The Dark One: Dark Knight (13 page)

     “They did?” Remington asked, her heart
sinking.  “Oh, my lord, I am so sorry.  Had we but known it was you….”

     He wiped his eyes, noticing she was soaked
and the wet dress left very little to the imagination.  “What are you doing?”

     Remington was miserable.  She waved her son
and cousin back up the stairs, hoping they would escape the Dark Knight’s
wrath.  “Seeking revenge,” she said hopelessly.  It sounded silly, even to her.

     “Revenge on your sisters for getting you
wet?” he motioned to her dress.

     “Nay, Sir Nicolas did this,” she said,
noticing that his eyebrows shot up with surprise.  She continued quickly.  “But
they had thrown water on him first.  He was seeking retribution and thought I
was them.”

     Dane and Charles were almost to the top of
the stairs and Gaston let them go; he was not interested in the boys.  He was
focused entirely on Remington for several reasons, one being that she looked
entirely delicious in the clinging dress.

     “And he threw water on you?” he clarified.

     “Aye,” she answered, defeated.

     He nodded slowly, eyeing her a moment
before turning as if he were going to descend the steps.  Instead, he opened
his mouth.

     “Nicolas.” he bellowed, so loud it echoed
off the walls and nearly scared the wits from Remington.

     “Please, my lord, do not punish him.” she
pleaded, moving timidly towards him.  “It was a mistake.”

     He looked over his shoulder at her.  “Go
change your surcoat.  I understand you wish to speak with me, and you shall. 
After I deal with my knight.”

     “Sir Gaston,” she said.  “Sir Nicolas did
nothing wrong.  He was simply attempting to dispense justice with my sisters. 
An eye for an eye, as it were.”

     A chill shot up his spine when she said his
name.  Her voice had a soothing, sensual quality, anyway, but when she spoke
his name, it was like an open caress.  He turned his full attention to her.

     “I understand your explanation, but it does
not excuse his behavior,” he said, trying not to stare at the pert breasts
almost directly in his face.  “If you will excuse me, then.”

     She looked so sad that he almost gave into
her and it shocked him.  He gave in to no one, man or woman, King or challenger.
Her huge eyes were staring back at him and he found his attention drawn to her
lips; shaped like a budding flower and nearly the color of a peach.  Surely
they tasted as well, too.  He found himself fighting an overwhelming urge to
kiss her.

     But she lowered her gaze and turned away,
making it much easier for him to fight off his urge.  He watched her ascend the
remainder of the stairs, watching the sway her bottom as it tantalized him.  By
God, there was nothing about that woman that did not taunt and tantalize him
into insanity. Unused to dealing with such a temptation, he found himself
distracted and moody, unfortunately for Nicolas.

***

     Remington changed into a cotton surcoat of
shell pink and let her hair from its net, running her fingers through the
rapidly drying locks.  In the heat, she was dry in no time and waited nervously
for Gaston to come calling.

     Aye, he made her nervous, but it wasn’t so
much because she feared him anymore.  It was more the way he made her feel when
he looked at her, a strange shakiness that she did not understand.  Her heart
thumped wildly and her knees quaked when he trained those smoky gray eyes on
her, mysterious and veiled, yet inquisitive at the same time.  It was difficult
to describe and even more difficult for her to understand.

     It never occurred to her that he was
handsome.  He was just a man and she had never looked at a man in those terms. 
The fact that his raw masculinity reached out and embraced her like a glove
never occurred to her either.  She was far too fearful to allow any of those
ideas into her head.  Too well trained to ignore the obvious in light of
self-preservation.

     It wasn’t long before there was a knock at
her door.  She opened it to old Eudora, bustling in with an armful of linens. 
Remington let out a sigh and sank into a chair.

     “Heard what happened, Missy,” Eudora said,
busying herself.  “Jasmine and Skye are still missing.

     Remington made a wry face.  “As well they
should after what they did.”

     “Mayhap so,” Eudora replaced the covers on
the down pillows.  “I also heard that the Dark Knight punished one of his
knights for watering you.  Sent him to the vault, to Lady Rory’s cell.”

     “What?” Remington shot off the chair.  “He
put Sir Nicolas in the same cell with my sister?”

     “Aye, he did,” Eudora said.  “Told him that
they had both better come out of the vault smiling come morn or he would do
something drastic.”

     Remington was outraged.  “Better both
be…now what in the hell did he mean by that?”

     “Exactly that,” Gaston entered the room, eyeing
the old woman.  “Be gone.”

     Eudora dropped the rest of her linens and
scampered out.  Remington faced him, almost hysterical.  “Please explain
yourself, my lord.”

     He slanted her a glance and moved to the
wine decanter against the wall.  Pouring himself a full cup of wine, he turned
to face her calmly.

     “I did not send Nicolas to the vault to
assault your sister or do her harm,” he said evenly.  “My philosophy is simple;
the conflicts originally started between Rory and Nicolas, and they will end
with Rory and Nicolas.  I expect them to make peace with each other before the
night is through or I will take matters into my own hands.”

     “There are no conflicts.” Remington
insisted.  “Since when are practical jokes conflicts?”

     “They are not – yet,” he said.  “Throwing
water and sabotaging bathtubs are one thing, but they could quickly escalate
into something more sinister.  I do not want people of this keep taking sides
if someone ‘innocently’ gets hurt.”

     She put her hands on her hips irritably. 
“My sisters have always been like this.  ‘Tis simply the way they are.  I do
not think you can change their nature.”

     “I am not trying to change their nature, my
lady, simply curb it a bit,” he said steadily.

     “Are you against fun, then?” she demanded
respectfully.

     “There is a place for everything,” he
answered her, yet gave her no answer at the same time. “Now tell me, what was
it you wished to speak to me about?”

