Chapter Five
Remington avoided him for the rest of the day.
She was polite and respectful as always, but she had difficulty looking him in the eye and he was sorry.
But he had other things on his mind, more pressing matters that were occupying his attention.
After the evening meal on that night, he met with Arik, Antonius, Patrick, and Nicolas in the solar to discuss a few points.
“I want every feudal baron and earl in Yorkshire to meet here with me to discuss their role in Henry’s reign,” Gaston said. “I want them to understand that I am Henry’s arm of strength in Yorkshire and will brook no disobedience.”
“They will not swear their fealty,” Arik said.
“They will if they expect to survive,” Gaston said in a low voice. “They will be loyal to me and I, in turn, will not destroy them. A most agreeable arrangement.”
Arik shook his head. “Mayhap you should wait, Gaston. They already know you are here. Mayhap fear alone will keep them reined.”
“I do not want them simply to behave, I want their oath,” Gaston replied.
“Not only am I to control greater Yorkshire, but I find myself in the position to control West Yorkshire, South Yorkshire and Humberside. Henry has powerful knights stationed in all three of these shires, but those men will answer to me.”
Arik look surprised, as did the other knights. “You never mentioned this detail,” he said dryly. “So, in essence, Henry has sent you here to keep a firm hand on most of this enemy land.”
Gaston nodded once, leaning back in his chair. “’Tis the most volatile part of England right now. He would have the Dark One in the heart of it, ready to quell whatever problems might arise.”
The other knights fell silent a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire in the hearth. “By all means, then, call for the barons and earls loyal to Richard and inform them of your mission,” Arik said, studying his wine. “’Tis best to let them know where they stand from the onset.”
“To be honest, I expect no uprisings,” Gaston said thoughtfully.
“Henry’s demonstration of power at the battle of Stoke announced that he is the rightful king of England.
I believe even the Yorkists have resigned themselves to the fact, considering there is nothing to fight for with Richard dead. ’Twould be futile to resist Henry.”
The fire spit and the men enjoyed their wine.
“So what now?” Antonius asked in his rich Italian accent.
“I do not think I shall know what to do with myself with no battles to look forward to.”
The statement brought smiles to the lips of Patrick and Nicolas, but Gaston raised an eyebrow. “We face an even greater challenge. Henry would have us train troops, legions to be deployed in other parts of England. We should be receiving the first batch of recruits within the month.”
’Twas an honor and they all knew it, yet it was nothing new.
Arik helped train nearly half of the crown troops and was considered one of the finest troop masters in the civilized world.
And, of course, every man wanted to train under the Dark Knight.
He had been considered the very best trainer of men before the call of war tore him away from his duty.
With the battles over for the moment, he could return to what he enjoyed. If he could not be fighting, then he wanted to train men on the arts of fighting.
“Mt. Holyoak is certainly big enough to house hundreds of men,” Patrick remarked. “There are sublevels below the outer wall that are unused.”
Each man sat alone with his thoughts, feeling the wine and the good food. The warmth from the hearth pushed away the chill of the room, leaving them with sleep in their mind.
“I will send missives on the morrow, then,” Gaston said. “What’s the steward’s name – Oleg? Find him before the morning meal and he will assist me.”
They were dismissed without another word. All except Arik. He continued to sit with Gaston, drowning more of the wine.
“Has Lady Stoneley said anything about her sister’s captivity?” he asked.
“Not a word,” Gaston replied.
“Hmpf,” Arik shrugged. “I expected more from her. Her sister has been in the vault all afternoon and screaming like a banshee.”
Gaston did not reply, thinking on the incident earlier in the day. He refrained from mentioning it, probably because he couldn’t make any sense of it and was in no mood for Arik’s insightful philosophy.
Arik, feeling the wine in his veins, rose to depart when there was a young knight in the doorway.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but we have a bit of a problem,” he said respectfully.
“What kind of problem?” Arik asked.
“Lady Stoneley was caught attempting to break her sister out of the vault,” the knight replied. “When we tried to stop her, she fought and…well, she fell and hit her head.”
“What?” Gaston rose to his feet, focusing on the knight. “Is she dead?”
“Nay, my lord, she is quite alive, but unconscious,” the knight answered. “We took her back to her room.”
Gaston was already moving past the knight. “How did she fall? Did someone push her?”
