Chapter Twelve #2
“Let me go!” she hollered, kicking and fighting. “She killed Remington! Let me go!”
Nicolas blanched, ceasing his struggles with her but he continued to grip the spear. “She….what? Killed Remington?”
Rory yanked the spear free from his grasp. “Stabbed her!”
She started to run but he stopped her harshly. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs in the hallway.” Rory ripped free of his grip. “Let me go, you bastard.”
Nicolas took hold of her and the spear; Lady Mari-Elle was long gone, disappeared into one of the labyrinth of halls that made up this place. He knew he had to find Gaston.
“Go back upstairs,” he ordered tightly. “Go to your sister. I shall find Gaston.”
Anger flooding over, the severity of the situation was beginning to settle and hot tears spilled onto her cheeks.
She wanted to argue, for she herself wanted to kill Mari-Elle, but the overwhelming need to be with Remington took hold and she let the spear go.
Nicolas seeing her pain and terror patted her on the cheek. “Go, Rory. I shall find Gaston.”
Obediently, she turned and walked unsteadily down the hall, finally running. He waited until she mounted the stairs before throwing the spear to the ground in a fit of emotion. As he jogged to the outer bailey, he could only pray Gaston did not run him through as the bearer of bad tidings.
Gaston had had enough of death for one night.
Out of the six soldiers sent to return Sir Derek Botmore, five of them were dismembered so thoroughly it was as if they were parts to a grisly puzzle.
The sixth soldier, exhausted from bringing his five companions home, told a horrible tale of blood and torture and madness.
Gaston heard the man out but did not ask any questions; the soldier was almost to the point of madness himself and Gaston would let him rest a bit before grilling him.
He would not avenge the deaths, for they came as a direct result of his actions. Granted, he was doing what he must to rescue Remington and her sisters, but the constant seeking of revenge had to stop somewhere. Unless Botmore attacked Mt. Holyoak, he would make no provocative action.
He and Arik were engaged in a leisure conversation when Nicolas came running up, his armor clanging loudly.
“Gaston!” he called.
The two men turned toward the younger knight, wondering what the rush was about, Nicolas did not give them a chance to ask.
“Trouble, my lord,” Nicolas came to an unsteady halt. “Your wife has stabbed Lady Remington and….”
Gaston did not even realize he had reached out and grabbed his cousin. “What?”
Nicolas met his eyes steadily, although he was quaking out of fear. “You’d better go, Gaston. Rory says she’s dead. I have not seen for myself yet.”
Gaston’s mind went blank. He was aware he was running, passing through the darkened baileys with Arik beside him, but little else. Even the innards of the castle passed by him in a flash, his mind neither thinking nor feeling nor hearing anything else but Remington.
He took the stairs like a man possessed. With each fall of his boot he could hear the death chant… Dead. Dead. Dead. When he finally burst into the upper floor hallway, he was running faster than he ever had in his life.
He heard the crying, the moaning, and he burst into the room from which it emitted. Rory and Skye were standing around the bed while Jasmine and old Eudora were tending the body on the mattress.
He rushed up on the bed so fast he almost lost his balance and pitched forward. Yet, he could see that his fear had been for naught as she twitched and cried, testimony to the life still flowing within her.
Slammed with indescribable relief to see that Remington was not dead, it was rapidly dampened by the sight of a knife hilt protruding from her shoulder. Blood was everywhere.
“She won’t let us remove it.” Jasmine was crying softly, not turning to look at him. She had felt him behind her, hearing his panic.
Remington’s eyes opened, a sea of color in a pasty face. She focused directly on Gaston.
“No!” she screamed at him. “Do not hurt me!”
His heart broke into a millions pieces and he took Jasmine by the arms to move her aside so that he could be close to Remington.
“Remi, angel, it has to come out,” he said tenderly, motioning Arik to the other side of the bed.
“No,” she breathed, a cry of panic, of pain. Her eyes rolled closed. “Leave me alone.”
Arik moved the women back and gave them all quiet, concise orders before moving to the other side of Remington.