     Remington studied him a moment before
answering.  “Rory. I wanted to ask you to release her this day, but I can see
that I would be wasting my breath to do so.”

     “You will see her tomorrow,” he said.  “Was
that all?”

     “Aye,” she replied.  “I am so sorry to have
bothered you.  And I am so sorry that you had water thrown on you, since you
have no sense of humor.”

     He looked at her, hearing her taunt.  No
one taunted him except Arik.  “I have a sense of humor, properly placed.”

     She raised her eyebrows as if she did not
believe him.  “As you say, my lord.”

     “I do.” he insisted.  “But I do not make a
fool of myself.” 

     Her gaze softened somewhat.  “I could never
imagine the Dark Knight a fool.  Any man who would think so is dead now, I am
sure.”

     “How true,” he dipped his head gallantly to
thank her for her confidence.  “You are wise as well as beautiful.”

     Her smile vanished.  His smile vanished,
too, as he watched her turn away from him abruptly.

     “I will make sure Jasmine and Skye are well
aware that you have forbidden them any further pranks,” she said, her manner
clipped. “I am sure you have other duties to attend to, my lord, and I will
take no more of your time.”

     He crossed his arms, observing the stiff
back.  “What have I said?”

     She looked at him, puzzled, but guarded. 
“I know not what you mean, my lord.”

     He studied her intensely.  “Aye, you do.  You
were smiling not a moment ago and now you are angry.  What did I say to offend
you?”

     “Nothing, my lord,” she turned away softly.

     He wanted to grab her and turn her to him
but he was acutely aware that she would probably turn into a hysterical creature.

     “You do not like being told of your
beauty,” he said after a moment. “Why not?”

     He saw her body twitch convulsively and her
hand flew to her mouth.  ‘Tis…tis not true, I tell you.  I am not angry.”

     Her voice sounded strangely tight.  “Aye,
you are.  Do not you know how beautiful you are?”  

     She whirled recklessly to face him, her
hand over her mouth and her eyes were brimming with tears.  “Do not…would you
please leave me alone.”

     He went to sit on the bed.  He wasn’t
leaving until he knew what was upsetting her so, if for nothing more than the
simple fact that he would never do it again.

     “Tell me, Remington,” he said gently.  “Why
do not you like to hear of your beauty?”

     He used her Christian name with no title,
rolling off his tongue as if it were the richest, finest wine.  His voice could
be incredibly soothing when he wanted it to be, but she was almost immune to
it.  She had made herself immune to men for so many years she did not know how
to act any other way.

     Something deep inside of her was curious,
wanting to know what it was like to have a man be kind to her.  That same
element wanted to respond to him, open up to him.  But the overwhelming
majority of her was terrified.

     Her tears spilled over and she started to
sob softly.  She heard him rise from the bed, relieved he was leaving her alone
as requested.  But, to her surprise, she felt huge arms wrap themselves around
her shaking body.  Instinctively, she bolted like a wild animal.

     Gaston did not let go.  He held on to her
for dear life.

     “Nay, angel, do not fight me,” he said
gently. “Relax, Remington, relax.  Do not fight anymore.”

     She shrieked and pushed at him, terrified,
but he held firm, speaking to her in even, comforting tones.  He never even
knew he had it in him.  In fact, this woman had succeeded in teaching him
things about himself he never realized before.  And he thought he knew
everything.

     He swept her into his arms, struggling and
all, and carried her to sit on his lap as he deposited himself on the edge of
the bed. Her strength waning, her struggles were lessening, but she was still
crying pitifully.

     “Don’t,” she kept saying.  “Please don’t.”

     He held her tightly, soothingly, hoping she
would calm.  He was afraid if he let her go she would forever be terrified of
him.  It was like breaking a horse; he had to ride out the storm to the very
end.  He could not give up if he were going to accomplish anything.

     The fact was, he wasn’t even sure just what
he was trying to accomplish.

     “Do not
what
, angel?” he whispered
urgently.

     Her fighting dwindled, reducing her to
almost hysterical sobs.  Her stiff body was relaxing in defeat.  He grasped her
chin and forced her to look at him.

     “Do not
what
?”

     Her eyes, wild with fright, gazed back at
him helplessly.  She did not want to say anything and reveal her shame, but he
was so insistent, so genuine in his desire to know, that she felt her barrier
crumbling.  Dear God, she had too much pride to reveal herself to this stranger
but she was so confused and frightened she couldn’t think anymore.

     “Do not hurt me,” she choked out in a
whisper.

     He did not ask her anymore.  He pulled her
close to him, feeling her body relaxing imperceptibly, but she was still
shaking terribly and crying.  His hands, of their own accord, caressed her
softly. He did not even realize he was doing it.

     In faith, he felt wonderful and in spite of
her terror and life-long convictions, she wanted to respond.  She wanted to
enjoy what she had never experienced because his arms, his touch, promised
comfort unimaginable.  It was disorienting and vaguely thrilling just the same.

     Her shaking lessened and her sniffles
diminished.  He sat and held her to him, smelling the sweetness of lavender in
her hair and thinking her to be a soft, warm, wonderful creature.  But how could
a mere woman be all of those things?  How could a mere woman affect him this
way?

     It was impossible, he told himself.  The
Dark Knight was omnipotent, unaffected by the whims of mortal man.  And
especially not weakened by the feel of a woman…
right?

     Mari-Elle burst into his mind.  Thin, dark,
coldly handsome.  Betrothed at six years of age and married at twenty.  He
spent thirteen years of his life in a despised marriage, hating the sight of
the woman he had married.  Hating her because she was an icy, calculating bitch
that gave herself to every man who caught her eye.  Gaston would have killed
them all except there were too many to count.  She had no respect for him other
than his reputation and station.  It was simply her nature.