Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I am sorry, my lady, but there seemed to be no easy way to do this,” Henry said softly.
Remington blinked in confusion. “I do not understand, Your Grace.”
Henry stood up. On the opposite side of the room from where Gaston had just left, there was another door. The king opened it.
Two large knights and four soldiers filed in quietly and Henry beckoned the two knights to follow him. Remington watched with growing apprehension as they made a path directly to her.
“This is Lady Remington Stoneley,” Henry said quietly to the armored men. “Her items have already been loaded into the wagon and she is ready to leave. If you will be so kind as to escort her to St. Catherine’s.”
The impact of the situation slammed into Remington and her eyes widened. She sought the king’s eyes.
“I cannot say good-bye to Gaston?” she whispered.
Henry took her arm gently and pulled her to stand.
“My lady, Gaston means more to me than you could possibly know and believe me when I tell you that I do not relish provoking his anger. But I believe it best to whisk you away while he is calm and controlled, not wait until painful farewells crack him, I am afraid. Truthfully, he will have the utmost difficulty letting you go; even though he knows he must. This way, it is less painful for you both.”
She was stunned. “You tricked him into leaving?”
“I did. But I had to.”
Her mouth opened in shock, but she quickly closed it. Her whole body started to shake and she struggled to maintain her composure. Should she scream for Gaston? Should she balk, fight, fall into fits? Dear God, she did not want to go without saying good-bye to him!
Lady Margaret was up, moving to her side and taking her other arm. “Henry, let her go. I shall walk with her to the courtyard.”
Remington was trying so desperately not to cry as Lady Margaret’s warm hand clutched her. She was so shaken she could barely speak, but she felt compelled to. She knew Gaston’s rage would be great when he returned and she did not want him to do something he would regret.
“Very well, my lord, if you think this best,” she said hoarsely. “But be sure and tell Gaston that I went willingly, with no struggle. Make sure he understands that.”
“She needs a cloak,” Lady Margaret mumbled, looking at her son, the knights. “Where is her cloak? The night grows damp.”
“On her mount, my lady,” one of the knights replied. “She is prepared to face the evening air.”
“Where is Courtenay?” Henry asked the same knight.
“At St. Catherine’s, my lord,” the man’s voice was deep and husky. “He awaits the lady there.”
Henry nodded. “Good. Waste no time, then. Take her to the convent and make haste; I fear when de Russe returns, he shall not be pleased and I want the lady far away.”
The knights bowed as Lady Margaret led Remington toward the open door. When the panel closed softly behind them, Henry turned back to the table with a weary sigh.
“Easier than I thought,” he muttered, moving back to his chair. “I hated to do that, you know. I took no pleasure in deceiving de Russe.”
Jasper drank from his cup. “I hope you can explain that to him before he tears your throat out.”
“Your support, as always, is appreciated,” Henry took his goblet and drained it, aware his wife was looking at him. “Do you wish to say something?”
Elizabeth shook her head. In spite of the fact that she was extremely envious of Lady Remington, she thought what her husband had done was cruel. But she did not voice her opinion. “I would ask your permission to retire, my lord.”
Henry barely nodded and Elizabeth rose, silently leaving the room. Henry did not give her a second thought as he returned to the conversation, mentally planning his speech for Gaston when the man walked back through the door. Guildford wasn’t at the Tower; he was in Dorchester.
Henry suspected by the time Gaston reached the Brick Tower and realized there was no Guildford, that he would suspect something was afoot. He kept glancing at the door, waiting for Gaston to tear it off its hinges.
Elizabeth wasn’t heading for her chambers as she had told her husband; she was walking the path to the Brick Tower that she had suspected Gaston had taken.
Passing by a bank of narrow windows that opened out onto the courtyard, she could see her mother-in-law loading Lady Remington onto a small brown palfrey while the two knights stood by the animal, making sure the lady was comfortable and properly set.
She knew they would be leaving soon, and she knew she must hurry and find the Dark Knight.
It wasn’t that she had a particularly good heart; Elizabeth was shallow and petty, and she never did anything for purely unselfish reasons.
She was afraid of the Dark Knight; everyone was, even her husband, but he would not admit it.
