Chapter Three #5
Arik closed his eyes a moment, silently beseeching the gods for strength and patience. “Am I to assume I look as if I am wearing rouge on my lips?”
“Aye,” Gaston took a healthy sip from his cup.
Remington was looking at the knight as if she expected him to draw his sword at any moment and run her through. Anger at her sister and complete terror were running neck and neck.
“My lord,” she croaked. “I am so terribly sorry. I shall punish Rory severely for her transgressions. Pray forgive, my lord.”
Arik looked at her, picking up his napkin to wipe his mouth and then suddenly remembering the dye in it. He tossed it to the floor and ripped Antonius’ napkin from his hand, daintily dabbing at his lips.
“Nay, madam, I am sure that will not be necessary,” he said steadily. “If I know Nicolas, and I do, your sister will have punishment enough.”
Remington’s eyes widened with fright but she said nothing.
Her gaze shifted once again to the archway her sister had disappeared through, wondering what was transpiring.
Was he raping her, or worse? She tore her gaze away, moving to Jasmine and Skye plastered against the wall by the hearth. Quickly, she moved to them.
“Get out of here,” she whispered. “Go find out where that knight has taken Rory.”
“And then what?” Jasmine whined. “We can do nothing against him.”
“Shush,” Remington hissed sharply, glancing over her shoulder towards the Dark Knight to make sure he had not overheard. “Just do as I say. Go find Rory.”
Like blond wispy fairies, Jasmine and Skye slipped from the room, leaving Remington and the servants to deal with the hoard of men rapidly drinking themselves happy. Remington was glad to be rid of them for that latter fact, as well. She did not want her sisters to fall victim to drunken soldiers.
The meal progressed to empty trenchers and a good deal of loud, wet belching.
Remington continued to stand in the corner and direct servants, making sure goblets were kept full.
Oleg emerged from the kitchens and stood silent watch with her, fully aware of what had happened with Rory.
He, too, was concerned for the spirited sister but did not voice his concerns. It would only upset Remington.
As the evening rolled toward midnight and the knights had taken to singing and games to entertain themselves, Remington decided it was time for her to retire.
She’d had enough of men in armor and merriment in their fashion.
She was weary to the bone and worried for her sister, and only wished to vacate the hall to see to her own needs.
Leaving Oleg in charge, she moved quietly to the Dark Knight’s table.
As she came closer she was aware of her twisting stomach, anxiety for the mountainous man. She was positive that after this evening he would banish them all with good riddance, and she furthermore did not blame him. But she prayed, just the same, that he would be merciful.
“My lord,” she curtsied by his chair. “I would ask your permission to retire for the eve.”
He glanced disinterestedly at her. “The night is young, madam. Are you not planning on eating?”
“Nay, my lord,” she said. “This meal was meant for you and your knights to enjoy, without intrusion of the people of Mt. Holyoak. If I may bid you good-night, then.”
He studied her manner, extremely careful and respectful.
She had the look about her like a frightened doe, which most people did when confronted with the Dark Knight.
He was used to it, immune to it, but for some reason, he did not want her to look at him like that…
look at him as if he were going to tear her arms from her sockets.
“Very well,” he flicked his wrist. “Retire, lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
The knights watched her back out, far more respectful than most women. It was subservient to the point of over-reactive.
“She is a beauty,” Antonius observed when she was gone. “I know Sir Guy Stoneley. He is an evil bastard on the best of days and I certainly did not expect that he would have such a beautiful creature for a wife.”
Arik stared at the empty doorway a moment longer, before looking back to his goblet of water. “See how she acts, Antonius? That woman has known nothing but fear her entire life.”
Antonius shook his head and returned to his drink. “Were she mine, she would know nothing but pleasure and happiness. Ah, what a damn pity.”
“Nay, the pity is that she must deal with that wild sister,” Patrick said. “We shall have to watch that redhead. If she is bold enough to play tricks on our first night here, there is no telling what more she is capable of.”
“Sleep lightly, lads,” Gaston rumbled, watching the dance of the fire over the rim of his cup. “She shall not be sated until she has humiliated every one of us.”
“Damnable Yorkist,” Patrick said lowly. “I shall have her head if she tries anything with me.”
“She’s not a Yorkist, she’s a pretty young girl,” Arik said, his lips and face still red. “I would bet money that she would not care if this house was loyal to the prince of Persia. Nay, what she does, she does for revenge on the male sex.”
Patrick looked at him and smiled broadly. “I cannot take you seriously, man, when your lips are as red as a court whore’s.”
Arik lifted an eyebrow and put his drink to his lips. “Beware, lad, or I shall kiss you fully.”
Antonius sat back in his chair with a sigh, mesmerized by the flames and feeling his fatigue. “I wonder what it would be like to kiss Lady Stoneley,” he said. “After all, with her husband in the White Tower, she must be fairly lonely.”
“Stay away from Lady Stoneley,” Gaston said, his voice quiet but unmistakable. “She is not for you. Keep your mind on your profession, Antonius, for I will not hear that you have been making a fool of yourself after a married woman.”
Antonius nodded in resignation, but there was a good-natured smile playing on his lips. Turning the conversation back to another subject, he and Patrick became animatedly engaged and forgot all about Lady Stoneley and her sisters. Even Arik joined in, leaving Gaston brooding silently over his wine.
