Chapter Thirty-Three #3
“There was a well-dressed knight who sought board from you this night. A tall man, young. He occupied the second room upstairs, on the right. Did he, perchance, leave?”
The innkeeper glanced at him. “Ye mean the man with the polished armor? The new gloves?” When Guy nodded, the proprietor shook his head. “I ’aven’t seen ’im. Why do ye ask?”
A muscle in Guy’s cheek twitched, not particularly eager to answer the question. “Would his horse be stabled in the livery out back?”
“Aye, it would,” the innkeeper said. “A fine animal, my son says.”
Guy did not say another word. Be pushed past the owner, through the kitchens, and out into the yard. The night had grown cool as he made his way back to the dilapidated structure.
A young lad was asleep on a cot of straw. Guy kicked him on the foot and the youth let out a yelp, rubbing his heel. The boy looked up into a very angry, very frightening face.
“What the… what is it, m’lord?” he swallowed.
“Did anyone leave this night?”
The boy nodded slowly. “A few.”
“Did a knight leave? And did he have a woman with him?” The boy thought a moment. “Aye, a knight left three or four hours ago. But ’e did not ’ave a woman with ’im.”
Guy’s nostrils flared and the lad instinctively moved away, rising unsteadily. The man with the pale blue eyes scared him.
“Was the man tall and fair? Well-dressed?” Guy asked patiently.
“Aye, m’ lord,” the boy nodded. “And ’e ’ad a very fine animal.”
“But no woman?”
“No,” the boy shook his head.
Guy thought a moment. “You did not catch his name, mayhap?”
The young man shook his head hard. “’e did not give me ’is name. But he paid me a coin for saddling ’is destrier. Said he ’ad to be on ’is way.”
Guy drew in a deep, calming breath. He had no doubt that the knight had stolen Remington from him, as one man steals a loaf of bread.
No wonder the knight had paid him so well. His intentions had been to steal Remington from the first and mayhap he thought he was compensating Guy for his loss.
Damnation. He spun away from the boy, anger and frustration expanding in his disbelieving mind. To come so close to escaping home with his wife, only to be foiled by a lustful knight who decided he wanted Remington for his own.
It was his fault, of course, and he cursed himself as he marched back into the tavern.
He shouldn’t have sold her services to a young knight; he should have sold her to an older knight who would have been too tired after the deed to do anything more with her.
Young and vital, the salacious knight took Remington as his chattel.
Guy passed through the tavern. His horse was still tethered to the hitch post and he untied the animal hastily. Guy wasn’t angry that the man had taken Remington herself, merely angry because a tremendous bargaining tool had been stolen away from him.
Bargaining tool? Of course. No doubt de Russe was on his way from London already to rescue Remington from her husband’s evil clutches.
And no doubt Henry was ranting for justice, demanding his escaped prisoner be returned.
And no doubt the church was on Guy’s side, demanding Henry to leave the man alone, to allow him to live peacefully at his native fortress.
Remington could provide the bargaining chip to control all three.
Firstly, de Russe would do anything Guy dictated if Remington were threatened. Secondly, Henry would do whatever de Russe demanded of him. Thirdly, the church would be pleased to see a husband and wife back together again.
Damn. Guy gathered the reins roughly, slugging the horse when it protested the treatment. He would track down the lecherous knight and gut him cleanly for taking what did not belong to him.
Hubert stopped just after dawn to allow Remington rest. Pale and drawn, he helped her sit on a rotted tree stump while he started a small fire. The night had been cool and the morning damp and cloudy, and he thought she could use a bit of warmth.
As Hubert built the fire from dried twigs and dead leaves, Remington slid off the stump and sat upon the ground, using the tree to lean against. She was so damnably tired that she needed help to simply sit erect.
She wasn’t particularly cold in her crushed silk cloak, but the small fire felt wonderful on her cold feet and before she realized it, she was asleep.
Hubert had not noticed that she was sleeping until he turned to say something to her and saw that she was propped against the stump, snoring very lady-like. Her eyes were dark circled, indicative of the harrowing past few days.
Poor little waif, he thought, sincerely wishing he could send word to Gaston on her whereabouts this very instant.
He had seen the way the Dark Knight had treated her, how obviously attached he was to the petite woman.
And he had no doubt that Gaston was fully prepared to tear apart Yorkshire in search of his lady-love, who happened to be another man’s wife.
