Chapter Thirty-One #2
By God, the man knew.
Months of testimony on Remington’s behalf had failed to convince the council to provide an annulment.
Brimley, Ingilsby, Sir Alfred Tarrington all had been unable to convince the church that Guy Stoneley was nothing short of a demon himself.
Gaston’s testimony had been inadmissible because he was in love with the woman.
Henry couldn’t vouch for Remington and was therefore useless, except to bully the church on Gaston’s behalf.
All of the worry and agony was now finally coming to a conclusion and Gaston could scarce believe it; if all went well, by next month, Remington would be the duchess of Warminster.
He shuddered with joy at the thought of calling her his wife. He would use the term liberally, freely, with every other breath. He had waited too long not to.
So miracles were possible, after all. Mayhap if he thanked God this night, the Lord would finally hear him. And he would pray for de Tormo’s soul in the process.
“What about me? Is there still to be testimony on my behalf?” he asked in a raspy voice.
“Why?” Peter shrugged. “They know you and your reputation, Gaston. There is nothing anyone could say that could convince them that you would be any less than a grand husband for her.”
Gaston slanted him a glance. “What of the business of my betraying Richard? Surely that scars my character.”
“I told them what happened,” Henry said from his chair.
When Gaston turned surprised eyes to his king, Henry nodded affirmatively.
“They know of Richard’s liaison with your wife, how he humiliated you.
And they know that you disapproved of the murder of his nephews.
They understand that you could not serve such an immoral man. ”
Gaston was surprised. “And when did your testimony come about?”
“Right before Guy’s,” Henry rose wearily, weaving a bit. “My spies told me that Guy was going to present a piteous, wretched case and I wanted to balance it with statements on your behalf. Do not look so angry, Gaston. I did what was necessary, and you know it.”
Gaston wasn’t angry, simply off-guard. He cleared his throat in a nervous gesture, combing his fingers through his dark hair. “Then I thank you, my lord.”
Henry looked at his Dark Knight, the most powerful warrior he commanded. But even Gaston was humbled by the church and the laws of God, as was the king. The fact that the annulment was near approval was an absolute miracle, and they all had de Tormo to thank for it.
But Gaston did not ever truly clarify if the charges were true; Henry would not ask. He did not want to know, being a party to a lie of cataclysmic repercussions. He did not want God to blame him for knowing too much.
Silence settled in the room as the conversation lulled. While Henry went to pour himself his third goblet of wine, Peter moved to Gaston hesitantly.
“I hope you can forgive me for what has happened, Gaston,” he said softly. “We were friends once, you and I. Whatever happened with Lady Remington’s annulment was with the church alone and beyond my scope.”
My friend, Gaston thought. “We’re still friends, Peter. Your help has been invaluable.”
Peter’s fair face relaxed and his smile blossomed. “I have tried, truly,” he lowered his voice. “I’d grant you the damn annulment if it were in my power, church or no. Especially after Guy’s testimony yesterday.”
Gaston raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Peter shook his head in disgust. “The man’s entire statement was a farce. I have never seen so much blatant dribbling, pleading and carrying-on. It was embarrassing to say the least, but John and Thomas listened to every word. They believed him, even if the rest of us did not.”
“What’s this I hear that Henry is being pressured into releasing him?”
“True enough. The papal council feels Stoneley had been unfairly singled out and punished. To release him would be to make restitution.”
Gaston snorted. “Restitution, is it? They feel he’s been treated wrongly because of what he possesses. Have they forgotten that the man is a prisoner of the crown?”
Peter shrugged. “He is married to Remington and you want her, and they know Henry will stop at nothing to grant you your desire. Prisoner or not.”
Gaston let out a repugnant sigh. What a mixed-up, chaotic mess he was involved in.
Peter moved to Henry and Gaston moved away from the group, standing in front of a narrow window and feeling the cool evening on his face.
Remington, a few miles away at the Tower, filled his mind even as the wind caressed him, and he found himself imagining the gentle fingers of the breeze were hers somehow.
If he closed his eyes, he could literally feel her.
