Chapter Thirty-Two
It was just before dawn. Gaston was ashen by the time he reached the Tower; so pale he was nearly green. Not a word was spoken between he and Henry, or Nicolas or Antonius. Uncle Jasper seemed to be doing most of the talking, and it was minimal at that.
It had taken the papal escort three hours to realize they had been duped. A search of Guy Stoneley’s rooms turned up a dead comrade in the prisoner’s bed. By the time they returned to Westminster with news of the prisoner’s disappearance, it was an hour before sunrise.
Gaston realized within the first few sentences what had happened. Stunned beyond believing, he knew what had taken place and his only thought at that moment was to reach Remington. No one had so much as mentioned her, but he knew instinctively that she would be missing.
He did not know how he knew. But he knew.
Gaston did not stop until he reached their bedchamber in the Martin Tower. Even then, he only stood in the door like a stone statue, staring at the bed as if he could will Remington to appear.
“Dear God,” he breathed. “She’s gone!”
Nicolas came up behind him, surveying the room. “Where’s Patrick?”
Gaston felt sick. Every emotion he could possible feel was crowding his mind, torturing him. “Send the household troops to search the grounds. Mayhap he’s been….”
“No!” Nicolas stumbled back, horrified. “Do not even suggest it! There is no way Guy Stoneley could best Patrick in a fight!”
Gaston could not react to Nicolas’ grief. He was filled with quite enough of his own. “He must have found out she was here,” he mumbled, feeling as if he were going mad. He did not even realize Henry was standing beside him. “How is it possible that he found out she was here? How did he know?”
“’Twould not be difficult for a soldier to mention it,” Henry said quietly. “There are a thousand different ways he could have discovered her arrival.”
Gaston was dazed. He shook his head with disbelief. “Why was only one guard sent to escort Stoneley? Why did not the whole damn company attend him? Why did not the household troops insist on more than one man in Stoneley’s room?”
Henry shook his head; he did not have the answers.
“Security was lax, Gaston. Stoneley has never given us any problems; he’s never been belligerent or combative in the least and, therefore, not considered a real threat.
’Tis the only explanation I can offer you for the presence of merely one guard. ”
Gaston’s eyes were wide with shock, his face taut.
He was having difficulty thinking, for the possibilities literally overwhelmed him.
“So Stoneley killed the papal guard sent to escort him back to Westminster, then donned his uniform and spirited Remington from the compound. But how did he get past Patrick? Damnation, I do not understand any of this.”
Henry put his hand on Gaston in an ineffectual attempt to calm him. “We shall interrogate the guards who were on duty. Someone had to see something.”
Gaston’s eyes were locked onto the bed, the indenture Remington had made in the feather mattress. Woodenly, he wandered to the wardrobe, as if it would lend a clue. He simply couldn’t believe what all of the facts were leading him to believe.
Guy had escaped and took Remington with him.
His huge hands gripped the open doors of the wardrobe as he gazed inside. Be seemed to stand there for an excessive amount of time when suddenly a loud popping noise filled the room, crumbling and snapping.
The wardrobe doors came off in Gaston’s hands.
Henry stared, astonished, as Gaston tossed the doors aside as if they did not weigh a couple of hundred pounds apiece. It was then, and only then, that every man present realized the extent of Gaston’s anguish.
“Where would he take her?” Henry asked, still shocked. “To Mt. Holyoak?”
Gaston nodded absently, reaching into the wardrobe and drawing forth a small glass vial. Reverently, he pulled the stopper and inhaled the contents. All watched him curiously as he gently replaced the stopper and shoved the vial into his waistband.
The scent reminded him of Ripon and the first time he had ever made love to Remington. He would; nay, had to, keep it with him. It would keep him steady when the pain was more than he could bear.
“I ride north,” his voice was tight, his manner hard. “Nicolas, find your brother, or what’s left of him, and return to Deverill. Antonius, you will ride to Oxford and notify de Vere of what has happened. Tell him to keep close watch on Dane.”
“Are you going to Mt. Holyoak?” Henry demanded again. “Are you so sure he will take her there?”
“There is nowhere else he could go. I will find him, and I will kill him.”
Henry watched the Duke of Warminster transform himself into battle mode. Hard. Cold. Calculating. The perfect killing machine. He pitied Guy Stoneley.
