“Aye, my lord,” she nodded, confirmation of what they had suspected. This man was indeed the feared Dark Knight.
And little wonder. He was dressed from head to toe in the most formidable plate armor she had ever seen, enlarging him even more than he already was. If it wasn’t shining armor, it was black leather or mail. This man was a warrior the likes of which Remington had never seen.
Yet it was far more than merely the colors he wore; it was hispresence.The simple act of living and breathing conveyed a world of foreboding and fear. Blind obedience was the only way to survive.
Gaston flicked his wrist and knights began to charge past her and on into the bailey, but Gaston remained still, absorbing the activity. The sky above was growing threatening and the wind was vicious, caressing her with icy fingers. Remington watched the strange, fearsome men riding into her ward, fighting the urge to hug herself against the wind. She would not allow the Dark Knight to see any weakness in her, or any show of her inner emotions. Over her shoulder, she could feel the weighty gaze of him and a chill ran up her spine. Involuntarily, she shivered from both the stare and the cold.
My God, what have I done? A strange sense of despair swept her and she felt the distinct taste of hopelessness. Should she have tried to hold him off, but for what purpose? She had not the men to maintain a strong defense and she knew everyone would have been killed trying to fight off Henry’s knight. The lives of her people were worth more to her than maintaining the sovereignty of the keep that had shown her nothing but grief.
“Return to the keep, Lady Stoneley,” came his voice from behind her, gravelly and deep so that it shook the very ground she stood upon. “I will speak with you at a later time.”
Remington couldn’t get away from him fast enough. It began to rain as she crossed the drawbridge, messing her surcoat and pelting her face with chilly droplets. Behind her, she could hear the unmistakable hollow sounds of hoof-falls as they crossed thebridge. It would seem that the Dark Knight was intending to follow her into the bailey.
Remington was bewildered and depressed by the activity in the bailey. The Dark One’s knights had whipped the aged men-at-arms into a frenzy and they were climbing the ladders to the catwalks on the walls with an energy she had never seen before from them. Fear was a potent drug, indeed, and she felt so guilty. She had allowed the knights into the keep and she told everyone there was no use in resisting the inevitable. She could only pray that the old soldiers did not break their necks or have chest pains as a result of her philosophy. Already, they were suffering.
Her sisters, Charles, and Dane had disappeared into the castle, but Remington refused to go. She stood on the stone steps, watching de Russe and his men systematically clear the bailey and the towers. They moved like great cats stalking mice, leaving no door unopened, no crevice unchecked. De Russe himself checked the two great wall towers before descending the ladder, satisfied no one lay in wait for his army. With a few barked words, two of his men remounted their chargers and tore from the bailey to signal the waiting troops.
Remington watched the Dark Knight intently. He never raised his voice, never made a sharp movement, but he did not have to. He had the fear and respect of his men without such devices. She found it difficult to comprehend that a person could radiate so much power and presence. It was as if de Russe was beyond a mere mortal and therefore entitled to the respect men reserved for gods.
Aye, she was frightened of him, but she was also fascinated. Curious, utter fascination. And all of this before she had even seen his face.
Before she realized it, he was standing in front of her and she startled, gazing up at him with genuine fear. He’d snuck up on her and she had never heard him coming.
“Go inside and wait for me,” he said. “I have many questions.”
She opened her mouth to speak but no words were forthcoming. Her breathing came in rapid gasps and she took an unsteady step back from him.
“How…how many men shall I prepare rooms for, my lord?” she stammered.
“I have thirty-five knights who will all be housed in the castle,” he said. “Do what you must to make them comfortable.”
“And you?” she asked, her voice soft.
He turned his helmed head to her. Remington’s breath caught in her throat as a monstrous mailed hand came up and unlatched his visor. In a flash, it flipped up and she found herself staring into the most intense eyes she had ever seen. They were like precious stones, smoky-gray in color, masking all emotion and clouding his soul. Dark brows lifted, arched like the wing of a raven.
“You will put me in the master’s chambers,” he said. “That is where I will stay.”
She nodded unsteadily, disoriented by the piercing eyes. She moved to turn when she heard his voice again. The tone was much quieter than it had been only a moment before.
“What is your name again?” he asked.
She met his eyes again, unnerved all over again by the power they conveyed. They seemed to reach out and touch her, everywhere.
“Remington,” she replied in a choked whisper.
His eyes studied her a moment longer. Without a word, he slammed his visor down and marched off across the rapidly filling bailey.
*
In spite ofher nerves, Remington did an outstanding job of setting out the evening meal. In truth, it was only late afternoon but she assumed correctly that the Dark One and his men would be famished from their journey.
A storm had rolled in from the east and was dumping copious amounts of water, unusual in summer, and the temperature had dropped. A fire roared in the massive hearth, warming the cavernous and smoky great hall, to dry out the men when they came in from the elements.
Remington ordered a varied fare. Mutton, boiled, roasted, and spiced, graced every table heavily. Bowls of boiled turnips and carrots, spiced apples, pomegranates, pears, and tiny grapes filled the tables to bursting. Bread, butter, and rich fruit preserves were also nicely displayed.
She also made sure that banks of expensive tallow candles lit the tables so that the men could plainly see what they were eating. She was afraid they might accuse her of trying to poison them if it were too dim to see the food. She did not want to give them any excuse to harm her people.
When everything was properly prepared and she was assured by Oleg that every one of the twelve empty bedchambers in the keep were provided with beds for the knights, she sent the servants back to the kitchens and bade them wait for her signal. Quickly, she changed into a clean surcoat of soft yellow that was magnificent with her hair color, and dashed back down into the hall to await the new lord of Mt. Holyoak.
