Chapter Eight #5
Gaston recognized the man and felt his adrenalin flow. He wanted Remington and her sisters the hell away from them, for he was more than certain that contact with this knight would result in no good.
“The battles are over and we have a new king and a united England,” Gaston replied steadily. “I can go anywhere I damn well please, as can you, le Tourneaux.”
The knight sat haughtily atop his charger, his gaze moving to the wagon full of fabric. He unsheathed his broadsword and stabbed a bolt, tearing it as he tried to hold it aloft to get a look at it.
“What are you doing? Shopping?” he asked distastefully.
Gaston moved closer to the wagon. Remington, fearful of the unfriendly knight, was hardly aware that Patrick had discreetly herded the women into a group and had placed his big body between them and the unsavory soldiers.
Gaston’s men-at-arms had taken up defensive stances as well, and Antonius and Roald stood calmly by the horses hitched to the wagon, their gazes never leaving Gaston.
Gaston pulled the material off of the sword and tucked it secure around the bolt. “My lady is,” he said. “Is there something you wanted in particular, le Tourneaux, or are you simply trying to make a nuisance of yourself? If it is the latter, you have achieved your goal and may be on your way.”
“What do you mean ‘your’ lady?” The knight raised his visor, his face leathered and hard. “Your wife is in Chepstow, as I recall.”
Gaston’s jaw ticked. “I was referring to the woman whose keep I now occupy.”
The knight leaned forward, resting on the pommel of his saddle. “I had heard wind that Henry sent you north to keep rein on Yorkshire. A proper reward for betraying Richard, eh? Every man has his price, I suppose; even you.”
Gaston’s expression was controlled. “Be gone with you, Eugene. I have no time for your nonsense today.”
“’Tis no nonsense I give you,” le Tourneaux retorted. “Yet what I would truly like to give you is my broadsword through your gut, you traitorous bastard.”
A twinkle came to Gaston’s eyes. “You may try, of course, but be forewarned I will not be an easy target for you.”
“To hell with you,” le Tourneaux hissed through yellow teeth. “You who betrayed all that Richard stood for, you filthy whoreson.”
“Do not call him that!” Dane charged forward, his little face red with anger. Remington gasped as Patrick tried to catch him, but the knight was too slow. Gaston, however, was fast enough and wound his thick arm around the boy as he raced by.
Le Tourneaux snorted with amusement. “And who is this? One of your knights?”
Dane kicked against Gaston. “I shall kill you,” he yelled at the knight. “You can’t talk to Sir Gaston like that! He is the greatest knight who has ever lived!”
Le Tourneaux guffawed loudly, as did his men. Gaston did nothing more than whisper in Dane’s ear. Angrily, the little boy turned and went obediently back to his mother. Le Tourneaux’s eyes fell on Remington as she clutched Dane to her.
“Ah, a fine woman, de Russe,” he said, drinking his fill of Remington. “A reward from Henry, no doubt. Aye, I shall wager you were well rewarded for being akin to Judas.”
Gaston shifted on his big legs and Remington saw Roald and Antonius flinch, waiting for the signal that would unleash them. But Gaston made no provocative action.
“Out of my sight, le Tourneaux,” he rumbled. “If you linger you risk my wrath.”
Le Tourneaux may have hated Gaston, but he was no fool; he knew the Dark Knight meant what he said and he had already provoked him to the limit. But he couldn’t leave without one last leer at Remington.
“If you get bored of the Dark One, seek me out,” he said, already spurring his charger into a walk. “I shall show you what a real man can do.”
Remington heard a sword unsheathe before the knight had even finished his sentence. In a blinding flash, she saw Gaston’s sword come forth and catch le Tourneaux on the back of the neck and she grabbed Dane to her, screaming. From that moment on, it was pure chaos.
Le Tourneaux was dead as he hit the ground, his head half-cut off.
The other three knights went into immediate action, battle-hardened men not afraid of a good fight and harboring a good deal of resentment toward Gaston.
Swords reflected the sunlight in blinding sequence as they came forth and there was suddenly no more division between le Tourneaux’s men and Gaston’s troops; it was a huge brawl in the middle of the avenue and people everywhere were screaming, running for cover.
Remington pulled Dane and her sisters with her, running for their lives.
Dane was hollering that he must help Gaston, but Remington ignored him.
