”

     Gaston was literally white. His helm came
off shakily, his face so white that his lips were gray. The smoky gray eyes
were wide.

     “Children?”

     “Two girls. She named them Adeliza and
Arica.”

     Gaston let out a ragged sigh, dragging his
hands over his face. He could barely speak.
How are they?”

     “Adeliza, the eldest, is well. But the
physic says that something is wrong with Arica. He does not expect her to live.
I have already given her last rites, and the prioress continues to pray over
the babe,” de Tormo was trying to be gentle, but there was simply no easy way
to deliver such devastating news. “They are three weeks early, you know.”

     Gaston was looking at the floor. When his
head came up, his cheeks were streaked with tears. “Take me to her,” he rasped.

     De Tormo was shocked at the emotional
display from the feared, almighty Dark One. But his heart was breaking for the
man, for Remington, and for the children. He was simply thankful for the fact
that Gaston had come when he did.

     He took Gaston down to the end of the
corridor, followed closely by Sister Josepha. At the end of the hall was a
narrow staircase. Remington's door was the first door to the right at the top
of the stairs.

     There were three or four nuns in the room,
each busying themselves with something or another. Gaston paid them no attention;
his eyes were instantly riveted to the ashen figure on the bed and his tears
flowed even faster.

     She was buried under a mound of covers, her
damp hair plastered to her pasty face. Her breathing was shallow and every so
often she would twitch. The head of the bed was lowered dramatically, so much
so that her feet were nearly sticking up in the air. She looked as if death
were her shadow, waiting for the fleeting moment to step in a whisk her away.

     He was oblivious of everyone else in the
room; efficiently, mechanically, he began to unlatch his armor. Huge, heavy
pieces fell on the floor as de Tormo and the elderly nuns struggled to cart
them away. Gaston had eyes only for Remington; when he was completely free of
his protective gear, he rolled up the sleeves on his heavy linen shirt and
moved to the edge of the bed.

     The physic was on the other side of the
bed. “You are her husband, my lord?”

     Gaston was so choked he could barely speak.
He wiped at his tears with the back of his hand. “Aye.”

     The physic nodded faintly. “She has lost a
good deal of blood, my lord. She continues to bleed and I have been unable to
stop it. I have packed her, sewn her, but there has been no relief.”

     Gaston sniffed loudly, taking Remington's
hand and holding it to his lips. His eyes never left her. “How much longer can
she…will she...?”

     “If she continues this way, she will not
survive to the nooning meal,” the physic said bluntly. “The next few hours will
tell.”

     Tears fell from Gaston's eyes onto
Remington's hand. He could only nod for the moment. “And my daughter?” he
whispered.

     “Her fate is consigned to God, my lord,”
the physic said softly. “She is too tiny to survive, I am afraid. The other
female is healthy enough.”

     The physic moved away from the bed. Gaston
sat on the floor next to Remington's head, holding her hand and crying
silently. He had never cried in his life and had no idea how to stop his tears
so he did not try; he let them flow.

     The nuns vacated the room for the moment,
leaving de Tormo standing at the doorway. Blinking back his own tears, he
closed the door quietly.

     The day dawned and still Gaston sat by
Remington, stroking her hair. He spoke softly to her, speaking of anything he
could think of, praying fervently that she would hear him in her stupor.

     They had been so foolish to allow a
misunderstanding to go so far. The time they had wasted bewildered him; she had
told him to go away, and he had been stupid enough to listen. Why, by God's
Bloody Rood, had he listened to her? He shouldn't have! He should have returned
later when she was calm to finish their conversation. Instead, he had returned
to the Tower and ceased all further annulment proceeding, purely out of anger.

     He gazed at her dark head, more tears
falling. How could he have been angry with her? God, he loved her so much. He
refused to believe she was dying.

     Shortly after dawn the physic and two nuns
returned to the room.

     “We must check her progress, my lord,” the
physic said. “You... may want to retreat for a few moments.”

     Gaston, gray and looking ill, rose stiffly
to his full height. De Tormo stood in the doorjamb. “Why do not you visit your
children, Gaston?”

     Gaston turned woodenly toward the priest,
his smoky gray orbs dull with pain and fatigue. “Arica is still alive?”

     “She is,” de Tormo reached out and took his
arm. “Come and see your beautiful daughters.”

     Gaston passed a lingering glance on
Remington and de Tormo pulled harder. “Come on. She is in good hands.”

     He allowed the priest to lead him from the
room and the door shut softly behind them. De Tormo took Gaston into the very
next room where several nuns were making themselves useful. His gaze was drawn
to the make shift altar several feet away where two nuns rested on their knees,
one holding a swathed bundle. He knew they held Arica.

