“Aye,” Rory cried. “And it is your fault. If you had not lowered the bridge then they would have never come in.”
Remington calmed dramatically to the point where she almost smiled. The knight actually spanked her sister; not beat, nor thrashed, but merely spanked. Enough to sting, yet not enough to hurt her. She was soundly surprised.
“Get hold of yourself and go to bed,” she told her sister after a moment. “We will have much to do on the morrow, I fear.”
She turned away from Rory, but her sister was not about to be ignored.
“You do not care that he put his hand to my backside,” she accused loudly, racing across the room and blocking Remington’s exit.
Remington met her sister’s gaze steadily. “Rory, if there is any justice in this country, then you have received it. ’Twasyouwho were terrible and reckless when you put charcoal on his cup. And dye on the other knight’s napkin. What I cannot truly determine is when you did it; I was in the hall most of the time and never saw you.”
Rory’s eyes cooled to smoldering embers. “Skye put the dye on the napkin, not me.”
Remington shook her head helplessly. “You two are a pair. ’Tis a wonder Guy did not kill you both for the trouble you caused him.”
Rory’s jaw ticked. “I would say, in fact, the transgressions were far greater on his part. At least Skye and I never physically hurt him.”
Remington was stung by her sister’s words, although she was only too aware of how very true they were. Still, to hear them voiced in an accusing manner struck her. Bitterly, she turned for the door.
“Go to bed,” she mumbled, feeling the soft mist caress her face.
Rory eyed her sister a moment. “Are you going to service the Dark Knight as you serviced Guy?”
Remington paused, slowly turning to her sister. “What do you mean?”
“As his whore,” Rory said, her bitterness and humiliation affecting her common sense. “Guy always said you were his whore. I was wondering if you would be the new lord’s whore, too.”
Remington slapped her sister across the face faster than either one of them thought possible. Rory reeled with the blow, sorry she had said something so entirely uncalled for. She did not know why she had said it; mayhap because Remington wasblaming her for her spanking. She had expected her sister to stand up for her. Rory hated taking responsibility for anything.
Remington’s control was gone; she was so brittle and unbalanced that she continued to fly after Rory even as her sister tried to recover from the blow. She picked up a small stool and hurled it at her sister as Rory screeched and ducked just in time to avoid the projectile. It smashed harmlessly against the wall behind her.
“Stop it, Remi,” Rory cried. “I am sorry. I did not mean it.”
Remington wasn’t finished raging. She knew what Guy had called her, among other things, and she was raging at him as well. Rory was, at the moment, a convenient whipping post, the catalyst to a much larger problem.
Yet even with her anger, she was not irrational. There were tears of frustration in her eyes as she threw the second stool at her sister, badly aimed.
“Go to hell, Rory.” she whispered hoarsely.
Leaving her sister thankful for her hide, she staggered back across the inner bailey toward the door to the castle, wiping hastily at the tears and droplets that pelted her face. She hated herself when she flew out of control, which was extremely rare, for it allowed the pain and anger she felt to somehow seep deeper inside her. Instead of a release, it was like opening the stopper just a little bit more, allowing emotions to creep that much further. The dimly lit interior of the castle beckoned her, and she answered gratefully.
High above in the southern tower, Gaston watched her cross the bailey like a drunkard and wondered what the matter was. Not that he had been looking for her intentionally; he had personally taken the night watch to better acquaint himself with Mt. Holyoak and just happened to see her moving in the darkness.
She disappeared into the castle and his eyes lingered on the open doorway a moment longer. He was puzzled by his reaction to her, yet he did not dwell on it. He had a keep to explore.
CHAPTER FOUR
Days passed andGaston immersed himself into Mt. Holyoak. He rode the perimeter of the lands, studying the landscape and becoming acquainted with the farms and encampments within the territory. He went into Boroughbridge and became familiar with the layout of the town and took a feel for the peasants, a hearty lot more loyal to each other than to the Yorkists or the Lancastrians.
The people of the village were respectful of him, over-reactively so. They acted as anyone else did when they came face to face with the Dark Knight; they looked at him as if they were fighting the urge to run for their very lives. Gaston was pleased, of course, for he wanted them to fear him. Fear bred a healthy respect, he thought, especially with the less intelligent.
Satisfied with Boroughbridge, Gaston continued his reconnoiter and passed through the great corrals where the sheep of Mt. Holyoak were kept. His first sight of the corrals was astonishing; from the crest of the hill, there was nothing but a sea of white for miles. In the distance was the great stone barn where the sheep were shorn come spring. Bleating ewesand the strong smell of dung assaulted his nostrils, but it did not dampen his enthusiasm.
This is mine,he thought.All of this is mine.
He did not return to the keep at night, instead preferring to camp on his land to become still better in tune with it. He traveled with Arik and Antonius, leaving Patrick and Nicolas in charge of his castle.
After five days of becoming familiar with his new lands, Gaston finally returned to the massive fortress with a new respect for his castle he was now in possession of. He reminded himself to thank Henry for his generosity. Even if Henry had sent him to Mt. Holyoak for the sole purpose of controlling Yorkshire, he was still vastly pleased with his reward.
