“Then you did indeed grab her,” Gaston wanted to make sure he understood correctly before he dispensed justice.
The soldier swallowed. “Aye, but it was a mistake.”
Gaston did not reply. In fact, before anyone could blink, he reached out and threw his huge arm around the back of the man’s neck as if he was about to hug him. Then, with the bent elbow of his other arm, he shoved hard against the soldier’s head, bending his neck unnaturally over his other arm. As a twig snaps when bent in half, so did the soldier’s neck. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Gaston gazed down at the dead man impassively. “And to make sure the mistake does not happen again, you will serve as an example to all of those who might think of touching Lady Stoneley or her sisters.”
Everyone around the soldier seemed to be paralyzed for a moment, no one moving or speaking or even daring to blink. Arik and Antonius moved up behind Gaston and glanced down at the dead soldier, then turned to walk away without so much as a grunt or a word. Arik went to Remington.
“Come, my lady,” he said gently.
Remington was like a stone statue; her eyes were wide as the sky and her hand was frozen over her mouth. She stared at the dead man in deep shock and Arik put his hand on her arm.
“Lady Remington?” he urged delicately. “Let us return to the castle.”
Ever so slowly her hand came away from her mouth and she turned to focus on Arik. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came forth. He knew she was lost when he saw the sea-crystal eyes glaze over and roll back into her head.
Gaston turned around to see Remington passed out cold in Arik’s arms. Still lingering on the man he had just killed, he motioned for the soldier’s comrades to take his body away. Only then did he move to Arik.
“Give her to me,” he rumbled.
Obediently, Arik handed her over and Gaston clutched her against his massive chest tenderly; even Arik could see the softness in his lord’s touch.
“I want the troop house finished before I return,” Gaston said quietly.
“Where are you going?” Arik inquired.
“To a faire,” Gaston replied, carrying Remington off across the outer bailey, towards the castle.
*
Remington was extremelysubdued as they plodded along the road to Ripon. It was of no matter to Dane, for he chattered endlessly to Gaston, Antonius and Patrick, curious about every aspect of the equipment they carried. They were patient with the boy and answered him accordingly, but each man’s mind was detached from the conversation at hand.
Antonius kept eyeing Jasmine from where she sat on her small gray palfrey, and she would blush prettily and smile at him. Patrick was intent on passing gazes at Rory, who would actually act coy, as Skye, sitting next to her sister on the wagon, would stick her tongue out at him. It was a crazy, charming game that went on mile after mile.
Only Remington avoided Gaston’s searching gaze. He rode slightly ahead of her wearing his full battle armor, which frankly intimidated her. But she was also confused and bewildered at the events in the bailey and she spent this quiet time trying to discover for herself if she did something terribly wrong to have caused a man’s death. Was her mistake in not stopping Gaston, or was it going to the bailey in the first place? She simply did not know and her stomach cramped endlessly from her nerves.
Gaston rode calmly at the head of the column, alone as usual since Arik was not present. He brought six knights and an equalnumber of men-at-arms along, very seasoned fighting men, for he was unsure of the conditions in Ripon. In the heart of the Yorkist community, he was most certain to be viewed as a traitor and an enemy and he had no desire to be caught defenseless, especially with women and children present.
He would have liked to have ridden with Remington, to have eased her mind about what happened, for he knew she was brooding about it. But it had been completely necessary for her safety and for the safety of her sisters; when rumor got around as to the severity of the punishment, no man would so much as look at her.
Ripon sat in the Greenland at the foot of the Pennine Mountains. Even as they drew close to the town, they were greeted by gay peasants and merchants traveling in and out of the city. The faire had started yesterday eve and was in full swing.
Gaston grew cautious when he realized there were soldiers everywhere, knights of different houses whom he had fought with and finally, against. And there was no mistaking that they knew the Dark Knight on sight. He could see it in their eyes as he studied the men beneath his lowered visor; he could see their bodies tense and their faces grow taut. He was not sorry he had come, indeed; he was pleased to make a show of force, yet he was concerned for Remington and her sisters. Should any fighting start, he did not want them in the way.
“Look.” Dane cried out gleefully as they entered the outskirts. “A puppet show. Can I go see, Mummy? Can I?”
Remington looked to the source of his excitement; a makeshift puppet stage and a dozen children hovering about it. She could hear the children laughing.
“Very well,” she slid from her bay palfrey and helped her son from the wagon. A soldier appeared to take the horse from her and she jumped at his swift action, terrified he was going to grabher and terrified Gaston would commit murder again. But he led the horse away and she calmed her racing heart, taking Dane by the hand and leading him towards the puppeteers.
“We are going on further,” Rory called to her. “We shall meet you inside.”
Remington waved to her and the wagon moved forward once again, driven by Rory. Gaston lingered behind, retaining Sir Roald with him and three soldiers.
Dane loved the puppet show, especially when the witch-puppet began throwing out candy to the audience. Remington stood back, a faint smile on her lips as her son scrambled about on the dirt in search of the sweets. Gaston stood slightly behind her.
“We can buy him sweets elsewhere,” he mentioned to Remington. “He does not need to eat them off the ground.”