He had not forgotten Lady Stoneley.
*
Rory was not in her room, nor was she in any of her other usual places.
Remington skirted the perimeter of the entire castle looking for her sister but had yet to see a sign of her.
She spied Sir Nicolas entering the castle from the inner bailey alone and her anxiety soared; had he left Rory for dead somewhere, beaten and mauled?
Knowing Rory, she would have not made it easy for the knight to punish her and Remington was terrified for her sister.
Quickly, she descended from the southern tower where she had been searching and made way to the inner bailey in search of Rory.
The flame-haired sister wasn’t hard to find.
She was sniffling and sobbing, carrying on angrily.
Remington heard her cursing and banging about in a small room in the inner wall turret, talking to herself furiously.
Oblivious to the light rain that was falling and the mud on her skirt, Remington entered the dark, dank room.
“Rory?” she asked softly. “What on earth are you doing?”
Rory’s head snapped up, her sea-crystal eyes like flames from hell. “You!” she yelled. “This is your fault. You let them in.”
Remington was gripped with terror. “What did he do to you?”
“Do to me? How can you ask me that question?” Rory cried.
Remington’s fear was now fed by annoyance. “Tell me, dammit. What did he do to you?”
Rory sobbed in frustration, smacking her fists against the wall. “It was…terrible. He was so heartless, cruel….”
Remington had had her fill of emotions for the day; she grabbed Rory roughly by the sleeve and shook her. “Tell me what he did to you, Rory, or so help me I will kill you myself.”
Rory yanked herself away from her sister in a fit of sniffles and grunts. She pressed her back against the cold stone of the wall and eyed her sister. “He…spanked me.”
Remington wasn’t sure she heard a-right. She blinked and straightened, tilting her head curiously. “He spanked you?”
“Aye,” Rory cried. “And it is your fault. If you had not lowered the bridge then they would have never come in.”
Remington calmed dramatically to the point where she almost smiled. The knight actually spanked her sister; not beat, nor thrashed, but merely spanked. Enough to sting, yet not enough to hurt her. She was soundly surprised.
“Get hold of yourself and go to bed,” she told her sister after a moment. “We will have much to do on the morrow, I fear.”
She turned away from Rory, but her sister was not about to be ignored.
“You do not care that he put his hand to my backside,” she accused loudly, racing across the room and blocking Remington’s exit.
Remington met her sister’s gaze steadily.
“Rory, if there is any justice in this country, then you have received it. ’Twas you who were terrible and reckless when you put charcoal on his cup.
And dye on the other knight’s napkin. What I cannot truly determine is when you did it; I was in the hall most of the time and never saw you. ”
Rory’s eyes cooled to smoldering embers. “Skye put the dye on the napkin, not me.”
Remington shook her head helplessly. “You two are a pair. ’Tis a wonder Guy did not kill you both for the trouble you caused him.”
Rory’s jaw ticked. “I would say, in fact, the transgressions were far greater on his part. At least Skye and I never physically hurt him.”
Remington was stung by her sister’s words, although she was only too aware of how very true they were. Still, to hear them voiced in an accusing manner struck her. Bitterly, she turned for the door.
“Go to bed,” she mumbled, feeling the soft mist caress her face.
Rory eyed her sister a moment. “Are you going to service the Dark Knight as you serviced Guy?”
Remington paused, slowly turning to her sister. “What do you mean?”
“As his whore,” Rory said, her bitterness and humiliation affecting her common sense. “Guy always said you were his whore. I was wondering if you would be the new lord’s whore, too.”
Remington slapped her sister across the face faster than either one of them thought possible.
Rory reeled with the blow, sorry she had said something so entirely uncalled for.
She did not know why she had said it; mayhap because Remington was blaming her for her spanking.
She had expected her sister to stand up for her.
Rory hated taking responsibility for anything.
Remington’s control was gone; she was so brittle and unbalanced that she continued to fly after Rory even as her sister tried to recover from the blow.
She picked up a small stool and hurled it at her sister as Rory screeched and ducked just in time to avoid the projectile.
It smashed harmlessly against the wall behind her.
“Stop it, Remi,” Rory cried. “I am sorry. I did not mean it.”
Remington wasn’t finished raging. She knew what Guy had called her, among other things, and she was raging at him as well. Rory was, at the moment, a convenient whipping post, the catalyst to a much larger problem.
Yet even with her anger, she was not irrational. There were tears of frustration in her eyes as she threw the second stool at her sister, badly aimed.
“Go to hell, Rory.” she whispered hoarsely.
Leaving her sister thankful for her hide, she staggered back across the inner bailey toward the door to the castle, wiping hastily at the tears and droplets that pelted her face.
She hated herself when she flew out of control, which was extremely rare, for it allowed the pain and anger she felt to somehow seep deeper inside her.
Instead of a release, it was like opening the stopper just a little bit more, allowing emotions to creep that much further.
The dimly lit interior of the castle beckoned her, and she answered gratefully.
High above in the southern tower, Gaston watched her cross the bailey like a drunkard and wondered what the matter was.
Not that he had been looking for her intentionally; he had personally taken the night watch to better acquaint himself with Mt.
Holyoak and just happened to see her moving in the darkness.
She disappeared into the castle and his eyes lingered on the open doorway a moment longer. He was puzzled by his reaction to her, yet he did not dwell on it. He had a keep to explore.