She suddenly remembered the dagger in her hand. With a small, hysterical cry issued from behind, clenched teeth, she brought the dagger high and jumped onto the bed, descending on her prey like a carnivorous hunter. Her revenge would be mindless and swift.
Remington heard the cry, for it had awakened her. Suddenly the bed was being jostled and she instinctively threw the covers down from her face to see what in the hell was going on. The last thing in the world she expected to see was Mari-Elle descending on her like an avenging demon, the dirk in her right hand glittering evilly.
Terror shot through her and she let out a scream of her own, trying to roll away, but the weight of the crazed woman on the coverlets severely hampered her free movement. From the corner of her eye she could see the blade coming down and instantaneously she felt the searing pain of penetration in her upper right chest, the heat of agony flooding through her like the fires of Hades.
Both women screamed loudly as contact was made and Mari-Elle let go of the dirk, leaving it imbedded near Remington’s collarbone. Gasping with fury and the panic of what she had done she flopped wildly off the bed and made a mad scramble to the door.
The room was full of shrieking, horrible gasping noises and Remington fell off the bed and Mari-Elle tripped to the floor in her haste to leave. She staggered to her feet, glancing behind her at the woman struggling beside the bed, the only thing filling her mind was to escape. She could scarce believe what she had done, yet she did not regret it. With any luck, the whore would bleed to death before Gaston returned and take the secret of who stabbed her to the grave.
Remington’s right arm was useless but she tried to rise, afraid that Mari-Elle was going for a more deadly weapon. Bleeding all over Gaston’s sheets, she pulled herself to her knees long enough to see that Mari-Elle was bolting for the door. Struggling to her feet, she clutched at the canopy frame as she attempted to pursue, knowing there was no possible way she could stop her but making the try all the same. Her loss of blood was making her desperately weak and her head swam with shock, but she had to break free of the room and find help.
Help was already coming in the form of Rory. Having heard the screams, she shot out of bed and was barreling down the hall when she saw Mari-Elle stagger out of Gaston’s bedchamber. Shocked at the apparent state of the woman, she rapidly closed the distance to see if she could be of assistance when Mari-Elle suddenly grabbed hold of a spear that was in a crafted iron display stand and thrust it at her.
“Get back!” she hissed.
Rory was truly surprised, wanting to assure the woman that she only wanted to help, when Remington suddenly stumbled through the doorway. Covered in blood, there was no mistaking the hilt that protruded from her shoulder and the flame of understanding shot through Rory like a bolt.
“You bitch!” she snarled, torn between wanting to rush to Remington’s side and wanting to charge Mari-Elle. “I shall kill you for this!”
Mari-Elle thrust the spear at Rory again and the redhead took advantage of the weak attempt. Grabbing the spear, she yanked as hard as she could and disarmed the woman.
Mari-Elle yelled and ran with Rory in hot pursuit. Remington, struggling to push herself off the cold floor, watched her sister run after the woman and tried to stop her, but she could no longer speak. All of her energy was sapped, draining away even as she tried to stand. She did not know why she wastrying to stand, for she had no idea where to go. It wasn’t as if she could go in search of Gaston with a knife sticking out of her.
She heard more cries, recognizing Jasmine and Skye. The last thing she remembered before sweet darkness claimed her was collapsing into her sisters’ arms.
Rory chased Mari-Elleto the bottom floor of the castle, gaining ground rapidly. Mari-Elle had long legs and was quick, but Rory was determined as hell to catch her and kill her. Black murder was the only thing on her mind as she ran down Mari-Elle like a hunter on a kill. She would take great delight in driving the spear through the woman’s gullet like a harpooned fish.
Nicolas was making his rounds when he caught sight of Mari-Elle racing toward him like a madwoman. Deeply confused, he put out his hands to stop her, but she cried out and veered away from him.
“My lady!” he called out in concern, trying to stop her.
Just as quickly his eyes caught sight of Rory in chase, wielding a heavy spear with obvious intent. Shocked, Nicolas tackled her and tried to disarm her, but she struggled ferociously.
“Let me go!” she hollered, kicking and fighting. “She killed Remington! Let me go!”
Nicolas blanched, ceasing his struggles with her but he continued to grip the spear. “She….what? Killed Remington?”
Rory yanked the spear free from his grasp. “Stabbed her!”
She started to run but he stopped her harshly. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs in the hallway.” Rory ripped free of his grip. “Let me go, you bastard.”
Nicolas took hold of her and the spear; Lady Mari-Elle was long gone, disappeared into one of the labyrinth of halls that made up this place. He knew he had to find Gaston.
“Go back upstairs,” he ordered tightly. “Go to your sister. I shall find Gaston.”
Anger flooding over, the severity of the situation was beginning to settle and hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. She wanted to argue, for she herself wanted to kill Mari-Elle, but the overwhelming need to be with Remington took hold and she let the spear go. Nicolas seeing her pain and terror patted her on the cheek. “Go, Rory. I shall find Gaston.”
Obediently, she turned and walked unsteadily down the hall, finally running. He waited until she mounted the stairs before throwing the spear to the ground in a fit of emotion. As he jogged to the outer bailey, he could only pray Gaston did not run him through as the bearer of bad tidings.
Gaston had hadenough of death for one night. Out of the six soldiers sent to return Sir Derek Botmore, five of them were dismembered so thoroughly it was as if they were parts to a grisly puzzle. The sixth soldier, exhausted from bringing his five companions home, told a horrible tale of blood and torture and madness. Gaston heard the man out but did not ask any questions; the soldier was almost to the point of madness himself and Gaston would let him rest a bit before grilling him.
He would not avenge the deaths, for they came as a direct result of his actions. Granted, he was doing what he must to rescue Remington and her sisters, but the constant seeking of revenge had to stop somewhere. Unless Botmore attacked Mt. Holyoak, he would make no provocative action.
He and Arik were engaged in a leisure conversation when Nicolas came running up, his armor clanging loudly.
“Gaston!” he called.
