Chapter Thirteen
Dane had always liked the smell of hay. There was something comforting about it, and when he and Trenton fled the dining hall, there was no doubt as to their destination, in the hay, far away from the fighting and yelling. Sweet, consoling, and shielding were the lofts of Mt. Holyoak’s stable.
There were soldiers milling about but none paid much attention to the boys as they tore into the stable area, taking the ladder to the loft high above the stalls. All that mattered to Dane was getting as far away as he possibly could, and Trenton was following blindly.
They scrambled far back into the loft against the stone supporting wall, huffing and puffing. No one spoke for a minute as they caught their breath, frightened that somehow they had been followed, that someone would appear at any moment to drag them back into the heated argument.
“Why … why did we come here?” Trenton found his voice, observing his surroundings.
“Because it’s safe,” Dane insisted. “I always come here when there is fighting and it is safe.”
Trenton looked at the younger boy a moment, studying him. “Do your parents fight a lot, too?”
Dane avoided his gaze, settling back on the straw. “All the time.”
Trenton thought a moment. Sometimes he felt as if he were the only child on earth whose parents fought constantly. When they were together, that is. He felt himself warming just a bit more to his new friend.
“My mother and father fight every time my father comes home,” he said quietly. “Finally, he just started staying away more and more. I had not seen him in a year until we came to Mt. Holyoak.”
“Does he beat her?” Dane asked.
Trenton shook his head. “Nay, but I have heard him tell her he would like to throttle her. He’s never hit her.”
“Never?” Dane looked surprised. “My father hits my mother every day almost. Why does not he hit her if she is disobedient?”
Trenton shrugged. “I do not know, he just does not. But they do not like each other; in fact, my mother hates him.”
“Why?” Dane simply couldn’t imagine anyone hating Gaston.
Trenton settled back on a pile of straw and grabbed a stalk. “I do not know. Maybe because he’s never home.”
“Have not you asked her why she hates him?” Dane pushed.
Trenton shook his head. “Nay.”
Dane pondered this point of view for a moment. “Do you hate your father?”
“Nay,” Trenton shook his head. “I wish… I wish I could be just like him. I want to be as great a knight as he is.”
Dane looked at him sharply; that was his dream, as well. Jealousy spread over him but he fought it down as best he could. “We’re going to be fostering together, you know.”
“I know,” Trenton said.
Dane shoved his thumb to his chest. “I am going to be the best. I am going to work harder than anyone.”
Trenton’s brow furrowed. “Not harder than me. I am going to be just like my father.”
Dane prepared to retort sharply but bit it back, sulking back against the hay. Eyeing Trenton hostilely, he shoved a piece of hay in his mouth and worked it thoughtfully. “We are a lot alike, you know. We both have parents who hate each other and fight a lot.”
Trenton lay down, too, feeling very tired from the day’s events. “I am not going to fight with my wife. I am going to marry someone I like, mayhap the prettiest girl in the realm. I’d never fight with her.”
Dane lifted his eyebrow critically. “I am never going to get married.”
“Why not? Do not you want sons to carry on your name?” Trenton demanded.
Dane shook his head stubbornly. “Wenches are no good.”
Trenton looked at him a moment, crossing his arms behind his head and chewing on hay in an exact imitation of his younger, wiser friend. Dane seemed to know it all, whereas Trenton was more apt to follow than lead.
“All right, mayhap I won’t get married,” Trenton said begrudgingly. “But I shall keep a pretty woman just the same.”
Dane shrugged carelessly, staring at the ceiling. “Me, too. But no wife.”
“No wife,” Trenton agreed.
Exhausted and left to their own thoughts, Dane fell asleep first. Trenton followed shortly.
Safe from the hell of the castle in the bosom of the stable, they slept dreamlessly.
Arik met up with Gaston in the middle of the outer bailey. “Mari-Elle is nowhere to be found, Gaston. We have combed nearly the entire keep.”
“She’s around here somewhere and you will find her,” Gaston said shortly. “Take every man I have if you have to and find her. She’s off running loose and I cannot find Dane.”
“God, you do not think she might have done something to the boy?” Arik asked, horrified.
“I do not know, which is why we must find them both,” Gaston was already veering away from him, toward the stables, and Arik went on his way.
Charles walked beside Antonius, feeling as important as any knight.
