Chapter Eight
Thankfully, Dane had indeed fallen back to sleep and had forgotten all about walking in on his mother and the Dark Knight.
Moreover, this was a special day for him; his mother had promised him that on Wednesday he could go to the Mid-Summer Faire in the neighboring town of Ripon.
Remington had forgotten all about it until he had burst into the middle of her bath, telling her of all the marvelous things he was going to purchase with his coinage.
Remington had promised him before Gaston had ever arrived and she went to seek his permission.
The inner and outer baileys were absolutely abuzz with activity.
She picked her way through the obstacles, weaving a path toward the main hovel of business, the nearly completed troop house.
More than the previous days, she was acutely aware of the soldiers’ stares upon her and she was nervous.
Gaston’s soldiers were probably the heartiest, earthiest troops in all of England.
Men used to the harsh realities of life and the bitterness it had to offer.
She was scared to even look them in the eye.
She rounded the wall and proceeded into the outer bailey. The closer she drew, the busier it became and she paused, trying to discern the best possible path. She could see a few knights here and there and quickly decided to ask them where she could find Gaston.
She was nervous to see him after what had transpired last night.
He had left so abruptly that she did not know what to think.
Was he as confused as she was? Did he, upon reflection, decide that kissing her had been a colossal mistake?
Her stomach was twitching so that she had not been able to break her fast when she rose.
Remington gathered her skirts higher as she dodged a pile of stone in the middle of her path. Coming to the dusty bailey dressed in a rose-colored silk was not the wisest choice, for the hem of her surcoat was already coated with a thin film of dirt and she tried to shake it off as she walked.
Suddenly a strong hand was biting into her upper arm and she flinched, instinctively trying to pull away.
“Yer a pretty little goat,” an older, filthy soldier leered. “What’s yer name, lass?”
Angry, she tried to yank free. “Let go of me, you brute.”
His grip tightened. “That’s not very friendly. I just asked ye yer name.”
Other soldiers had started to gather, grinning lewdly and Remington was on the verge of panic. These were not the well-trained knights that graced her grand hall every eve; these were the lowers, men with no manners and even less intelligence.
“You do not need to know my name,” she succeeded in tearing her arm away from him, but his dirty hand left an imprint on her fine silk and she clucked at it miserably. “Get away from me, all of you. Get.”
She scrambled back from the soldier as he made another swipe at her, much to the amusement of his comrades. But he let her go on and she practically ran until she found one of Gaston’s knights.
The knight was an older man, completely bald, but with an intelligent face. He knew her on sight.
“Greetings this day, Lady Stoneley,” he said. “How may I serve you?”
“Sir Gaston,” she asked, panting from fright and exertion. “Where is he?”
“In the troop house, I believe,” the knight strained his eyes to the structure. “Aye, I believe I see him. Shall I fetch him for you?”
“Nay,” Remington did not want to be left waiting, alone. “Take me to him, please.”
Without hesitation, the knight took her elbow courteously and led her to the edges of the troop house. Masoners and soldiers were covered with dust from the stone, moving busily as they neared completion of the walls. The knight let her go a moment to seek out Arik.
She could see Arik whirl around when the knight whispered in his ear. His face rippled with concern and he sent a man in search of Gaston. As it was, he and the other knight returned hastily to her side.
“Good morn to you, Lady Remington,” Arik said pleasantly.
“And to you, Sir Arik,” she smiled at him. “I must thank you for the sword you gave Dane. He is tremendously proud of it; he even slept with it last night.”
He returned her smile. “I am pleased, then,” he replied. “He will prove to be a bright, eager pupil.”
Her smile faded a bit. “I suppose. But is it necessary to teach boys to be men at such a young age? I wonder at the intelligence of such a concept.”
“’Tis best to start them young, before they grow older and less impressionable,” he assured her. “Have no fear, my lady. I will take good care of your son.”
She blinked and her brow furrowed slightly. “You? What do mean? Are you leaving, too?”
“Leaving? Hell no. I mean, no,” he quickly corrected himself. “I shall be here, training Henry’s troops and a passel of young knaves like your son.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Dane is staying here to train?”
Arik smiled and crossed his arms. “Aye, he is. Word came down from the master this morn. Young Dane starts his training come August.”
