“Tolerant?” she raised an eyebrow. “He’s hardly the calm type, my lord. He and Rory have been going at each other like two tomcats. They yell and screech until I have had enough.”
“So that is what has been going on since I left?” he murmured, more to himself. Then he focused on Remington again. “We will discuss your sister further on the morrow. I suspect that tonight you wish to sleep.”
Her hands were pressed against his thigh, preventing them from being any more intimately positioned than they already were. Her hands felt as if they were touching solid rock, yet theheat coming forth from his skin was making her warm, as well. She could feel her cheeks heating.
“My headishurting,” she admitted quietly. “Talking only makes it worse.”
He rose slowly, steadying her so that she did not roll off the bed. His hands were incredibly large and warm and, to her amazement, tender. Yet she was instinctively afraid of his touch and she pulled back indiscreetly. Gaston pretended not to notice.
Dane was sitting on the other side of the bed, his hand protectively on his mother as she adjusted her pillows feebly. He alternately eyed Gaston and helped his mother and Gaston couldn’t help but feel that this young boy had been forced to grow up far sooner than he should have. There was a sort of wisdom to his face that was difficult to fathom.
“Dane, you will leave your mother to sleep,” he said firmly, moving around the side of the bed. “I will do you the honor of escorting you to your room.”
Dane looked hesitantly at his mother. “But…but what if she needs my help?”
Gaston put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, turning him for the door. “I shall send her maid in to take care of her,” he said. “Bid her a good sleep.”
Dane looked over his shoulder, his eyes still full of longing. He was afraid to leave her alone, afraid the knight would come back and… “Good night, Mummy.”
Remington smiled weakly, watching as the Dark Knight escorted her son from the room. Strangely, she knew she could trust the knight with her son’s life. He was a stranger, a trained warrior and technically, her enemy. Yet she had seen the way he had dealt with her son and he had been entirely tolerant and even kind. Not like Guy.
As for Rory, she would be better equipped to deal with that problem after she slept off this terrible headache. She knew she shouldn’t have tried to free her sister and, in truth, she had not been attempting to release her. She simply wanted to talk to Rory to see what had happened, when the guards had come upon them and out of fear, she had defended herself.
Defending herself was a habit. She knew better than to go against the lord’s wishes, for she had learned several harsh lessons from Guy. But he somehow found something wrong with whatever she did anyway and her sense of self-defense was better than most. Her sense of fear, of self-preservation, of panic was highly developed thanks to her husband. A perfect example was just a few minutes ago when the Dark Knight touched her; his touch was as gentle as a woman’s, yet she instinctively flinched. There was nothing good in a man’s touch.
The faint crackle of the hearth lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Gaston and Dane wandered down the hall to a heavy carved door with the Stoneley crest on it. Dane paused and faced Gaston, his young expression still veiled.
“Thank you for…thank you, my lord,” he said, reaching up to unlatch the heavy bolt.
Gaston gave the door a shove for assistance, watching the stiff little body moving through the opening. He reached out to close the door behind him when something made him pause.
“Dane,” he said hesitantly, not sure of what he was even thinking. “Your mother….did your father hurt her often?”
He nodded solemnly. “All the time. My aunts too.”
His brow furrowed. “He hurt them as well?”
“Sometimes he hit them, but sometimes he did other things to make them cry,” the boy said, not at all concerned that he should not be telling this stranger these things. “I do not knowexactly what he did, but I heard Aunt Jasmine say one time that he defiled her.”
Gaston leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. He knew what the boy meant and he was moved to a new level of disgust. “Just her? Or your other aunts, too?”
“All of them, I think. When my mother tried to stop him, he would make her bleed,” the boy said. “They would cry all the time and at night, sometimes, I could hear my mother scream.”
Gaston closed his eyes a brief moment, resting his head against the doorframe. So that was what went on in this place, he thought grimly. Those women were condemned to a living hell within the walls of the keep. And none were more humiliated and abused than Remington.
Anger such as he had never known seized him. An odd sense of such protectiveness that his whole body tensed. No wonder she jumped when he innocently touched her. And ’twas no wonder she had become completely irrational when he had come across her in her bath. By God, the woman had known nothing but pain from the touch of a man, and she was reacting accordingly.
Aye, young Dane had opened his eyes to a good many things about Mt. Holyoak.
“Dane, you mustn’t tell your mother that you told me these things,” he said softly, straightening. “Do you understand? She might not appreciate the fact that I know your father was cruel. This must be a secret amongst knights.”
He nodded, although he did not completely understand. Yet he and the Dark Knight now shared a secret and he would not betray the trust. He somehow felt special, a part of something, a belonging.
“I won’t tell her, I promise,” he said.
“Good lad,” Gaston gave him a brief smile. “Now get into bed and not another word from you until morn.”