Additionally, he was fairly confident he knew his young cousin well and had little doubt they would find him in the stables.
Even with the terrible things Gaston was saying about his wife, Dane was smart and quick and knew how to avoid danger, thanks to his inbred response to his father.
If Mari-Elle was in search to kill him, Dane could hide and never be found.
That is, if he knew the danger existed at all.
A bit of foreboding filled the young man as they entered into the stable area. What if he was wrong?
“Where would he be?” Gaston turned his attention to Charles.
Snapped out of his depressing thoughts, Charles pointed to the nearest hayloft. “Up there, somewhere. If he is here at all.”
Gaston hoisted himself up to the first loft; he did not even use the ladder.
He merely gripped the edge of the platform and pulled himself up to look.
Charles swallowed hard at the display of pure strength; for as huge as Gaston was, to have pulled himself up without any effort was testimony to the man’s raw power.
Antonius took a look at the second loft, descending empty-handed. Gaston then moved to a smaller loft and hoisted himself up, peering at the contents. He held himself in place for several long moments before releasing his massive body to the ground.
“Both he and Trenton are up there fast asleep,” he said with obvious relief. “Antonius, return to the castle and bring them some blankets, and then stand guard. Until we are able to locate Mari-Elle, I do not want either boy unprotected.”
“You do not think she would hurt her own son?” Antonius asked with disbelief.
Gaston shook his head. “Until I meet up with the woman and determine her mental state myself, I will take no chances,” he waved Antonius on. “Go now. They are safe for the moment.”
The knight rushed off and Gaston faced Charles, “And you, young master, will return to your fortress of solitude, I thank you for your assistance.”
“Would you like me to stay here and watch over them until your knight has returned?” Charles asked helpfully.
Gaston almost denied him, but he could read the eagerness in the boy’s face.
He so wanted to be useful and important, as they all did.
Gaston wasn’t sure what sort of relationship Charles had had with his elder cousin, but it was most likely not a good one.
Guy Stoneley managed to belittle and intimidate everyone around him and he took pity on the young man.
“Very well, then, perch yourself on this ladder and do not move until Antonius returns,” he ordered.
As obedient as the most perfect knight, Charles dutifully went to the ladder as Gaston’s mind turned to Mari-Elle.
He knew she was lurking about somewhere, but he would leave it to Arik and the others to find her.
He himself would return to Remington now that he knew the boys were safe and wait until his fugitive wife had been located.
He knew she would be found and did not want to bother himself with the search.
Returning to his injured love was far more important.
Half way through the inner bailey he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye, over by some storage bushels that held long-range arrows. Instinctively tensing, he stopped and turned to the source of movement, finding it difficult to make any assessment in the moonlight.
Suddenly a body was flying out at him and he recognized it to be Mari-Elle.
“Save me, my lord!” she cried.
He instantly viewed her hands, making sure she was harboring no weapons. “Halt where you are, madam.”
She slowed unsteadily, disheveled and shaken and completely unlike the wife he knew. “Gaston, you must save me from…. from that madwoman.”
His jaw ground as he moved forward and grabbed her severely. It was all he could do to keep from ripping her arms from the sockets. “With me, madam.”
“But Gaston,” she shrieked. “Your Lady Remington tried to kill me. Thank God I was able to turn the knife against her, otherwise she would have surely gutted me.”
He slapped his hand over her mouth so hard that she let out a muffled cry. “Not another word,” he growled.
He took her to the small portcullis that led to the vault of Mt. Holyoak. She twisted and tried to talk, but he held her firmly. Nicolas and two other lesser knights, in their search for Mari-Elle caught sight of the struggles and raced to his side.
“You found her!” Nicolas exclaimed.
Gaston’s face was as dark as his reputation. “’Twas her misfortune to find me. Away with you now, I will deal with my wife alone.”
Nicolas bowed swiftly away, wondering if indeed Gaston would kill her after what had happened. Surely he would never see Lady de Russe alive again.
He drug her down into the bowels of the vault, a vacant place at the moment, but equipped with a good deal of torturous instruments and the like. It was a hellish place that stank of blood and sweat and urine and he led her directly into the very first cell.
It was black as tar until he lit a stale torch, propping on the wall sconce as the room came to light. Mari-Elle, free of his vise-like grip, cowered several feet away.