Remington was surprised; more than surprised – pleasantly surprised. Thank God Gaston had taken mercy on her and had decided not to send her son away. Relief and gratitude filled her; she must remember to thank him most properly for his compassionate decision.
Gaston suddenly appeared at her side, his entire body covered in a fine white powder. She giggled at the sight of him.
“You look as if you have been rolling in the dirt,” she said.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that why you are here? To laugh at me?”
“Nay, my lord, assuredly not,” she said, fighting off her grin. “I have come to ask you something. Might I have a moment of your time?”
Anything for you. “Of course,” he said shortly. “Arik, Roald, excuse us please.”
The two knights retreated and Gaston fought himself to keep his gaze, his manner, from turning soft on her. It was extremely difficult when she was smiling so openly at him.
“I know you are busy, so I will be brief,” she said. “I promised Dane several weeks ago that he could attend the Mid-Summer Faire in Ripon. The faire is today, my lord, and I would like to keep my promise. Will you give us your permission to go?”
“Just you and Dane?” he asked.
“All of us,” she clarified. “My sisters have been looking forward to it, as well.”
He signed, brushing at the dust in his hair. “I see no reason why not,” he said. “How far is Ripon?”
“Eight miles to the north east, not far,” she said. “It is a lovely ride.”
He looked thoughtful. “I will assign a few knights to accompany you. When will you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible,” she said. “Dane is bouncing off the walls and I do not know how much longer I can contain him.”
He smiled for the first time. “Ah, the excitement of a faire,” he agreed. “I remember it well. Very well, then, gather your things and I shall send someone for you when the escort has been assembled.”
She smiled broadly. “Thank you, my lord. Dane thanks you.”
He allowed himself the luxury of softening, his eyes roving over her curvy form. Then he noticed the grimy handprint and he reached out to touch it.
“What is this?” he demanded, his tone sweet one moment and deadly the next.
She had completely forgotten about her encounter and glanced down at the stain. “A soldier grabbed me,” she said, unconcerned. “I escaped him, though.”
He looked at the dark smudge a moment. “Which soldier?”
“Over there, at the corner of the inner wall,” she pointed in the general direction, not comprehending his tone.
She should have listened well; it was by far the most deep, threatening tone he had yet to use.
Instead, she turned back to him. “Do you think you will be able to come to the faire? Dane would love to have you with him. Charles thinks faires are a silly bunch of nonsense and refuses to go, so there will be just womenfolk to accompany my son.”
“Show me which soldier,” he ignored her prattle.
As if she were slapped in the face, she caught on to the inflection in his voice and she was wary. “Gaston, no harm was done,” she said quietly. “There is no need to punish the man.”
He took her by the arm, gently yet firmly. “You will show me who lay his hand upon you.”
She was beginning to grow frightened as she allowed him to take her back across the courtyard. His massive body was tense; she could feel it. When they drew close to the group of men she had indicated, he came to a halt.
“Which man?” he asked steadily.
She was extremely hesitant to tell him, but she had no choice. “That one.”
Gaston let her go and went up to the soldier. “You, man,” his voice was like the low rumble of thunder. “Come here.”
The soldier straightened, his eyes wide at the sight of the Dark Knight.
His comrades ceased their movement, all watching Gaston with a good deal of apprehension and a healthy fear.
And there was no mistaking the lady standing several feet away; they all knew what was about to happen and why. Foreboding filled the air.
“Aye, my lord?” the man stammered.
Gaston gazed at the dirty, aged face. “Did you touch Lady Stoneley?”
The soldier peered around Gaston to Remington, standing tensely by the inner wall. “That’s the lady of the keep? I dinna know, my lord, I swear it. I would have never touched her had I known she was the Lady.”
“Then you did indeed grab her,” Gaston wanted to make sure he understood correctly before he dispensed justice.
The soldier swallowed. “Aye, but it was a mistake.”
Gaston did not reply. In fact, before anyone could blink, he reached out and threw his huge arm around the back of the man’s neck as if he was about to hug him.
Then, with the bent elbow of his other arm, he shoved hard against the soldier’s head, bending his neck unnaturally over his other arm.
As a twig snaps when bent in half, so did the soldier’s neck. He was dead before he hit the ground.