The knight rushed off and Gaston faced Charles, “And you, young master, will return to your fortress of solitude, I thank you for your assistance.”
“Would you like me to stay here and watch over them until your knight has returned?” Charles asked helpfully.
Gaston almost denied him, but he could read the eagerness in the boy’s face. He so wanted to be useful and important, as they all did. Gaston wasn’t sure what sort of relationship Charles had had with his elder cousin, but it was most likely not a good one. Guy Stoneley managed to belittle and intimidate everyone around him and he took pity on the young man.
“Very well, then, perch yourself on this ladder and do not move until Antonius returns,” he ordered.
As obedient as the most perfect knight, Charles dutifully went to the ladder as Gaston’s mind turned to Mari-Elle. He knew she was lurking about somewhere, but he would leave it to Arik and the others to find her. He himself would return to Remington now that he knew the boys were safe and wait until his fugitive wife had been located. He knew she would be foundand did not want to bother himself with the search. Returning to his injured love was far more important.
Half way through the inner bailey he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye, over by some storage bushels that held long-range arrows. Instinctively tensing, he stopped and turned to the source of movement, finding it difficult to make any assessment in the moonlight.
Suddenly a body was flying out at him and he recognized it to be Mari-Elle.
“Save me, my lord!” she cried.
He instantly viewed her hands, making sure she was harboring no weapons. “Halt where you are, madam.”
She slowed unsteadily, disheveled and shaken and completely unlike the wife he knew. “Gaston, you must save me from…. from that madwoman.”
His jaw ground as he moved forward and grabbed her severely. It was all he could do to keep from ripping her arms from the sockets. “With me, madam.”
“But Gaston,” she shrieked. “Your Lady Remington tried to kill me. Thank God I was able to turn the knife against her, otherwise she would have surely gutted me.”
He slapped his hand over her mouth so hard that she let out a muffled cry. “Not another word,” he growled.
He took her to the small portcullis that led to the vault of Mt. Holyoak. She twisted and tried to talk, but he held her firmly. Nicolas and two other lesser knights, in their search for Mari-Elle caught sight of the struggles and raced to his side.
“You found her!” Nicolas exclaimed.
Gaston’s face was as dark as his reputation. “’Twas her misfortune to find me. Away with you now, I will deal with my wife alone.”
Nicolas bowed swiftly away, wondering if indeed Gaston would kill her after what had happened. Surely he would never see Lady de Russe alive again.
He drug her down into the bowels of the vault, a vacant place at the moment, but equipped with a good deal of torturous instruments and the like. It was a hellish place that stank of blood and sweat and urine and he led her directly into the very first cell.
It was black as tar until he lit a stale torch, propping on the wall sconce as the room came to light. Mari-Elle, free of his vise-like grip, cowered several feet away.
“She attacked me, Gaston,” she pleaded softly, seeing his face and knowing her death was imminent. “I went to your room, my lord, to seek your forgiveness for my gross display of manners at the evening meal. She met me at the door and attacked me with a dagger. Gaston, I was terrified for my life. I managed to turn the knife on her and then I just ran, ran as fast as I could. Her sister must have heard the screaming and ran to finish the job that was never completed, and I was terrorized as I found myself fleeing from yet another assassin. I ran and ran until….”
She began weeping hysterically into her hands and he watched impassively.
“She would have never attacked you,” he said quietly. “I would suspect that it ’twas you who came to my room with the intent to stab me and when Lady Remington answered the door, you went mad with rage and attempted to kill her instead.”
“Nay, Gaston. ’Tis not true,” Mari-Elle pleaded, sobbing and weeping like a fool. “She raised the knife on me. I was defending myself.”
A shadow of a doubt crossed his mind. He knew Remington would have never maliciously stabbed Mari-Elle, but she might have tried if she thought she was defending herself. His doubt gave way to great frustration, deeply annoyed at himself that hewas thinking on postponing his wife’s execution until he could speak with Remington and find out what had truly happened.
Mari-Elle would pay, but whatever he did, it would be with full understanding of what had occurred.
“I do not believe you,” he said.
“You must!” she cried, her anger surfacing through her tears. “I was defending myself from your jealous mistress.”
He put his hands on his hips in a slow, deliberate move. “Surely you do not intend to cast the first stone.”
It was confirmation of what she knew to be true. Fury ran neck in neck with her terror. “No wonder you want an annulment. How could you shame your family that way, Gaston? How can you shame Trenton?”
His jaw twitched menacingly. “You, of all people, have no right to accuse me of shame. Where in the hell was this misplaced pride when you were bedding every man who crossed your path?” he was suddenly upon her, his huge body causing her to shrink away. “You have no goddamn right to accuse me of infidelity, Mari-Elle, you who serviced our king like the whore that you are. You, madam, have shamed our family beyond repair and an annulment will add little more. I’d say given the circumstances, the church will gladly grant me what I ask for.”