She thought that, mayhap, informing de Russe of her husband’s devious deception might somehow put her in his good graces.
She would do a favor for him, and he, in return, might someday reciprocate.
The path from the Queen’s House to the Brick Tower was a long one.
The corridors were quiet and dimly lit, a household soldier occasionally seen.
This portion of the Tower was always quiet and, Elizabeth thought, haunted.
Her fine silk slippers scuffed the stone floor faintly as she rounded a sharp corner and proceeded down the straight hall to her destination.
She was preparing to mount the stairs to the Tower when she nearly ran headlong into Gaston, who was descending. She let out a small cry and he reached out to steady her, so that she would not tumble to the floor.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said quickly. “I was….”
She shook her head sharply. “There is no time, my lord. Courtenay’s men are taking your lady away as we speak.”
Gaston did not look overly surprised, but his expression cooled dramatically. “Where?”
“In the courtyard,” Elizabeth said. “They were mounting her on a palfrey as I passed by, not five minutes ago.”
Gaston did not wait to thank her. He was running off, with more speed than one would have suspected for a man his considerable size. Elizabeth watched until he disappeared from view, positive she could feel the ground beneath her shake with every step he took.
Feeling somewhat satisfied, and a tiny bit vengeful, she took the long route back to her rooms.
*
Gaston ran until his chest ached and his head swam.
The courtyard was vacant and he ran the narrow corridor to the main entrance, only to be met with empty roads and no sign of the escort.
He stopped, breathing heavily, knowing that the escort had probably left at a gallop, at orders to put as much distance as possible between Lady Remington and Gaston de Russe.
There was no way he could outrun horses.
They were long gone, and anguish swelled within him until he let out a loud grunt of pure frustration.
Weaving with exertion and agony, he stumbled his way back down the entryway and into the courtyard.
Several household soldiers watched him curiously, wondering what the matter was, but none daring to be bold enough to ask.
Well and good for the soldiers that they did not ask.
Gaston’s pain was seeping through his pores, gushing from his heart and he paced circles in the middle of the compound until his breathing slowed and he was able to maintain some sort of control.
Had Henry confronted him at that moment, he would have ripped his heart out.
He could not believe that a man he had sworn his loyalty to had tricked him.
He would have expected this from Richard. But not from Henry.
Nicolas stood several feet away from him. Gaston had no idea how long his cousin had been standing there and he did not care. He was torn with indecision and grief.
“I wish I could help you,” Nicolas said quietly. “Tell me what I can do, Gaston. Anything at all and I shall do it.”
Gaston snorted into his hands, still pacing like a caged animal. Then, he choked out a loud burst of laughter. “Anything at all,” he repeated, muttering as if he were talking to himself. “Kill Stoneley! Kill Henry! Kill the whole goddamn church!”
Nicolas watched him pace, his eyes glittering with concern. He’d never seen Gaston come close to losing his control, ever, and he was scared.
“Do you want me to follow Remington and see where they take her?” he asked steadily.
Gaston did not say anything. He continued to pace and twitch, running his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. At some point, de Tormo joined Nicolas, and the two men watched the Dark Knight walk off his pent-up fury.
Gaston’s mind was a black jumble of rage. He still was not entirely capable of forming a coherent thought, but he caught sight of de Tormo’s robes from the corner of his eye.
“Did you know about this treachery, priest?”
De Tormo looked confused. “What do you mean, de Russe?”
Gaston stopped and looked at him. “The ploy to separate me from Remington so that Courtenay’s men could take her away. Well?”
De Tormo gazed into Gaston’s stormy orbs. With everything the two of them had been through, with all of the threats and emotions, he had never once feared the Dark Knight. But at this very moment, looking deep into the man’s soul, he was afraid of him. All he could read was death.
“No, Gaston,” he said quietly. “I knew of no such betrayal.”
Gaston’s ashen face was as tight as the head of a drum. He had stopped his pacing, but his whole body was still twitching. “Can Remington get an annulment without Guy’s consent?”
“I doubt it,” de Tormo replied. “The circumstances would have to be extreme, to say the least.”
One second Gaston was several feet away. Within the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of the priest, glaring down at him. “You do not call beatings, rapes and the like extreme? What of the devil worship?”