Chapter Seven #2
He held her eyes a moment, his smoky eyes openly caressing her. She was so unlike any woman he had ever met, but he hastened to change the subject. The mood was growing far too warm and making him vastly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because he had never before had feelings of this magnitude.
“Where is your husband’s cousin?” he asked. “I have hardly seen the boy.”
Remington pointed to the only tower on the castle of Mt. Holyoak, a massive cylinder six stories high. “He keeps a room in the tower, my lord, where he likes to experiment. He spends most of his days up there.”
“Experiment? With what?” Gaston strained his eyes against the bright sun.
“As you have seen, my husband is an avid reader and has collected quite a bit of material, including Arabic treatises that delve into alchemy and other sciences,” she folded her white hands in front of her, gazing into his face with a look that made him sweat.
“Charles is highly intelligent and he likes to experiment with the recipes in the books.”
He wondered if she knew how much her eyes affected him. “Has he discovered anything useful?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Not yet. But he will, I am sure.”
Nicolas suddenly burst out of the castle door, his eyes wide.
He was dressed in most of his armor, his helm on his head.
But the strangest phenomenon was occurring; it was as if his helm were raining on his head, for his entire face was wet, dripping onto his chest armor. He looked right at Remington.
“Where is your sister?” he demanded.
Gaston spoke before she could answer. “You will not use that tone with her. Ever.”
Nicolas passed a glance at his cousin, his cheeks flushing. “My apologies. Might you know where Lady Rory is, my lady?”
Remington was looking at him with morbid curiosity; the water running from his helmet glistened suspiciously. “I have not seen her this morn. What is the matter with your helm, Sir Nicolas?”
His eyes widened as if he had just been challenged. Then the helm came off and Remington was astounded to see great clumps of white pieces on his head, intermingled with yellow slime.
“She put eggs in my helm, my lady, and I failed to see them until it was too late,” he said with controlled anger. “Might you have any idea where to find her?”
Remington should have been mortified to the bone. But, instead, laughter was the first thing that popped into her mouth. She tried to control her giggles, but she couldn’t. Within seconds she was laughing hysterically.
Gaston eyed his knight critically. “Go wash that stuff off.”
Remington screamed louder when Nicolas plopped his helmet back on his head, smashing the eggs further. “It is not funny,” Nicolas shot back, then eyed Gaston quickly, adding: “My lady.”
She opened her mouth to apologize but was seized with hysterical giggles again and weakly grasped Gaston for support. Nicolas looked absolutely ridiculous.
“I am sorry, Sir Nicolas, truly,” she sputtered. “How do you know Rory did it?”
“Who else?” Nicolas asked loudly. “She is sorely tempting fate, my lady, for one of these days I shall do more than welt her bottom.”
Remington’s laughter diminished. “Like what? She can fight as well as you can, my lord. I would not want to challenge her in a fight.”
Gaston interrupted his cousin’s anger. “Go clean yourself up, I said. Get out of here,” his manner was curt and Nicolas obeyed grudgingly. He watched his cousin move out across the inner bailey a moment before turning to Remington. “Do you know where your sister might be?”
Remington’s laughter was gone at his expression. “I…nay, I do not. Surely you are not going to punish her?”
His eyes turned back to her, like hard steel. “She obviously did not listen to you when you told her no more pranks. Mayhap she will listen to me.”
Remington’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do to her?”
“That is not of your affair, madam. Kindly tell me where to find Lady Rory,” he was cold and professional.
A creeping fear filled her. “I told you I do not know where she is. But if I did, I would not tell you.”
His gaze flickered at the defiance. “I shall find her myself, then. Return inside, Lady Stoneley.”
She met his hard gaze with a cold look of her own, turning on her heel and marching into the coolness of the structure.
Gaston did not move a moment, listening to her boot falls fade. He suspected she would turn the castle inside out until she found her sister and he slowly eased himself after her, taking refuge in the solar for the time being.
He would not have to lift a finger to find Lady Rory. Her sister would do the work for him.
*
The noon hour approached and Remington had not done what she was supposed to do.
Irritated, Gaston donned all of his armor and went back out into the heat of the day to involve himself in the final aspects of the team house and sub-level repairs.
Moreover, he was expecting Lord Brimley of Crayke Castle and he wanted to be alerted to the man’s approach.
