Chapter One #2
Remington gazed back at him a moment; hearing his words but not yet feeling the full impact. She was expecting to hear that her husband was returning home; instead, she was hearing something completely unexpected. Her mind went to mud and she was having difficulty understanding him.
“The Dark Knight?” she repeated. “Charles, what are you saying?”
Charles sighed with exasperation. He was terrified and distraught and couldn’t understand why Remington wasn’t feeling the same way.
“The Dark Knight,” he insisted. “The man who single-handedly won the war for the House of Tudor. Henry calls him the Dark One. ’Tis said he is in league with the devil.” He squeezed her arm. “You have heard of him, Remi. Guy mentioned him to you in his missives.”
Remington gazed back at Charles apprehensively, her eyes widening as realization dawned. “De Russe?”
“Aye,” Charles explained, relieved she was beginning to see the gravity of the situation. “Sir Gaston de Russe is coming to Mt. Holyoak.”
Remington’s mouth went agape with shock. “My God,” she breathed. “Why on earth would the man come here?”
Charles shook his head, his exhaustion draining his energy now that his news was delivered. “I do not know. But he is coming. What are we going to do?”
Remington had no idea what to do. What could they possibly do? Women, children, and old men up against the Dark One? The Dark Knight! The man who betrayed Richard at the end and fought for Henry Tudor instead, turning the tables at the Battle of Bosworth, defeating the Duke of Gloucester.
Fear swept her. De Russe would tear them apart if they showed any resistance and well she knew it.
“Did you confirm this information, Charles?” she asked. “Did you seek out anyone of authority of ask?”
Charles shook his head. “Nay, I did not. The knights who gave me the information said they were in de Russe’s personal guard. Do you know that de Russe has a personal knight corps of forty men?”
Remington did not care about the Dark Knight’s personal corp. She was still focused on Charles’ first answer. “Then you did not verify the information? What if they were lying, Charles? Mayhap he is not coming at all.”
Charles looked deeply hurt that she would doubt his judgment. “They were powerful knights, Remi. I believed what they told me. Do you not trust me?”
She had not meant to offend him. “Of course, Charles – ’tis the knights I do not trust. They might have been trying to stimulate the young man’s imagination. Is that not a possibility?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nay, Remi, ’twas no falsehood they told me. I would stake my life on it.”
Remington stared at Charles a moment longer. “Did they say when?”
“They said that he is already riding from London.” Charles wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. “Henry knows the strategic power of Holyoak and is sending de Russe to control it. Since we sit in the heart of Yorkshire, what better place to maintain peace in an enemy’s land?”
Remington did not know what to feel. She was wild with relief that her husband was not returning, yet she was filled with terror on another matter altogether. The Dark Knight was coming to Mt. Holyoak.
She had to think this through. Mayhap there was something they could do, although she had no idea what it might be. There was no fighting a man with the devil on his side. Tearing herself away from her train of thought, she turned to the old maid beside her.
“Eudora, take Charles and feed him. He is exhausted,” she said, pulling Charles to the old woman. “I shall speak with you later, Charles, after you have rested.”
Charles barely nodded as Skye followed him and the serving woman inside.
Jasmine and Rory took hold of Dane, retreating back into the castle, leaving Remington standing a bit bewildered in the middle of the inner bailey.
Her gaze lingered on the innards of the massive structure, her mind working furiously.
What to do, what to do…? The same answer filled her again and again – there is nothing to do.
“Lady Stoneley?” came an elderly voice. “What are we to do about the Dark One’s arrival?”
Remington turned around and realized that a host of aged male faces were staring at her eagerly – men at arms twice, three times her age, and old Oleg, the steward. She knew they were expecting answers from her, answers she was unable to give.
“Prepare for it,” she said evenly. “Prepare Mt. Holyoak as if my husband was returning. I fear we have no choice but to welcome Henry’s Dark Knight.”
The men looked at each other, grunting with agreement or disagreement, she could not be sure.
“But he is the Dark Knight,” one of the older men-at-arms wailed. “Traitorous bastard, he will surely kill us all. I say we should flee for our lives before he arrives.”
“Flee where, Henry?” Remington said softly, her gaze caressing Mt. Holyoak once more. “We have nowhere to go.”
“Surely you have heard stories of this knight, my lady,” another soldier said solemnly. “He’s spawned from the very loins of Lucifer. He shows no mercy, no compassion, and no emotion. Some say Edward had a sorcerer conjure him up.”
“If he shows no mercy, nor compassion, nor emotion, then it will be very much like my husband has returned,” Remington said with bitterness.
“We will simply have to show him great respect and obedience and pray he shows us some benevolence. I know of naught else to do, men; if any of you have suggestions, I am willing to listen.”
The men looked to each other hesitantly, waiting for someone brave enough to speak. Yet it was painfully obvious that no one was willing. Remington sighed, feeling their fear.
“Be courageous, then, and prepare the keep for his arrival,” she said. “I shall not have the Dark Knight entering a shabby keep.”
Disgruntled and bewildered, the men disbanded to do as they were told. Remington took old Oleg’s arm and together they walked for the castle.
“What are we to do, my lady?” Oleg asked. “Having the Dark One here will be far worse than Sir Guy.”
Remington’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Somehow I doubt that. I have lived in hell for nine years, Oleg, and cannot imagine this man will make my life any worse.”
“You seem too willing to be complacent,” Oleg commented. “I know for a fact you have much more fight in you than you are showing.”
Remington shrugged. “What good will it do? I could, conceivably, evacuate the castle. But to where? And for how long? Meanwhile, our people will starve and with winter approaching, they would most likely freeze to death. Nay, Oleg, I am convinced that there is no use to run and hide. We would escape right into our own deaths.”
The old man bobbed his head in reluctant agreement. “So we do nothing but prepare the keep for the man like a god returned?”
Remington paused at the entrance to the keep, facing the frail old man who ran the castle so beautifully. “I am afraid so, Oleg,” she sighed. “I would not want to tweak the nose of the most feared knight in all of England.”
Oleg lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “I fear for our future, my lady. I have heard tales of this Dark One. Some say he is a stone statue come to night, only to be resurrected by the light of dawn.”
“Unless the man flies into the bailey with the wings of a bat, I shall not give in to fear,” Remington smiled, trying to alleviate the tension. “If he pulls a pitchfork from ’neath his cloak, or sprouts a speared tail, then I shall be a-feared. Otherwise, he is just a man like all others.”
Oleg shook his head with apprehension. “God save us all.”
Remington took his arm again. “We have much to accomplish, you and I. ’Tis best we get started.”
“As you say, my lady,” Oleg mumbled as they disappeared into the damp, cool innards of the castle. “Your will shall be done.”
He did not sound as if he meant it.