The Dark One: Dark Knight (114 page)

***

     Gaston did not stop again. Taran was
frothing and sweaty, but he was used to difficult conditions and hearty. Gaston
kept a slower pace, but he did not let up. His searing sense of urgency had
gained in strength and power, pushing him onward with no hope of relief until
he reached Mt. Holyoak. Then, and only then, would he rest and plan.

     He passed through Wakefield, heading into
North Yorkshire. Skirting Leeds, he headed northeast and passed the cities of
Boston Spa and Collingham. After Collingham, it was nearly a straight ride to Boroughbridge.

     And then Mt. Holyoak.

     He closed his eyes, if but to rest them a
brief moment, but Remington immediate thrust herself into his weary mind. The
familiar weakening, the familiar longing, saturated his limbs with liquid
warmth. And pain.

     He most definitely felt pain.

     He saw the sea-crystal eyes twinkling back
at him, her magnificent lips curved into a sweet smile. Her face, so sweet and
beautiful, broke his concentration. The more he gazed at her beloved face, the
more helpless and desperate he became.

     His eyes flew open, forcing himself to
breathe deeply, to refocus. He'd never felt so impotent and powerless in his
whole life.

    
Be brave, angel. I am coming.

***

     Ripley Castle loomed into view in the wee
hours of the morning. Barely after mid-night, Hubert reined his destrier in to
the large, if not cluttered, bailey. There were several soldiers on hand to
greet him, all of them reaching up hands for the lady.

     “Back away, you buzzards.” Hubert bellowed,
keeping a firm hand on Remington. “Where's the lord?”

     “Inside, Hugh,” a calm-looking knight stood
by his right leg, eyeing Remington. “She looks familiar. Who is she?”

     Remington gazed at the knight. “She can
speak for
herself
, I am Lady Remington Stoneley.”

“Stoneley?” the knight
repeated with surprise, looking at Hubert, “Good lord, Hugh, what goes on?”

     Hubert handed Remington down to the knight
and dismounted, but he quickly took her back into his protective grasp. “Quite
a story. Ingilsby is going to want to hear this.”

     Hubert and the other knight led Remington
inside, away from the curious stares of the men-at-arms. Ripley Castle was a
smaller keep, quiet for the night. The corridors were dimly lit as they made
their way into a great room, illuminated golden by the dying fire in the hearth.
Two huge dogs lying by the hearth barely gave the three humans a glance.

     Hubert sat Remington down and sent the
other knight for wine and food. When the man returned, Hubert gave it all to
Remington.

     “Aren't you going to eat, too?” she asked
softly. “We have been riding a long time and after the attack, you must....”

     He shook his head, biting off her words.
“Nay, my lady, you go ahead and eat your fill. I am not much hungry.”

     “An attack? What attack?” the other knight
demanded.

     Remington looked up at the man as she ate
in an appraising sort of way. Young, with wide brown eyes and an impish face,
his cropped brown hair was standing straight up. Hubert, on her other side,
removed his helm and set it loudly on the scrubbed table.

     “On the road,” he mumbled wearily. “We were
set upon by bandits. I shall tell you the all of it when Ingilsby arrives.”

     The young knight looked at Remington
curiously, obviously eager to hear their tale.

     Alex Ingilsby entered the common hall, his
eyes widening dramatically when he laid eyes on Remington. She smiled weakly
and he sputtered.

     “Remi.” he gasped. “What on earth are
you…Hugh, did you bring her here? What is going on?”

     “An unbelievable tale, I assure you,”
Hubert indicated a chair for his liege to sit.

     Alex hesitated a moment before seating
himself next to Remington, his astonished eyes studying her. “Are you all
right, Remi? What….?”

     She nodded, patting the baron's hand. “I am
fine. Allow Hugh to tell his tale, my lord. I would do it, but I sorely lack
the strength at the moment.”

