Chapter Thirty-Three
Taran was built for stamina, thankfully, but even he needed rest. Gaston could have ridden all the way to Mt. Holyoak, were it not for his horse.
It was after nightfall when he stopped outside of the small town of Rothersthorpe to water and rest his horse.
Just south of Northampton, he guessed that Guy and Remington were all the way to Leicester by now, possibly even nearing Sheffield.
He had tried so hard to keep from focusing on the horrors of the situation that he was mentally exhausted.
He sat by the small stream in the light of the moon, listening to his horse slurp fresh water.
Why did this have to happen? Was it God’s punishment for betraying Richard, an evil man at that, but nonetheless Gaston had betrayed him. Was it punishment for the men he had killed, the battles he had won, the women he had widowed or the orphans he had made?
All of his life he had been a loner, the consummate warrior, pure knightly perfection. He had no flaws. But he had one weakness – Remington Stoneley. Dear God, how he loved her.
Suddenly, his head came up. He had left a skeleton crew at Mt.
Holyoak, men faithful to him. Guy did not know this; at least, he hoped he did not.
He could imagine Guy riding through the gates of Mt.
Holyoak and Remington sounding the alarm, only to have Guy swarmed with his soldiers and dismembered.
He wondered if Remington would see through her fear long enough to remember that it was Gaston’s men who staffed Mt. Holyoak, for he could only imagine how terrified she was. It was enough to make him boil with anger all over again.
The urge to reach Mt. Holyoak pushed at him as never before.
*
“If you were going to steal a horse, why did not you steal a fast one?” Trenton demanded, shifting his bottom on the animal’s boney rear.
“At least I got us a horse. You would have us walking,” Dane shot back, steering the nag along the road. “And this horse could go faster, only you complain every time we move faster than a walk.”
“That’s because he trots too hard,” Trenton said. “His backbone digs into my arse and it hurts.”
Dane pursed his lips irritably. “Get down and run beside him, then. I am sick of listening to you complain.”
Trenton bailed off the animal and Dane gored the old nag into a trot. As ordered, Trenton ran alongside easily.
“We shall make time now,” Dane insisted. “We’re closing in on Northamptonshire.”
“In two or three hours,” Trenton puffed. “We have a long way to go yet.”
“Then run faster,” Dane yelled back, spurring the horse into a canter and leaving his friend in the dust.
Trenton staggered to a halt, knowing he couldn’t keep pace with a running horse. But Dane did not stop and Trenton had visions of being left behind to fend for himself. The boney rump of the animal suddenly looked very appealing.
“Hey – wait!” he yelled.
Trenton ran almost as fast as the horse, making up for lost ground.
*
As night fell, Guy declared his want for a hot meal. In the next town of Stanford-on-Avon, Gutter’s Inn, a rousing establishment near the banks of the river Avon, seemed to beckon the loudest to Guy, and he drew the destrier alongside a hitching post.
This time, he helped Remington from the animal and proceeded to secure the beast.
“Have you any money?” he asked.
She shook her head, gaze averted. The blow he had landed her this afternoon had left a sharp bruise on her cheek and she was deeply ashamed. He raised an eyebrow.
“Then we shall have to go about getting some,” he said, glancing about. His gaze drifted back to her. “You are a whore. Do what you do and get me some money.”
Her eyes snapped up to him to see if he was sickly jesting. From his expression, she could see that he was entirely serious.
“Oh, Guy… no. You cannot be sincere.”
His jaw twitched and she flinched, waiting for the blow to come. But Guy showed a remarkable amount of restraint and controlled himself; it would be difficult enough to find a customer with the bruise she was already sporting.
“Come on,” he jerked her by the arm and led her into the warm establishment.
The interior was cloying and stank of ale and bodies, the loud roar of knights and men filling the common room. Wenches abound, doling out food and drink. In the corner, two minstrels sang and played a lute, trying desperately to be heard above the commotion.
Guy gripped her tightly as he guided her inside, his ice-blue eyes alert for a well-dressed traveler or knight. It did not bother him in the least that he was to offer his wife’s services; he was simply interested in eating.
The inn was jammed with men. Guy took Remington well into the room and pushed her into an empty chair, next to the garderobe.
