She turned and left the room, leaving her sisters pondering the future.
The inner bailey was full of men assisting the stonemasons. Sand and mortar was being distributed from a huge wagon and great stones for the building were being carefully carved and carted off.
Remington was surprised; she had no idea that there was so much going on in the double baileys and wondered if it would even be wise to bother the Dark Knight about something as trivial as her sister’s imprisonment. Yet, for Rory’s sake, she went to seek the man out anyway and prayed his mood was forgiving this day.
She had never seen so many soldiers, all working like the innards of a great beehive. She knew from Oleg that he had brought nearly 600 men to Mt. Holyoak, but it seemed that every one of them was working at this very moment. And there was not one man who did not pass her a suggestive or leering glance, making her most uncomfortable.
Remington swallowed hard, pushing her way through the men and into the outer bailey in search of Gaston. One soldier almost dropped a great stone on her and she yelped in surprise, jumping out of the way just in time to avoid being smashed. Fanning herself furiously over her fright, she stood a moment and scoped out the bailey for possible signs of the Dark Knight when her eyes came to rest on the very tall blond knight he always kept with him.
Bolstering her courage, she picked her way towards him.
Arik was surprised to find himself looking down at the entirely delectable and completely angelic Lady Stoneley. Flushed from the heat, she looked radiant and he gave her a non-committal smile.
“My lady, to what do I owe the honor?” he asked, pulling her toward him to allow a burdened soldier to pass by.
Remington waited until the soldier had moved by before stepping back a pace. “I am looking for Sir Gaston. Can you tell me where he is?”
“In the sublevels, my lady,” Arik answered. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Not unless you can release my sister,” Remington answered.
Arik shook his head regretfully. “I surely cannot, my lady. Might I inform Gaston of your request to speak with him when he is finished?”
Remington looked disappointed, but she did not press. Pressing with Guy only got her slapped. “I would be grateful, my lord. But do not trouble yourself overly to deliver the message. I can wait.”
“My name is Arik,” he said. “And it would be no trouble at all.”
She smiled shyly, displaying her delightful dimples. “My thanks, Sir Arik. You have been most kind.”
“Not at all,” he returned her smile. God, she was a lovely creature. And he knew that every man that saw her had the exact same thoughts, men with less self-control than himself. “As a matter of fact,” he continued. “I was just about to return to the inner bailey. Might I escort you back to the castle?”
“Thank you, my lord,” Remington said demurely.
He extended his elbow and with great reluctance, she accepted. Together, they started back to the inner bailey.
“This weather is unusually hot,” Arik commented.
“Aye, but not the stickiness,” Remington replied. “Here in the vale, we are always prone to a great deal of moisture and insects.”
“I noticed,” Arik said, eyeing a swarm of gnats a few feet away. “Tell me, my lady, where is your family from?”
“Halsey Manor,” Remington replied. “When my father died four years ago, there was no one to inherit the place. It fell into my husband’s control but it sits empty now.”
“Is it close by?” he asked, looking down at her with interest.
“Mayhap seven or eight miles to the northeast,” she replied. “Not far.”
“Were you born there?”
“Aye, I was, as was my father,” she answered. “My mother was Irish from County Cork. Skye was born in Ireland.
“Ah,” Arik nodded. “So you are half Irish and half English. A lovely combination.”
Her reaction was to blush pleasingly, but his compliment instantly reminded her of Guy’s flattery and she hated it. Instead, she cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Where are you from?”
“My parents are Norse, settled in Kent just before I was born. I was their only son and they were adamant that I be an English knight. A noble profession.”
Remington thought of Dane, and of Charles. They, too, thought knighthood to be noble. She thought it was professional bloodlust.
