Gaston groaned inwardly; the sweet, innocent expression was indeed a façade. She had succeeded in throwing him off his guard and now was publicly saving Rory from his wrath. By sending her off with Brimley, she would escape his punishment. God damn, if she wasn’t a clever opportunist.
“Just Rory? How are Jasmine and Skye faring?” Brimley wanted to know.
“Well, my lord, well,” Remington said. In other words, they were not in trouble with the Dark Knight. “I believe Rory is the only one in need of change.”
Gaston’s fingers drummed on the table as he listened to her, sly little wench. He realized she was caressing his hand with her fingers and he was torn between relishing the feel of her and wanting to take her over his knee.
Brimley looked somewhat pleased. “Very well, then. If it’s very well with Sir Gaston, we will be taking Rory when we leave.”
Remington gave Gaston her most radiant smile, pressing her other hand into his large palm. “My lord?”
He rolled his eyes to her in a knowing gesture. Heknewexactly what she was up to and he wanted her to know it, too. A black eyebrow lifted slowly like a great raven’s wing.
“If she chooses to, she may go,” he said with veiled irritation.
Remington squeezed his great hand quickly and let it go. “Thank you, my Lord. I shall find her to deliver the news.”
Gaston passed a glance at Arik as Remington bounded from the room. Arik gave him such a knowing gaze that he tore his eyes away. If Arik was unaware of Gaston’s tender feelings toward Remington, he was fully alerted now and Gaston cursed himself for being so careless.
For the fact that Gaston was showing human emotion had Arik beyond surprise. Overwhelmed was an apt term. The man allowed himself no feelings at all except for those beneficial to his cause, emotions of anger and determination and triumph. Never, ever had he seen the mangentle. The Dark Knight was not a title synonymous with gentleness.
Disoriented, he tried to focus on the meeting at hand.
Gaston did not mince words. He told them of his mission, to keep the peace in a land filled with Yorkist sympathizers and to maintain his seat. It was no longer Guy Stoneley’s fortress. It now belonged to the Dark Knight, and he fully intended to use its power should the need arise.
Brimley absorbed the information, not surprised. The afternoon passed as Gaston had hoped, calm and informative. But Brimley was frank; every baron and feudal knight in Yorkshire and the surrounding shires were loyal to Richard and Anne. It was not a boast, merely a statement of fact, and Lord Brimley furthermore ventured that Gaston was going to have his hands full of rebels for some time to come. And then the key question came.
“To whom do you swear your loyalty, my lord?” Gaston asked. He appreciated the baron’s frankness, without anger.
Brimley fixed him in the eye and Gaston knew what he was going to say before the words came out. “I am a Yorkist, sir. I shall always be a Yorkist.”
“A Yorkist is no longer king,” Gaston said evenly. “It would be a waste of effort to be loyal to a dead man.”
“We cannot change loyalties as easily as you, my lord,” Walter said. It was the first time the man had spoken.
Gaston met his gaze steadily. Walter leaned forward, setting his goblet down. “I have been sitting here for the better part of the day listening to you act as if you have been loyal to Henry your entire life when, in fact, you have been serving Yorkists for twelve years or better. Your cowardice doth disgust me, my lord, turning coat and betraying your king.”
Gaston had been grappling with this type of attitude for some time now. He knew what he had done, and he knew his reasoning, and they were his reasons alone.
“Suffice it to say that I do not regret what I did,” he said. “I am confident that Henry will be a most competent king, something England has sorely lacked for the past three years.”
Walter’s jaw ticked but he held his temper. “You are the Dark Knight. You were Edward’s shining star, and Richard’s most prized warrior. All of England cowers at your feet, my lord. I do not understand how you could have betrayed those who made you what you are.”
“They did not make me, my lord, and I am not required to explain my actions to you,” Gaston replied, irritated that the focus was shifting to him. “The fact remains that I would like to have your promise of fealty to Henry, and I would furthermore like your assurance that there will be no more trouble from Crayke. Might I have that oath on those matters?”
“Why should we swear loyalty to a traitor?” Walter slammed his fist on the heavy table. “You have betrayed your king, de Russe. How can you sit there and demand our fealty to a bastard with a tenuous claim to the throne, at best?”
Gaston’s gaze was exceedingly calm, his eyes glittering like cold steel. When he spoke, his voice was so low it was almost seductive. “I am the Dark One, am I not?”
It was a direct question. Walter faltered a moment, puzzled. “Aye, you are.”
“And I furthermore did not achieve my reputation by being a fool. Does that stand to reason?”
Again, Walter looked confused but nodded just the same. “Aye.”
Brimley and Clive passed glances as Gaston folded his hands deliberately, focused on Walter. The air crackled with uncertainty.
“Would you trust me with your life?” Gaston asked again.