“I shall notify Bourchier of what has transpired, Gaston,” Henry said quietly. “Have no doubt that they will support you in your endeavor.”
Gaston did not reply.
“We shall search for Patrick,” Antonius took charge; Nicolas was having difficulty controlling himself. “And I shall interrogate the household guards personally. If I discover anything valuable, I shall try to send you word.”
Gaston was busy with his gauntlets, tightening the interior strap of one. He listened, but said nothing. This was the Gaston who was preparing for the battle of his life, and they all knew it.
“Is it not possible that Lady Remington is with Lady Beaufort?” Jasper interjected at the last moment, trying to find reason in this chaos. “She is still at the Tower, you know. It is possible that Margaret sought the lady’s company. Mayhap Patrick is with her, as well.”
Gaston paused a brief moment. “Send someone to check. I will only wait that long.”
Jasper snapped to the nearest soldier, who dashed away in a jingle of armor. Until the man returned, it became the mission of every man in the room to keep Gaston calm.
No one wanted to meet their end as the wardrobe doors had.
Gaston remained calm, but he also remained as a block of stone, cold and unmoving. In truth, he was afraid to speak or move for fear it would release the dam building inside him. He was afraid to explore the feelings growing within his heart, afraid that he would be unable to deal with them.
So he remained still and aloof, waiting without hope for the soldier to return from Lady Beaufort’s room. He knew that Guy had taken Remington.
He did not have a doubt.
He also knew that Guy would take her back to Mt. Holyoak. It was his home and there was no reason to believe he would take her anywhere else.
Gaston would then ride to Mt. Holyoak to retrieve Remington, but logic told him that it would be useless to bring his army. With as well fortified as Mt. Holyoak was, he could lay siege for months and never see progress. He doubted that he could even catch up to them with the head start they had.
Nay; the intelligent thing to do would be to go alone and wait for an opportunity to take back what was his. And kill Guy in the process.
He couldn’t even think on what the man might have done to her already. He refused to imagine the beatings, or mayhap he had even raped her by now. Gaston angrily shoved those hideous thoughts aside, for there was nothing he could do at the moment.
Forcing himself to remain calm in the wake of such a catastrophe was the hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life.
They waited for nearly an hour. Gaston had remained immobile the entire time, standing by the wardrobe, waiting. But he was near to bursting with impatience, merely reining himself because of Henry’s presence. But he could not hold out much longer. He had to get to Remington.
Mercifully, the same soldier that had gone in search of Lady Beaufort reappeared in the company of another soldier. The men appeared breathless and wide-eyed.
Henry snapped at them. “Speak.”
The soldier bowed crisply, almost as an afterthought.
“My lord, Lady Beaufort has returned to Windsor, but her serving woman told me that Lady Remington had not been to visit her,” he indicated the soldier standing next to him.
“Malsgrave was on duty last night, standing watch by the Middle Tower. He saw… well, go on, man.”
The second soldier, a young man, paled in the presence of the mighty men. “A p-p-papal guard rode through the main entrance last night with a woman slung across his saddle.”
Gaston suddenly came to life. “Could you see much of his face? What did he look like?”
The soldier shook his head. “Nay, my lord, I could not see his face for the helm. But the woman…well,” he brought up his hand.
In his fist was a golden hair net, delicate and torn.
“This came off her hair as they rode by. That is why we took so long in returning to you; we went to find it. I remember seeing something fall, but…..”
Gaston snatched the hair net, examining it closely. His heart crashed into his heel, the evidence in his hand confirming everything he had pieced together. He began to sweat with apprehension and horror, completely sickened.
Henry stood beside him, eyeing the hair adornment. “Well, Gaston?”
He could barely speak. He swallowed hard. “It’s hers. Stoneley has her.”
Henry nodded faintly, placing his hand on Gaston’s arm. “Go after her, man. Waste no time about it.”
Gaston did not have to be told twice. He stormed from the room, his mind ahead to the most potent battle of his life. His mind was still reeling with the rapid falling of events, of the turn of tides. The very thing he had promised Remington would never happen again had, in fact, happened.
Remington did not believe in God. He wasn’t sure he did, either. But he had prayed for Arica and she had lived, and he had thanked God profusely for Remington’s own life being spared in childbirth. Mayhap God was becoming used to hearing his prayers.
He prayed again.
*