They dashed clear of the fight, bumping into panicked peasants as they went and hearing the crash of goods as tables went over in the rush.
The sounds of metal on metal followed them.
Remington suddenly stopped when they were a safe distance away, turning to see if she could catch a glimpse of Gaston. Rory and Jasmine almost crashed into her in their haste to leave the scene.
“Why are you stopping?” Rory demanded.
Remington stood on her toes, peering into the swarm. “We’re safe here,” she said. “Moreover, I am not leaving the men alone. We must wait here until it is over.”
Rory and Jasmine turned to watch, too, as Skye clung to Dane fearfully. The three elder sisters stood side by side, their eyes riveted to the fight in progress.
“Do you see Patrick?” Rory asked after a moment.
Remington shook her head. “You like him, do not you?”
Rory’s cheeks flushed. “He is the only knight who had been kind to me.”
“He is the only one you have not played jokes on,” Jasmine said, her voice edgy. “Do you see Antonius?”
“Your Roman god? Nay, I do not see him,” Remington said with a faint smirk. “But the fight is still going on, so they must be whole.…”
Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Gaston.
He was a good head taller than the other participants, his black hair glistening in the sun.
He was locked in combat with a knight and a soldier, both men trying to do the Dark Knight serious harm, yet Gaston fended them off as if he were doing nothing more than practicing.
The soldier took a blade to the abdomen while the knight was the unfortunate recipient of an armored elbow to the neck, followed by a mortal blow to the head.
Remington had never seen a fight before, and was astonished at the speed and fury.
Roald and Antonius managed to kill three soldiers while Patrick took out another knight all within the first minute or so.
Seeing their comrades dead, the rest of le Tourneaux’s men decided there was nothing left worth fighting for and turned tail, making exit post haste.
There was no chance of victory against the Dark Knight.
As quickly as it started, the fight was over. Merchants and shoppers alike slowly peered out of the hiding places, shaken but quick to recover. Fights were not unusual between soldiers of opposing houses and rapidly the street began to resume normal activities.
Gaston picked his helmet up from the ground where it had tumbled from the wagon seat and put it on his head, ironically, he thought, after the fact. Glancing at his men to make sure no one had been injured, his eyes sought out Remington.
She wasn’t hard to find; the most beautiful, heavenly woman he had ever seen was walking toward him in the company of her sisters and son.
He was relieved to see she was unharmed, and even more relieved to see she was smiling at him.
His heart melted, his body went limp, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to take her into his arms. Dane broke away from the women and ran toward him at breakneck speed.
“I saw you. I saw you!” he yelled enthusiastically. “You fought off all those men by yourself.”
Dane almost bashed into him but he reached down and caught the excited lad with gentle hands. “Well, I did have some help,” he said, looking up from the boy to find Remington standing in front of him.
Dane was babbling about the battle but all Gaston could do was gaze back at the boy’s mother.
Her sea-crystal eyes were liquid as she stared back into his smoky gray orbs, her face completely soft and utterly captivating.
He read no fear, no terror, only trust and admiration. And pride. He definitely read pride.
No one had ever been proud of him. Mari-Elle was only interested in the benefits of his reputation, his kings had only been interested in what his strength could accomplish. No one had ever taken pride in his work, his skill. Except Remington; he could read her face.
Still gazing at Remington’s face, he passed Dane off to the nearest sister. “Take him a moment and remain here. We shall return shortly.”
He reached out and took Remington by the hand, pulling her with him as he took long strides down the avenue. She nearly had to run to keep up with him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He glanced down at her and smiled, and her heart did flips in her ribcage.
He did not answer her but continued to lead her to the end of the street and took a sharp turn to the left.
He slowed his pace a bit for her as they wound their way around carts and people, and Remington was thrilled out of her mind that he was holding her hand.
She wanted everyone to look at them and think that they were together; a pair. In love. I want you to be my husband.
She recognized the perfume merchant’s shop and Gaston pulled her inside, pulling her against his chest as they waited patiently for the merchant to finish with another customer. When the shopkeeper saw them, his face brightened.
“Ah, good knight, I see you have returned with your wife,” he said happily. “How may I serve you?”
“I was sampling a scent earlier,” Gaston said in his rich baritone voice. “I would purchase it for my…wife.”