Arik stared at it a moment longer, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “I like it,” he declared. “By damn, I like it.”
Since the column was halted, Patrick and Antonius dared to ride up next to their liege, both of them staring at the structure.
“I have never seen anything like it,” Patrick said appreciatively. “A hell of a fortress, cousin. Congratulations.”
Gaston put his visor down. “Congratulate me if, and only if, we are not put to spear as we approach the gate. With the drop-off on either side of the road, there would be nowhere to go but down.”
“They must have been told of our arrival. Rumors abound in Yorkshire and there was no mistaking our army,” Arik said, observing the unbelievably sheer walls. “Yet I see no outward defenses other than the raised drawbridge.”
“If our scouts had returned in time, we would have known much more about this fortress,” Gaston rumbled. “If, and when, those men return, I want them dispatched and scattered.”
Arik nodded without a word. Such orders from the Dark Knight were not unusual.
“Aye, now,” Gaston tightened his reins. “Let’s see what type of warm welcome we are to receive.”
Arik gave him a snorting chuckle as he lowered his own visor, telling Gaston that he was thinking the exact same thing. This fortress belonged to Yorkist loyalists and Gaston wondered if he were going to have to lay siege in order to claim what Henry had granted him.
Looking up at the sheer walls and gouged hillsides, he wondered if he could indeed lay a successful siege. It took him all of two seconds to realize he would have Mt. Holyoak. Hehadto have Mt. Holyoak. It was the only fortress in all of England worthy of him.
CHAPTER THREE
Mt. Holyoak wasready for their invaders. The army had been sighted a half-hour before, affording the occupants time to congregate in the outer bailey to greet their conquerors. A blanket of melancholy covered the old and young alike, each scared of his individual fate at the hands of the man they called the Dark One. Surely Satan himself was upon them, and it was not even an uncommon sight to see old women cross themselves.
The old men-at-arms gathered in semi-straight rows, awaiting their new liege and wondering if they would live to see the sun rise. All of the household servants were huddled together, whispering in urgent tones as they listened to the soldier on the wall give them a description of events as they unfolded.
Tensions were high, fears higher, and the sky above threatened rain of mighty proportions. Chill winds whipped through the bailey, blowing them all about and more than one person wondered if the Dark One himself had conjured the wind.
Remington was still in the castle, gazing from a high lancet window at the army below. It had only been two days since Charles had returned with word of the Dark Knight’s approach and she felt grossly underprepared, but there was naught to do now but welcome the new lord of the keep.
Honestly, she had felt no fear or apprehension until this very moment when she looked out over her beloved landscape and saw a hoard of troops approaching, more soldiers than she had ever seen. When they reached the bottom of the hill, the army came to a halt and several men broke off from the group and started up the incline. As the men rose higher along the road, so did Remington’s anxiety.
Over the years of living with daily fear, she had learned to bank her emotions well. Sweaty palms were the only outward indication of her inner turmoil and she turned for her mirror once more to make sure she looked presentable. As if the Dark Knight would care, but she wanted to look presentable nonetheless.
She had chosen a green silk surcoat that turned her eyes into glittering emeralds. The neckline was low across her white skin, skimming the very edges of her shoulders as it descended down each arm and hugged her slim torso. A belt of gold links hung at her waist and her luscious hair was pulled back from her face, secured at the crown of her head and creating the illusion of a fountain of hair cascading down upon her.
Remington never considered herself beautiful. She was not as hard on the eyes as some, she thought, but was truly ignorant of her radiance. Guy would tell her how lovely she was, but she never believed him. The man was a molester and an abuser; she was positive he was a liar, as well.
“Remi.” Jasmine was standing in the doorway. “Hurry– they’re almost here.”
Remington continued to stare from the window at the approaching figures, the chill wind lifting tendrils of her hair.
“Go down and order the drawbridge lowered, Jasmine,” she said softly. “I shall be down shortly.”
Jasmine fled. Remington heard her sister’s flighty footfalls and knew she should follow, but she was fascinated with the knights down below. The closer they came into view, the more intrigued she was with the knight riding in the lead.
Even from where she was, she could see he was twice the size of the other men around him. And the destrier he rode was the color of ink, as black as sin. She swore she could see the red eyes of the beast. He rode the animal with the arrogant confidence of a knight, implying untold power and strength with not so much as a word spoken. It radiated from him like a scent, yet it was far more heady. She knew without being told that the knight in the lead was the Dark Knight… the Dark One. It could be no one else.
Entranced, she watched the horses as they ascended the road. As they neared the very top where the road ended and dropped off into the moat, the ancient drawbridge began to lower laboriously. She could hear the wood popping and the hinges creaking as the wheels were turned, reversed to lower the bridge.
Remington snapped from her train of thought, knowing that the bridge lowering was her cue to attend to the bailey. With a deep breath to force her courage, she quit the chamber.
By the time she reached the bailey, the drawbridge was almost completely down. She stood, frozen, at the top of the steps just outside the keep entry as the bridge slammed to a halt and the rigging was secured. She could see straight through the opening, straight to the Dark Knight, who sat immobile atop his destrier at the edge of the drawbridge. She could see how absolutely massive the man truly was and the fear she was trying so desperately to fight down began to gain speed. Her breathingquickened and her heart began to race, but there was nothing more she could do other than face the fear that was fighting to overwhelm her.
The Dark One had come.
*
Gaston continued tosit at the edge of the drawbridge, like a statue. He was not about to enter the bailey of the massive structure and lay himself open to ambush. He would wait until someone from the fortress approached him and then he would state his business. The longer he sat, the more he wondered if the people inside were truly daft. Surely the lady of the keep would come out and express herself, be it to declare her intentions to fight to the death or simply hand over the fortress. His apprehension began to mount. He hoped he would not have to kill her in front of her people. He was trying to accomplish a peaceful take over and murder in the first few minutes of contact was not on his agenda.
