The statement brought smiles to the lips of Patrick and Nicolas, but Gaston raised an eyebrow. “We face an even greater challenge. Henry would have us train troops, legions to be deployed in other parts of England. We should be receiving the first batch of recruits within the month.”
’Twas an honor and they all knew it, yet it was nothing new. Arik helped train nearly half of the crown troops and was considered one of the finest troop masters in the civilized world. And, of course, every man wanted to train under the DarkKnight. He had been considered the very best trainer of men before the call of war tore him away from his duty.
With the battles over for the moment, he could return to what he enjoyed. If he could not be fighting, then he wanted to train men on the arts of fighting.
“Mt. Holyoak is certainly big enough to house hundreds of men,” Patrick remarked. “There are sublevels below the outer wall that are unused.”
Each man sat alone with his thoughts, feeling the wine and the good food. The warmth from the hearth pushed away the chill of the room, leaving them with sleep in their mind.
“I will send missives on the morrow, then,” Gaston said. “What’s the steward’s name– Oleg? Find him before the morning meal and he will assist me.”
They were dismissed without another word. All except Arik. He continued to sit with Gaston, drowning more of the wine.
“Has Lady Stoneley said anything about her sister’s captivity?” he asked.
“Not a word,” Gaston replied.
“Hmpf,” Arik shrugged. “I expected more from her. Her sister has been in the vault all afternoon and screaming like a banshee.”
Gaston did not reply, thinking on the incident earlier in the day. He refrained from mentioning it, probably because he couldn’t make any sense of it and was in no mood for Arik’s insightful philosophy.
Arik, feeling the wine in his veins, rose to depart when there was a young knight in the doorway.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but we have a bit of a problem,” he said respectfully.
“What kind of problem?” Arik asked.
“Lady Stoneley was caught attempting to break her sister out of the vault,” the knight replied. “When we tried to stop her, she fought and…well, she fell and hit her head.”
“What?” Gaston rose to his feet, focusing on the knight. “Is she dead?”
“Nay, my lord, she is quite alive, but unconscious,” the knight answered. “We took her back to her room.”
Gaston was already moving past the knight. “How did she fall? Did someone push her?”
“Sir Ottis hit her because she struggled with him when he tried to stop her,” he answered.
Gaston gazed down on the young knight, his eyes glittering like the deadly steel of his broadsword. He flicked his gaze up to Arik and, without a word, quit the room. Arik followed, as did the young knight.
Jasmine was attending her sister when Gaston entered the room. Skye stood vigilant by her side, helping her sister apply a compress. Old Eudora was chattering softly, trying to ease Jasmine’s tears.
Gaston moved to the edge of the bed, his eyes lingering on Remington. She was pale and her breathing was labored.
“How is she?” he asked.
Jasmine jumped as if she had been gored. Terrorized blue eyes riveting to him; the feared one himself.
“This is all your fault,” she spat, forgetting to whom she was speaking.
“Jasmine,” Skye hissed.
But Jasmine paid no heed. “Men are all alike. Brutal, self-centered bastards who care nothing for the well-being of women. Look at what your soldier did to her.”
Gaston looked at her impassively. “Had she not been trying to release your sister from her cell, then this would not have happened. I asked you a question; how is she?”
Jasmine shuddered, sniffled. “I do not know.”
Young Dane raced into the room as fast as his legs would carry him. One look at his mother and his eyes flew to Gaston accusingly. “You said you would protect her.”