Hubert shook his head, moving to sit beside her.
He pitied the woman, lovely and fragile, married to the devil’s twin.
Compounded with the fact that the Duke of Warminster was in love with her, it all compiled to make an entirely perplexing situation.
It wasn’t any of his business, of course, but somehow he found himself mixed up in it all.
He gazed down at her pale, beautiful face, thinking of the first time he ever saw her.
In Ripon, at the tournament, three other lovely young women had surrounded her, but he’d had eyes only for her.
It amazed him to this day that he had not noticed Gaston and his men sitting beside her, for the men were certainly not invisible.
But he had only had eyes for her. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Hubert turned away from her, chasing the ridiculous thoughts from his head. He had one duty and one duty only; to take her safely to Ripley and send word to Gaston. Another six or so hours would have them on Ingilsby’s doorstep.
Remington slept for an hour, as long as Hubert dared to let her rest. As the sun crept higher in the sky and the morn warmed, he rose and doused the fire before rousing her.
“My lady,” he said softly. “Lady.”
She stirred a bit and her eyes fluttered open. Seeing a mailed glove in her face, she startled violently as if positive the hand was placed to harm her. Hubert dropped to his knees and grabbed her by the arms before she could bolt.
“Calm, my lady, calm,” he urged firmly. “’Tis me; Hugh. You are safe, but we must continue on.”
She blinked at him, the great sea-crystal eyes coming into focus. In his grip, she visibly relaxed.
“Oh…good lord, I thought….” She swallowed hard, brushing the hair from her eyes. “I am sorry, Hugh. You startled me.”
He smiled faintly, his gray eyes twinkling. “I was waiting for a fist to catch me in the face.”
She grinned, embarrassed, as she struggled to stand. He pulled her to her feet, helping her brush the dead grass and leaves from her cloak.
Remington smoothed at her hair, still tired but feeling the least bit refreshed. Her mind was clearing, too, now that she had put some space between she and Guy. “Where are we, Hugh?”
“Just shy of Wakefield, my lady,” he replied, moving to untie the destrier from its post. “We should be at Ripley in six hours.”
She shook out her dress and made her way over to him where he was readying the horse. “How long was I asleep?” she asked, suddenly showing apprehension. “Could my husband have…?”
“You were only asleep about an hour,” he replied, quelling her fears. “And even if Lord Stoneley were right on our heels, I doubt he could have found us in this bank of trees.”
She looked back to their small camp. “What of the smoke from the fire? Surely that would alert him?”
“It was such a small fire that the smoke dissipated before it reached the canopy,” Hubert held his hands out to her. “He would smell the smoke but nothing more.”
He lifted her onto the beast and mounted behind her. Shifting her bottom to gain comfort against his heavily armored thighs, he waited until she stilled before spurring his destrier onward.
The day was beautiful and warm, the humidity lacking.
Remington shunned her cloak, enjoying the warmth and fresh air and allowing the brilliance to lift her spirits.
With each hoof-fall, she felt safer, more at ease.
Hubert rode silently, listening to her hum a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was young.
“You have a son, do you not?” he asked.
She nodded. “He’s fostering at Oxford. And I have twin daughters, as well.”
“Oh? I was not aware of any daughters when I visited Mt. Holyoak, but your son was pointed out to me.”
She giggled. “That’s because the girls were not born yet. They are three months old.”
He looked surprised. “You do not look as if you have recently birthed children. In fact, you look….” He stopped himself, mortified that he was about to compliment the Dark One’s woman as if she were an unattached, available female.
’Twas the natural male instinct in him to compliment and flatter, and her femininity brought out every ounce of his maleness. “You look quite pleasant, my lady.”
She giggled louder, amused at his embarrassment. “It is very well if you tell me I look pleasant, Hugh. Every woman likes to be showered with tribute.”
He was glad she wasn’t looking at him; he was blushing like a fool. As fair as he was, his cheeks were glowing red. “I did not mean to sound… well, bold.”
She shook her head, pulling her mass of curls over one shoulder and off her neck to cool it. “You did not. You were very polite.”
He went silent, still humiliated with his near-slip. Sensing his embarrassment, she sought to ease him. “Are you married now, Hugh?”
He looked off across the green hills. “Nay, my lady. Not yet.”
“Are you betrothed, then?”
“Nay,” he replied. “Much to my mother’s concern. She should like grandchildren before too long.”