     “I would hold her,” Gaston whispered,
pointing feebly in the general direction of the altar.

     They went over to the robed woman holding
the swaddled bundle and de Tormo touched her on the shoulder.

     “The father has arrived,” he said quietly.
“He would hold his child now.”

     The woman rose, assisted by de Tormo, and
faced Gaston with a creased face and sharp eyes, eyes that looked into his very
soul.

     “My lord de Russe,” she greeted. Her voice
was sweet, like honey. Without hesitation, she held out the wrapped infant.

     Gaston had never held an infant before; he
had never even held Trenton. He extended his hands hesitantly and the nun saw
his newness. Gently, she instructed him to crook his left arm, and she
deposited Arica neatly in the fold.

     He gazed down at his daughter, so very tiny
that she could not have weighed any more than three of four pounds. Tears that
had stopped not an hour ago suddenly came freely again, raining from his cheeks
to the swaddling below.

     “She has a great will to live, my lord,”
the prioress said softly. “We did not expect her to survive thus far, but she
has. She is an eager eater.”

     Gaston couldn't speak; he was too choked
with emotion. He could only gaze down on her tiny, perfectly beautiful face,
feeling more pain and pride than he ever thought possible. Sobs were on the
surface, but he swallowed them away.

     “She... she is dark,” he managed to
whisper.

     “So is her sister,” de Tormo commented.
“Both girls are as dark as their father. Poor lasses.”

     As if on cue, a lusty wail penetrated the
air and Gaston turned to see Adeliza, laid out on the bed as a nun changed her
swaddling. She was as red as a beet, waving her angry fists and screaming like
a banshee. Through his tears, he smiled. “She has strong lungs.”

     De Tormo and the prioress glanced in the
direction of the babe, too. “She's as healthy as an ox, my lord,” the nun said.
“She seemed to have taken all of the nutrients from this one. We did not even
know there was another child until Remington's contractions continued even
after she birthed the first babe,” she peered affectionately at the tiny bundle
in her father's arms. “This little lass was backwards. The physic has to pull
her out by her feet.”

     Gaston shuddered at the thought of
Remington going through such a painful, laborious birth. He cursed himself
continuously for not being there for her and his tears threatened to overwhelm
him. But he choked them back, swallowing hard, fighting to keep a rein on his
surging emotions.

     Mayhap God was punishing him for his sins
by taking what was most precious to him. God had proven already that he was not
particularly fond of Gaston by providing him a cheating wife and a lifetime of
pain and humiliation. If Gaston thought praying might make the difference, he
would have gladly dropped to his knees. But he knew from experience that God
did not listen to his prayers.

     If God could take away, only He could give
back. He turned back to the prioress.

     “You were praying for my daughter. I wish
for you to continue,” he whispered, gazing down at the little face. “And
Remington ... you will pray harder for her.”

     “Sister Baptista has been praying for
Remington since before dawn,” the prioress indicated the other kneeling woman.
“I call her my miracle worker. Her prayers are stronger than mine, I believe.
God always listens to her.”

     Gaston nodded, wiping at his eyes with the
back of his right hand. The babe jostled slightly, issuing forth a weak screech
and frightening Gaston out of his skin.

     “What's wrong? What have I done?” he
demanded.

     “Nothing, my lord,” the prioress smiled.
“'Tis good for her to cry and strengthen her lungs. Do not be alarmed.”

     He gazed down at his mewling daughter, his
eyes wide with apprehension. De Tormo and the prioress exchanged amused
glances, a bit of brightness amidst the worry and suffering.

     In spite of what the prioress said, Gaston
was scared to death to hear her cry. He started to talk to her, to soothe her,
and no more than four words came out of his mouth and the babe stopped fussing.
One baleful eye opened, looking at him, and he was astonished.

     “She is
looking
at me.” he exclaimed
softly.

     “Of course she is. She knows her father,”
the nun said confidently. “Speak to her, my lord. Let her hear you.”

     He obeyed, saying anything that came to
mind. Arica continued to look at her father for quite a while before yawning a
tiny yawn and closing her eye, fading off to sleep. Tears forgotten for the
moment, Gaston was enchanted.

     He dared to wander over to the bed where
Adeliza lay, sleeping in the center of a mound of pillows. He spoke to both
girls, telling them how much they looked like their beautiful mother, wondering
aloud if their eyes would be sea-crystal green or his ugly brown, as he put it.
The nuns tending Adeliza smiled encouragingly at him, telling him of his new
daughter, and they were rewarded with a weak smile.