     Alex's gaze lingered on her a moment longer
before turning to Hubert expectantly. Without delay, the knight relayed the
entire story, from Guy's escape until their arrival at Ripley. When he was
finished, Lord Ingilsby looked nothing short of stunned.

     “Stoneley? Escaped?” he repeated, turning
to Remington. “And what he did to you... my God, Hugh, I think I am going to be
ill. Fetch me a chalice, please.”

     Hubert filled a goblet full of wine and
placed it in his lord's hand. After a healthy gulp, Alex took a deep breath.
“God directed Hugh to that inn, I know it. He was looking out for you, Remi. I
will have a mass said at day break for thanks of your rescue.”

     Remington turned warm eyes to Hubert, tired
and still coated with black splotches of blood. “Sir Hubert was my true savior.
He was magnificent, my lord. I am sure Gaston will reward him tremendously.”

     “As will I,” Alex glanced at his captain.
“Good lord, Hugh, you looked whipped. Why not take a meal and go to bed?”

     “Not until my lady does,” he said firmly.
“She has had a rougher time than I, let me assure you.”

     Remington ignored him, putting her hand
beseechingly on Alex's arm. “We must send word to Gaston right away, my lord.
He must be told where I am.”

     “Absolutely,” Ingilsby agreed. “Adam, see
to it.”

     The second knight nodded sharply and Hubert
put in,” My lord, I would have Adam deliver the message personally.”

     Ingilsby nodded again. “Agreed. Not knowing
where exactly the duke might be, it would help to send a messenger who would
know him on sight,” as Adam strode from the hall, Alex stopped him.

     ''Nothing written, Adam. If Stoneley or his
allies were to intercept the message, we'd have them all over us like a horde
of locust. Dress well, lad, and return to me before you depart.”

     When the second knight quit the hall, Alex
turned to Remington again. “Do you have any idea where Gaston would go?”

     She thought a moment. “Mt. Holyoak, to be
sure. But he and Brimley have become allies. Or he might even come here, since
you are loyal to him as well.”

     “True enough,” Alex was lost in thought a
moment longer before gently grasping Remington's hand. “Come now, my lady. I
suspect you would like to rest now after your most harrowing experience.”

     She nodded, passing a final glance at
Hubert before allowing the baron to lead her upstairs.

     Hubert's gaze lingered on the stairs a
moment, even after she disappeared. He was actually a bit remorseful that their
adventure together was over, because he had so enjoyed getting to know lovely
Lady Remington. He thought the Dark One to be a very lucky man indeed.

***

     Except for being nearly deserted, Mt.
Holyoak looked better than Guy had ever remembered. Seeing his fortress for the
first time in two years actually brought tears to his eyes, tears of joy but
also tears of sadness. He could not occupy his keep for the moment, and that
distinctly upset him. Yet, he reminded himself, the situation was only
temporary.

     He could see sentries up on the walls,
patrolling the keep vigilantly. Guy lingered in the shrubbery, smelling the
beech wood and pine and reluctantly agreeing that there was no possibly way he
could rid his keep of the soldiers that occupied it. There were several dozen,
mayhap even one hundred. As much as he wanted it back, one man against one
hundred were deadly odds.

     He sighed heavily, reluctant to leave his
beloved keep. But he knew the sooner he reached Knaresborough, the faster he
would regain what was his. No doubt Botmore would pledge manpower to regain the
fortress, and Guy was positive he could convince Archibald to contribute forces
as well. With as little as two hundred and fifty men, he was positive he could
take back his keep. He had, after all, built the thing. He had made it
impenetrable, but he was confident that he could think of some way to regain
it.

     Keith Botmore had been stunned to see his
old friend ride into his keep. Surprise turned to glee as the two greeted each
other, speaking of the glory of the Yorkists all the way into the grand hall.
Even as food and drink were brought forth, Botmore kept up a running
conversation about Richard and Edward, and how someday soon another Yorkist
would sit upon the throne. Buckingham and his weak rebellion had failed, as had
the uprising that reached as far north as Trent. But someday soon, Botmore
swore, the Tudor would fall.

