She found the entire conversation difficult to believe. She had known Derek since they had been small for they had been distant neighbors. He was a few years older than she, always an irresponsible lad, but he had been very friendly to her. She never imagined he had been harboring feelings for her because he had always been absorbed in himself.
She put up her hands as if to shoo him away. “This is ridiculous. Please take me home.”
“I will not,” he said sharply. “You are coming with me.”
“I do not want to come with you!” she yelled at him.
He watched her as she marched back to her sisters, her back rigid and her fists clenched. God, why was this so difficult? When he had set out two days ago, it had been to rescue damsels in distress. Of course, one of the damsels was meant for him. But now he found himself holding unwilling females who did not want or need his help.
It was madness, and certainly not worth his life.
“I am trying to save you, you silly wench!” he held out his arms in exasperation.
“I do not want to be saved!” she shouted.
He had had enough of Lady Remington and her frail sister. His jaw clenching in determination, he took a step toward her menacingly. They were all going whether they wanted to or not.
A thin wail pierced the air and suddenly there was an arrow in front of Derek, planted in the ground not six inches in front of him. Derek blanched and took a step back, but suddenly another arrow sailed in behind him and plowed into the earth. Paralyzed by the obvious message, Derek began screaming orders for his men to prepare for battle.
Remington turned her attention in the direction the arrows had come from and was astonished to see soldiers and knights bursting through the trees, riding side by side as they thundered toward them. Derek’s knights were running to the mounts, thesoldiers were fumbling with their weapons, and Derek seemed frozen to the spot.
Riding alone ahead of the line of men was the unmistakable form of the Dark Knight.
Remington yanked her sisters to their feet and they plastered themselves against the trunk of the huge oak, standing back as Gaston’s men engaged Derek’s sadly outnumbered force. Cries and the clash of metal resounded through the thick air.
Gaston was riding straight for Derek, a wicked-looking crossbow in his left hand. Taran thundered over the earth like an unnatural being, snorting and kicking up great clumps of dirt. But Gaston never wavered in the saddle, never flinched, and Remington could see that he wasn’t even gripping the reins. He was reloading the crossbow as the horse crossed the clearing.
Derek bolted, straight for Remington. She caught him out of the corner of her eye and tried to escape him, but he grabbed her savagely and hauled her up against his body. Gaston knew a shield when he saw one and slowed Taran to a dancing halt several feet away.
“Call off your attack, de Russe,” Derek yelled.
“Let her go,” Gaston replied calmly.
Derek put his hand to her throat and Remington struggled furiously. “Call it off, I say.”
Gaston’s helmed head gazed down a moment before turning slightly in the direction of the fighting. A loud, shrill whistle suddenly penetrated the air sharply and all of Gaston’s men, if they were able, suddenly ceased their onslaught. Every de Russe soldier looked to their lord expectantly. It was the most amazing thing Remington had ever seen.
Even Derek was impressed, briefly thrown off balance at the display of solidarity. But he rapidly regained himself. “That’s better,” he said. “Now, de Russe, since I seem to have the advantage, I will make the rules. Firstly, you will allow meand my men safe passage across the Ure and all the way to Knaresborough. The women will go with us. Secondly, if there is any interruption from you, the ladies will not fair favorably. Do you understand?”
Gaston popped the butt-end of the crossbow on his thigh. “I understand.”
Another faint wail filled the air and suddenly Derek lurched as if he had been hit with Thor’s hammer. His hands dropped from Remington and she shrieked, scooting away from him as he fell onto the ground, dead from an arrow to the back of his neck.
Stunned, she stared at the body a moment before lifting her gaze questioningly, seeing Arik emerge from behind a neighboring oak, a Welsh crossbow in his grip. He smiled at Remington and she suddenly felt ill.
“You did not have to kill him,” she said to Gaston, starting to shake violently.
He did not reply, but lifted a hand to his men. It seemed to be the sign for retreat, because suddenly his men were disengaging themselves from Derek’s soldiers and moving across the grass to find their mounts. Only then did he spur Taran forward, reining the animal next to her.
“Are you very well?” he asked.
She let out a ragged sigh, dropping her gaze and moving to her sisters, who were still flattened against the tree. She grabbed hold of both of them, hugging them tightly. Gaston dismounted, securing the crossbow to his saddle before walking over to the women.
“We need to return, ladies, for it will be dark soon,” he said gently.
They continued to cling to each other a moment until Jasmine caught sight of Antonius. In a burst of tears, she broke from her sisters and threw herself in his arms. Nicolas, too,waited patiently for Skye to be free of her eldest sister before tenderly ushering her to his steed.
Remington stood by the tree, shaking and ill. She refused to meet Gaston’s eye, too many of Derek’s words ringing about in her head. She should have been happy to see him, grateful in the very least that he had rescued her, but she found that all she could feel was uncertainty and bitterness.