“She’s not thinking straight,” he whispered to his second. “Hold her while I remove it.”
“Nay,” Arik returned quickly. “You hold her. She shall want you to hold her.”
Gaston looked at him a moment before nodding curtly. Arik was astonished at the pain he read in his lord’s eyes. It was as if this Gaston was someone entirely different from the Dark Knight he knew. The Dark One knew no pain.
Gaston felt ill at all of the blood he was seeing on her slim body as he braced himself against the side of the bed. Gently, his huge hands came down on her arms and her eyes opened again, looking at him with panic.
“Gaston?” she whispered urgently, looking for some sort of reassurance that he wasn’t going to hurt her anymore.
“It’s all right, angel, I am here,” he said softly, smiling at her encouragingly. “I shall not leave you.”
Arik moved toward the hilt of the blade as Gaston kept her attention. “It was Mari-Elle,” she told him weakly. “She came into your room and stabbed me. Gaston, she was insane. Her eyes were wild.”
His jaw clenched but he maintained his outward calm. “Do not worry yourself over her, angel.”
Remington swallowed hard and he felt her relaxing under his grip. Her eyes closed lethargically. “I am… tired. I want to go to sleep.”
“Then sleep, my sweet angel,” he whispered, touching his cheek to hers. “Go to sleep and forget about this for a while.”
Arik suddenly gripped the blade and yanked it free in one clean stroke. Remington went stiff with the shock and the agony, spewing forth an anguished scream, but Gaston continued to hold her tightly.
“It’s all over, Remi, I promise,” he said hoarsely.
“It hurts,” she cried softly.
He smiled sadly, kissing her cheek tenderly, wishing to God he could take the pain upon himself. “I know, sweetness, I know. Believe me, I know. But it’s all over now.”
She cried softly from pain and fatigue as Arik quickly examined the wound and then proceeded to bind the shoulder tightly. Jasmine, Rory and Skye stood in a terrified huddle at the base of the bed while Eudora assisted Arik with the bandages.
When she was expertly tended, Gaston pulled her carefully over to her left side to relieve any pressure on her right shoulder. Shaking and sobbing, she gripped his hand with a death-grip and refused to let go.
“Arik, find Rastus and send him up here with something for her pain,” Gaston ordered softly. “And I want him to check the wound when the bleeding has stopped.”
Arik nodded, wiping his hands with a rag Eudora had handed him. “It looks fairly deep, but clean,” he commented. “Barring any great unforeseen damage, it should heal completely.”
Gaston nodded, gazing down at her huddled body. “Nevertheless, I would have my surgeon take a look,” he motioned Arik closer so that he would not have to raise his voice. “I want you to find Mari-Elle and confine her to the vault. I will deal with her alone.”
Arik looked at his lord, knowing he fully intended to murder his wife and thinking it was high time the woman got what was coming to her. “Aye, my lord.”
Gaston nodded faintly, turning to look at the women gathered just into the shadows. “I shall remain with her. You may return to your rooms.”
“But this… this is my room,” Jasmine hiccupped, her face pale.
“Then take Remington’s bed,” Gaston told her. “And check on Dane to make sure he is well.”
Obediently, the sisters filed out behind Arik, but Eudora lagged behind a moment.
“You look exhausted, my lord,” she said to Gaston. “Might I bring you a warm drink?”
He glanced at the old woman a moment, nearly dismissing her, but suddenly the thought of warm wine appealed to him. “Thank you, madam. That would be appreciated.”
Eudora smiled a motherly smile. “I shall be right back, lamb…I mean, my lord.”
Embarrassed at her slip, for she was very used to addressing her charges affectionately, she quickly left the room and closed the door softly behind her. Gaston smiled faintly as the footfalls faded, lingering on the pet name. He had been called a lot of things before, but never a lamb.
“Lamb?” Remington murmured.
He looked down at her. “That’s enough from you,” he said with feigned severity, crouching down beside the bed. “Are you going to let go of my hand long enough to allow me to remove my sword and mail?”