“Wait here,” he growled. “If you so much as move an inch, I shall kill you.”
He was serious and she knew it.
Guy moved into the room, searching for the correct customer.
Remington was so horrified that she couldn’t watch; she kept her head down, staring at her hands.
She felt completely helpless and sickened; Gaston surely would not want her returned after he learned what Guy had done to her.
Had she a dagger, she would have turned it on herself.
She knew she should at least try to escape him, but she had nowhere to go.
She did not even know what town they were in, for she had not asked.
And, surely, what citizen would not return an errant wife to her irate husband?
She couldn’t be sure that anyone would help her, even if she did manage to escape.
She sat there for a long time, unaware of the conversation her husband was having with a large, well-dressed knight.
The knight had not been interested at first until he glanced over and saw Remington’s lowered head.
After a moment of hesitation, he paid Stoneley several coins and retreated up the stairs.
Guy moved back to Remington.
“Get up,” he hissed. “A knight has paid a good deal for your services and you will not disappoint him. Do you hear me? If he tells me that your wares were substandard, I shall take it out on your hide.”
Remington fought off the tears of shame, or horror, nodding once. Guy grabbed her by the arm, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, and escorted her to the base of the stairs. “The second door to your right. Get.”
He shoved her and she almost stumbled on the bottom step. Catching herself, she slowly mounted the stairs, the rumble of the common room fading as she proceeded down the hall.
She was shaking so badly that she could barely knock on the designated door.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a window at the end of the hall.
God, how easy it would be to throw herself from the window and be done with all of this pain and humiliation.
She wished she had the courage, but she did not.
Her fisted hand froze an inch in front of the door, the tears she had fought so valiantly against taking hold. But she wiped them away, knowing she had no choice and praying to the God she did not believe in that Gaston would understand.
The open window was looking more and more appealing.
She never got a chance to make her decision. The door in front of her flew open and a large body was suddenly in front of her. Before she could move, a hand reached out and snatched her into the room.
Gasping with shock and surprise, Remington heard the door bolt behind her and she swung around to face the knight, volumes of panic welling within her. A handsome blond man gazed back at her with concern, and he was oddly familiar.
Remington’s panic banked somewhat, but she was still filled with trepidation. The knight remained where he stood, highly cognizant of her fear.
“You do not remember me, do you?” he asked gently.
Remington did not realize that her hands were up in front of her protectively. Slowly, the hands came down. “You…you do look familiar. Do I know you?”
“We have met,” he said softly. “I am Sir Hubert Doyle, my lady. We have met on two occasions.”
Her eyes widened. “Sir Hubert of Ripley? And we met in Ripon, as well. I remember.”
He smiled, a gentle smile. “Good. Then, my lady, would you mind telling me what is going on? Who is this man selling your…services?”
Her knees went to liquid and he caught her before she fell, lowering her carefully into the nearest chair. Between great gulps of wine, she told him everything.
Hubert was shocked. He stared at her in open astonishment, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture that reminded her of Gaston. His soft gray eyes were filled with pity and, she thought, anger.
Leaving her to finish her third goblet of wine in peace, he rose on his long legs and paced the room soundlessly. Every so often he would break from his train of thought, looking over at her quivering head.
“Did he do that to your face?” he asked.
Her fingers flitted to her bruised cheek. “Aye.”
“Has he harmed you in any other way?”
She looked up at him, opening her mouth to speak, but sobs bubbled forth instead. Hubert went to her, timidly patting her shoulder. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
She continued to cry. “You paid….a good deal of money for me. Do you intend…?”
He cut her off. “Absolutely not. The moment I saw you, I recognized you. I paid what your husband was asking simply to prevent another man from taking advantage of Sir Gaston’s…woman. My God, this is confusing, isn’t it?”
A choked laugh sputtered forth among the tears. “Aye, it is.”
He crouched beside her, smiling faintly. She met his gaze, wiping at her eyes and he patted her hand. “I am taking you out of here, away from him.”
Her eyes widened. “You are? How? Where will we go?”
He was already standing, gathering his necessary things. Remington watched apprehensively as he strapped on his sword and stashed two daggers in unobtrusive places. He was a big man, quick and agile, with a handsome face and gentle manner.