Chapter Three #4
He absorbed the information, growing more impressed by the minute. It would seem that his mighty fortress had more to it than met the eye, although he was not surprised.
Satisfaction filled him. Not only was Mt. Holyoak strategically important, but she was rich as well. Guy Stoneley deserved none of this magnificence and he was not the least bit regretful that he had just confiscated another man’s lands by order of the king.
“What do you plan to do with Mt. Holyoak, my lord?” Remington asked softly, breaking into his thoughts.
He looked to her. “Do with it? I plan to live here.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “And you plan to keep my family here, as well? Or do you intend to send us away?”
“I do not know yet,” he replied. “Have you somewhere else to go?”
“Nay, my lord,” she answered. “My father died a few years ago and my sisters and I have no one else.”
His eyes roved over her as if he were contemplating what in the hell to do with her. Remington felt like unwanted baggage.
“As long as you remain useful I will retain you,” he said after a moment. “But you are not a primary concern for the moment.”
Remington knew that; she was used to being forgotten and cast aside.
Gaston gazed at the room a moment longer before rounding the desk toward her, his massive body filling the room like nothing she had ever experienced before.
He was a few feet away, yet she could feel the heat from his body like a roaring blaze and her face began to feel warm.
“I would eat now,” he told her, his voice quiet yet amazingly low and powerful.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I have ordered mutton prepared a variety of ways my lord. I hope they are to your liking.”
He did not answer as she opened the door and preceded him from the room.
She did not wait for him, nor did she pause to allow him to pass before her.
She continued into the great hall, her head lowered, feeling far more despondent than she had earlier.
She had even lost her appetite, her eyes seeking out her sisters to make sure all had gone well in her absence.
All she wanted to do now was make sure the knights were taken care of and retire for the evening. Her head was beginning to ache.
Gaston was behind her, watching the delicious sway of her hips underneath the yellow surcoat.
She was obviously intelligent and well spoken, which piqued his interest, but he had more important things on his mind than this woman.
He took the seat she indicated at the head of the table between Arik and Patrick.
“The food is delicious,” Patrick remarked.
Nicolas, his younger brother by four years, had a mouthful of mutton. “This place is full of food and pretty wenches. A delightful castle.”
Gaston ignored them both and dug into a trencher full of roast mutton and carrots. The gravy was rich and the food well prepared and he found he was far hungrier than he had thought. Behind him, along the wall, the four sisters hovered out of sight, making sure all was flowing smoothly.
Remington’s apprehension was fading but her stomach was still in knots.
She was terribly uncertain about her future, the future of her family, but too terrified to press the Dark Knight for any more information.
She would simply have to wait, remain useful and obedient, and pray he allowed them all to stay.
Nicolas put his goblet to his mouth, drinking deeply of his ale. When he pulled the goblet away, his face was ringed with a huge black outline the shape of the edge of the goblet. It looked like a silly, painted-on smile and he was completely oblivious as he dug into his turnips.
Antonius was the first to see it. The wine he had been preparing to swallow went flying across the table, spraying Patrick in the face.
Patrick cursed loudly and demanded an explanation when Antonius pointed to his brother, too weak with laughter to explain himself.
Patrick took one look at Nicolas’ face and burst into hysteria.
“What?” Nicolas asked, food hanging from his mouth. “What’s so funny?”
The other knights saw it and chuckled, pointing and snorting at Nicolas’ expense. Only Gaston and Arik were not laughing. Arik cocked an eyebrow at Nicolas while Gaston simply went back to his food.
“What is the matter?” Nicolas demanded hotly.
Patrick, snickering, rubbed at the black line and pulled his finger away to show his brother the charcoal. Instantly, Nicolas was incensed and he shot to his feet.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Who did this?”
Rory couldn’t stand it. She started to laugh, stamping her feet. “My God, you pompous fool. Can you not take a joke?”
Remington felt a bolt of shock go through her. “Rory!”
Rory was laughing, thinking her joke to be most funny. Skye, her mouth open, pressed herself against the wall as if to fade into it while Jasmine, in total denial, fainted dead away to the floor. Remington was beside herself.