“Sir Ottis hit her because she struggled with him when he tried to stop her,” he answered.
Gaston gazed down on the young knight, his eyes glittering like the deadly steel of his broadsword. He flicked his gaze up to Arik and, without a word, quit the room. Arik followed, as did the young knight.
Jasmine was attending her sister when Gaston entered the room. Skye stood vigilant by her side, helping her sister apply a compress. Old Eudora was chattering softly, trying to ease Jasmine’s tears.
Gaston moved to the edge of the bed, his eyes lingering on Remington. She was pale and her breathing was labored.
“How is she?” he asked.
Jasmine jumped as if she had been gored. Terrorized blue eyes riveting to him; the feared one himself.
“This is all your fault,” she spat, forgetting to whom she was speaking.
“Jasmine,” Skye hissed.
But Jasmine paid no heed. “Men are all alike. Brutal, self-centered bastards who care nothing for the well-being of women. Look at what your soldier did to her.”
Gaston looked at her impassively. “Had she not been trying to release your sister from her cell, then this would not have happened. I asked you a question; how is she?”
Jasmine shuddered, sniffled. “I do not know.”
Young Dane raced into the room as fast as his legs would carry him. One look at his mother and his eyes flew to Gaston accusingly. “You said you would protect her.”
Gaston gazed down at the boy. “I would have had I been there, Dane.”
Hurt and confused, Dane moved to his mother and gently touched her arm. “Just like father all over again.”
Arik and Gaston exchanged glances. Arik moved away from the bed, leaving Gaston standing alone.
Jasmine put her hand over Dane’s mouth, silencing him against any further slips. The boy struggled against his aunt a moment, pulling away and moving to the other side of the bed where he could touch his mother unimpeded. The sadness on the young face spoke volumes.
He already knew Guy had abused them both, but he had no idea to what extent the abuse went. He should not have cared in the least; this was another man’s wife and son. Yet he found himself caring a great deal.
“Get out. All of you,” he growled. “Except you, Dane. You may stay.”
Jasmine opened her mouth in outrage but Skye grabbed hold of her, pleading with her sister to be silent. Arik made sure they left the room, eyeing old Eudora menacingly until she complied. When the women had vacated, he closed the door softly behind them.
“Gaston…” he began.
“You, too,” Gaston said, his voice as low as the rumble of thunder. “Get out.”
Arik did without a word, leaving Gaston alone with the mother and son.
Slowly, he moved around the side of the bed and picked up the compress Eudora had been preparing. As gentle as a mother, he placed it on Remington’s head, observing her delicate features in the glow of the firelight. He was unaware Dane was watching him.
“Why did not you protect her? You said you would,” Dane said softly. He was growing sleepy.
Gaston looked up at the innocent face. “I told you that I was not present when this happened. Had I been there, your mother would not have been injured,” he said. “I am not a magician, Dane. I cannot be everywhere at the same time.”
Dane looked at his mother with longing. “Why does she not wake up?”
“I am awake,” Remington mumbled.
Gaston removed the compress. Slowly, the sea-crystal eyes opened and blinked lethargically. She focused on him for a moment before closing her eyes again.
“Be swift with your punishment, my lord,” she whispered. “I am ready to accept your judgment.”
“There will be no punishment, my lady,” he replied softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
The entire side of the bed sank under his considerable weight and Remington rolled right into him.
She moaned at the swift motion, grasping her head as he reached out to steady her against him.
Her torso was pressed against his left thigh.
“No punishment?” she repeated, wincing.
A crease of a smile appeared. “I consider what happened to you punishment enough. But tell me one thing; why did you do it?”
Remington opened her eyes, looking up at him. His expression was actually gentle. “Because she has done nothing to warrant imprisonment. Aye, she’s a spitfire and a handful, but she is not malicious. Her jokes are innocent, my lord. Rory is not evil.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You mean to say that you do not consider saffron dye in a knight’s bath to be malicious? What of the charcoal on Nicolas’ cup?”
“Harmless,” she whispered. Her head was killing her. “Were she to have taken a dagger to him, then I would deem the punishment to fit the crime. But she has done nothing other than a few harmless pranks.”
He considered her explanation a moment. “Then why did you not simply come to me and ask me to release her?”
“Would you have done it?” she asked softly. “I doubt it.”