Arik and Antonius had the soldiers working like slaves, knowing that Gaston wanted the improvements completed before the week was out.
Nicolas and Patrick were supervising below ground level with a few other senior knights, while the rest of his knight corps had prepared the castle for Lord Brimley’s arrival.
It was a chaotic organization at its very best.
As expected, Lord Brimley and a force of about one hundred men were sighted on the horizon in the early afternoon.
Shouts abounded on the wall as Gaston and Arik moved to secure a view for themselves.
High on the wall, they could indeed see the approach.
In fact, Mt. Holyoak was so strategically placed that nearly every spot on the wall had an unimpeded 300-degree view; the only portion blocked being the point where the castle itself stood.
On a clear day, Gaston mused that one could see all the way to Flanders.
With Arik, Antonius and Patrick by his side, Gaston moved to greet the baron.
Lord Brimley was an older man with white hair and a well-manicured white moustache. His sons, Walter and Clive, were average-looking men of good intelligence who fought for Richard. Gaston knew of the men vaguely but little beyond that.
Lord Brimley and his sons left their small army encamped at the foot of the rise and rode alone to the drawbridge. Gaston stood in the middle of the outer bailey, his arms folded across his chest, as they rode into the keep. He was the first man to speak.
“Lord Brimley, I presume?” he asked in a deep baritone.
Brimley wore armor but no helmet; his hair was perfectly combed. His sons, too, wore no helms and eyed the Dark Knight with veiled contempt.
“You are correct, sir,” Brimley replied, his manner stiff but not hostile.
“I am Sir Gaston de Russe,” Gaston said formally. “’Twas I who requested your presence on behalf of our illustrious king, Henry. We have much to discuss, my lord, if you would kindly dismount.”
Squires were hovering in the shadows waiting to take the horses as the three men warily dismounted. Lord Brimley’s eyes scanned the interior of the keep.
“Might I ask what has been done with Lord Guy’s family?” he asked.
“They are here, my lord, safe,” Gaston replied. He was an excellent judge of character and sensed no hostility from the man, merely caution. He seemed to have a noble face and carried himself well.
Brimley cleared his throat, removing his leather gloves. “Are they part of the bargain, sir?”
Gaston looked at him a moment. “I do not understand, my lord. What bargain?”
Lord Brimley studied Gaston a moment. “The castle. Do they come with the castle as fixtures or are they prisoners of the crown as well?”
“They are not prisoners, my lord,” Gaston replied evenly. “I have made them welcome.”
Brimley walked towards Gaston, slow, deliberate steps, yet not provocative. He looked extremely concerned in a fatherly sort of way, his brow furrowed. He glanced at his sons a moment before turning back to Gaston.
“Before we go any further, my lord, I would ask you one thing,” he said respectfully.
“If Sir Guy’s family are not prisoners as you say they are not, then I should like to take them with me when I leave.
I would offer them safe haven in my fortress rather than leave them here with Henry’s guard dog. ”
Had the man delivered the message in anything other than an even, polite tone, Gaston would have taken tremendous offense. Yet he could see that the man was genuinely concerned for Remington and her brood. He was surprised.
“They are quite safe here, my lord, I assure you,” he replied. “I see no reason to displace them.”
Brimley let out a sharp sigh, the only outward sign of irritation.
His leather gloves slapped at his thigh.
“Do not misunderstand me, Sir Gaston. I harbor no love for Sir Guy, but Lady Remington’s father was a friend of mine.
I must be frank with you and tell you that I am vastly uncomfortable with four young women in a nest of soldiers.
They have suff… that is to say; my wife and daughter would take good care of them.
And they would be away from this tremendous war machine. ”
Gaston observed the man intently. “You are correct when you say they have suffered. But they are safe now and I swear to you on my oath as a knight that no harm has, or will come, to them. They are perfectly safe remaining here at Mt. Holyoak.”
Brimley peered at Gaston curiously, surprised the man knew of Sir Guy’s cruelty.
Or was it possible that they were not speaking of the same thing?
He was confused a moment, trying to sort out his train of thought.
He very much wanted to take Lady Remington and her sisters away from Mt.
Holyoak now that it was occupied, but the Dark One did not seem eager to be rid of them.
Was he, perchance, as deviant as their predecessor?