*
Guy had no idea there was anything amiss until his door opened and one lone papal guard entered. The older man was dressed in the crimson colors, fully armored, and he paused stiffly just inside the door.
“My lord,” he said formally. “You have been summoned. Please collect yourself and accompany me.”
“Accompany you where?”
“To Westminster. The papal council demands your presence, my lord.”
Guy continued to sit at the small writing table, a quill in his hand as he composed a letter to his son. He still did not know where Dane was; no one would tell him anything, not even the church. He hoped that somehow his letter would find its way to Dane, wherever he was.
Not because he cared for the boy; but he wanted the church to think he did. Then, mayhap, someone would take pity on him and tell him where his son was.
Anything to use against Remington.
He had already succeeded in stopping the annulment proceedings, claiming victimization.
That bastard de Russe had not bested him, after all.
He kept his wife, and from what he had heard, the Dark One had abandoned Mt.
Holyoak. And he had almost secured his release, a mere technicality as far as he was concerned.
God, he was clever.
“More questions? Why is that?”
“I do not know, my lord. Please come with me.”
Guy rose slowly, a shadow of concern crossing him. “Is there a problem, sergeant?”
“I do not know, my lord,” the man repeated.
Guy frowned, moving to don his shirt. Even in the coolest days, he avoided tunics unless absolutely necessary. He hated to cover up his beauty. “Would you be so kind as to tell me if I am to be released this night? Is that why I am being summoned?”
“I have not been so informed, my lord,” the soldier said. “All I know is that the papal council wishes to speak with you. Most likely Henry and the Duke of Warminster, as well, considering they are at Westminster.”
Guy felt a bolt of shock move through him. “The duke is here? Did he bring his… lady?”
The guard nodded. He had not heard of the details regarding the board’s proceedings, only that there was something very potent going on if Henry and Gaston de Russe were involved.
He had no idea where Stoneley fit into this, and that was his undoing.
The guard was a fairly dim man who did what was ordered of him and did not move far beyond his limited world.
“The duke arrived this afternoon with his household, including his wife, I believe,” he replied. “She is housed in Martin Tower.”
Guy was seized with another shocking bolt, only this jolt was one of excitement. Remington was not far from this very room, and he was suddenly extremely excited to know that.
His sharp mind was working quickly. Remington was here… de Russe was at Westminster, miles away. A plan took root, began to nurture and take shape.
Guy glanced at the soldier one more time before moving to his great wardrobe and pretending to rummage through. The rapid movements of his hands disguised his shaking; he was literally shaking. His plan was blossoming, consuming his mind, until he knew there was no possible alternative.
He was confident he was to be released. So, what if he were to release himself a bit ahead of schedule? And Remington was to remain his wife, was she not? He would take her with him.
Home.
Home to Mt. Holyoak.
So far away in Yorkshire, surrounded by his fellow loyal barons, not even Henry could return him to London.
And, mayhap, the church would go so far as to demand the king leave him in peace.
After all, the church was on his side after his performance yesterday.
Who would blame him for taking what was his and fleeing London as fast as he could?
Even if he was, technically, escaping jail.
Guy pushed those thoughts aside. Once escaped home, mayhap Henry would eventually forget about him and focus on his many other troubles instead. And de Russe would find another whore, and leave Remington alone.
Aye, it would work out… eventually.
But first, he had to get out of the White Tower. And there was only one possible out, as he saw it.
Certainly he could wait for the king to release him. But why should he? He had been in this damnable hell long enough.
“You there,” he motioned to the sergeant. “Come here and give me a hand with this.”
The soldier was either too dim to ask what he needed assistance with, or he simply did not care. He walked over to the wardrobe expectantly.
Guy stood slightly aback of him, one hand shrouded in the clothes that were slung over the wardrobe door. “Can you jar that boot free? It seems to be stuck in the drawer.”
The soldier bent down, yanking at the leather boot. It took Guy less than a second to wrap the belt around the soldier’s neck, tightening the noose so tightly that the mail hauberk cut into the skin.
In a strangled heap of mail and blood, the soldier slipped to the floor.
Guy smiled. Death always made him smile. Even if the soldier was bigger than he was, the armor fit well enough.