     The subject of Remington inevitably came
up, to which Guy explained the events in Stanford-on-Avon, in his own way;
Remington had tried to kill him and ran off when her attempt was unsuccessful,
he said, and was obviously insane. Which explained why she was trying to seek
an annulment and why she had willingly gone with the Dark One. Somehow, de
Russe had poisoned her weak mind. Botmore clucked with sympathy, promising that
they would send a search for her.

     But Guy wasn't interested in searching for
his wife yet. He was far more interested in regaining his keep. Changing the
subject back to the Yorkist resistance, Keith followed admirably.

     Guy listened less enthusiastically with
each passing moment, sorry he had not seen fit to broach a subject other than
this. He did not care about putting another Yorkist on the throne. He wanted
his damn fortress back.

     “Tell me what you know of the occupation of
my keep,” Guy interrupted a rich speech, bored.

     Keith looked thoughtful. “De Russe keeps a
skeleton guard there, but nothing more. The wealth and employment of
Boroughbridge depends on the keep, and I suppose keeping it running is the only
good thing that bastard has ever done. How do you plan to get it back? Petition
Henry?”

     Guy shook his head. “Hardly. The crown
would not award an escaped prisoner his lands returned.”

     “But you are only an escaped prisoner until
the church declares you freed.”

     “The church cannot declare me free. Only
the Tudor can do that, with a great deal of pressure from Bourchier. I have no
doubt that in time my pardon will come, but I do not want to wait that long to
regain what is mine. I need your help in this matter, Keith.”

     “Help? How can I help you?”

     “Men,” Guy leaned forward on the table, his
ice-blue eyes glittering. “I want your army.”

     Keith looked at him for a moment. “I have
nearly five hundred men. As skilled as they are, I have been told that de Russe
left behind a block of his elite guard. They're the very best. Moreover, how in
the hell do you plan to lay siege to a fortress that is designed as yours is?
I'd lose all of my men in the first wave.''

     Guy would not be dissuaded. “I can find a
way. 'Tis my fortress, is it not? If anyone can breach it, I can.”

     Botmore shook his head reluctantly. “I
shall support you, of course. But I would hear this plan before I commit my
men.”

     His lack of confidence angered Guy, but he
hid it well. 'Twould not do for him to strike his host. Instead, he forced
himself to smile.

     “After a good rest, I shall be more than
happy to discuss it with you.”

     The two men rose, strolling leisurely for
the second floor of the castle. Old, dried rushes crunched underneath Guy's
boots and he thought the place, in general, looked worn, unusual for the usually
organized and well-kept Botmore.

     As if Keith could read his mind, he spoke
in a low voice. “It's been nearly a year since Derek was killed by de Russe.
We're having a mass said tomorrow for his soul. You shall join us, won’t you?”

     “Of course,” Guy replied, although he had
no interest in attending a church service. But he would do it to gain what he
sought. “And allow me to convey my sorrow on your loss, Keith. Derek was a fine
knight.”

     The pain was still fresh in Botmore's face.
“He was all that I had, you know. His mother died some time ago and…well, the
priest says I should marry again and produce another heir. But I can't seem to
find the will.”

     Guy paused at the bottom of the stairs.” We
have a good deal in common, you and I. De Russe took everything from me, too.
My keep. My wife. My son. Everything.”

     Botmore's face went rigid. “Aye, he did.
Derek was killed trying to rescue your wife from de Russe’s clutches,” he
averted his gaze, clenching his hands into hard fists. “Damnation, Guy, I wish
I'd never sent Derek on that mercy mission. I curse myself every night for
relaying those orders to him. I should have....oh, hell!”

     Guy smiled thinly. “No need to relive your
horror, my friend. What's done is done. What remains now is to make de Russe
pay for his sins. And we will start by regaining my keep.”