“He looks like an idiot, do not you think?” Rory said to her sister.
Remington clamped her agape mouth shut and rushed to her sister, grabbing her by the arm. “Damn you, Rory, you are going to get us all killed.” she hissed. “Get out of here!”
“Nay!” Nicolas boomed, cutting off Rory and Remington’s escape route. “I shall teach the wench a lesson she shall never forget.”
“Please, my lord, I beg not.” Remington pleaded. “I promise you this will never happen again.”
“You shall teach me no lesson, you saddle-brained oaf,” Rory announced. “I would like to see you try!”
Nicolas reached for Rory, but the redhead was too fast for him. She yanked away from her sister and the knight, moving out of arm’s distance and bumping Patrick in the process. Wine sloshed out of his cup and onto Gaston, who reached out and grasped Rory by the scruff of the neck.
The room went silent. The knights froze, as did Remington.
Jasmine, being helped up by Skye, saw what was happening and slid to the floor once more.
Remington did not know what to do; she was seized with panic.
God only knew it never helped to plead with her husband when he was assaulting her sisters, but this man wasn’t her husband.
He was the Dark Knight. God help them all.
She could only try to plead her sister’s case.
If she did not, then Rory was certainly doomed.
She thought mayhap to prostrate herself at the Dark Knight’s feet but her legs were shaking so she couldn’t seem to move correctly.
Instinctively, she reached out and covered the massive hand that held her sister with her own soft, warm hand.
“Please, my lord, do not be harsh with her,” she begged softly. “She is young and spirited and unused to the grand presence of knights. I fear her warped sense of humor overrides her judgment at times.”
Gaston looked into the crystal-clear eyes, the sweet face, and realized that he was actually listening to her.
He’d never listened to a woman in his life.
And her hand… by God, he could feel the warmth of it all the way up to his shoulder.
And the softness, like the finest silk, caressed him although she had not so much as moved her hand in that manner. Her touch was beseeching, imploring.
He was going to throw the little redheaded vixen in the vault and throw away the key. How he dealt with troublemakers would reflect greatly on how he was perceived, especially with this first offense. But with the lady’s soft pleading, he reconsidered and was shocked at himself for doing so.
“Nicolas,” he said, his eyes moving to his cousin. “Do what you will with her. Yet I would see no blood, bruises, or broken bones on her person. Do you comprehend me?”
Nicolas was unhappy with the command but had better sense than to voice it.
He closed his outraged mouth and grabbed Rory by the hair.
She began to screech and kick, swinging her fists and making contact with his abdomen.
Nicolas grunted, grabbing one of her arms and twisting it behind her back to control her, but not before Rory bit him and almost took off his finger.
“You bloody little witch!” Nicolas roared. “That damn well hurt!”
“Let go of me, you brute,” Rory spat. “Let go of me and I shall give you a fair fight.”
The entire population of the hall was greatly entertained by the spectacle, laughing and encouraging Nicolas with bawdy comments. They lifted their tankards in respect of a good battle and turned back to their food as the shouting faded from the room.
Remington was horrified. She was still focused on the archway hearing the faint yells of her sister and sickened to the bone.
It occurred to her that the practical joke on Nicolas might not have been random.
Terrified of what her sister was capable of, she raced to the end of the long table where Gaston and his knights were sitting and thrust herself forward in the space that Nicolas had occupied.
“Forgive me, my lords,” she said quickly, checking under bowls, shaking out napkins and generally disrupting their meal. Yet instead of being perturbed, they watched her curiously. Especially Gaston.
“What are you doing?” he asked over the rim of the goblet.
She paused, suddenly aware of a host of faces looking at her. Her cheeks flushed pink.
“I…Rory is fond of practical jokes, as you can see,” she offered apologetically. “I was making sure that no more of you good men fell victim to her havoc.”
Arik snorted and wiped his mouth with a crimson napkin. There was a huge red streak across his face and Patrick and Antonius erupted into fits of laughter. Arik knew something humiliating had happened and looked at Gaston.
“What now?” he asked.
Gaston wasn’t smiling, although he wanted to. “Someone has put red color in your napkin, I believe. The liquid you just mopped from your mouth activated it.”