Remington was far beyond shock and grief. She was in the realm of disbelief, denial. Haltingly, she took Arik’s hand into her right hand and Rory’s limp hand into her left. The sun set, the world grew chill, and she continued to sit on her bottom in the middle of the inner bailey as if nothing else in the world existed. No tears, no shrieking; just utter, complete denial. When Roald brought out a cloak and placed it about her shoulders, she did not even notice.
The night progressed and still, Remington sat. She couldn’t seem to force herself to move. Once she did, they would takethe bodies and she would never see her sister or Arik again. She just couldn’t let go, not yet. The grief, the shock, and the agony manifested itself in the hollow of her gut, aching with a dull pain she had never known. If she were to start crying again, she knew she would never stop.
Father de Tormo joined her in her silent vigil, performing last rites over Rory, and then Arik. His words were soft and monotonous and Remington was too dazed to feel a rush of anger at his words. Since when did God care about her family and loved ones? Did he care about them only in death? In life, he had never shown much interest. Were his concerns for their souls real or merely for show?
The bodies were stiffening. Rory’s soft hand had formed a claw of death, but Remington continued to hold it. Arik’s hand felt like stone.
Nicolas came out after the priest had left, watching her as guilt tore him apart. He had been there, aye; he had seen the arrows strike down Rory, and then Arik as he tried to save her. He had seen the soldiers strike and then retreat into the woods, and he had not pursued. He was far too concerned with returning the living to the keep to pursue the men and discover their identity.
The decision saved the lives of himself, Jasmine and Skye, but the cost was his personal pain.
He should have given chase, but in the same breath he knew his first priority was the remaining ladies, and his beloved Skye. He only hoped Gaston would understand his choice, and he furthermore prayed his brother did not take a dagger to him for allowing harm to befall his intended.
In spite of everything, Nicolas did not hate Rory. He had grown very fond of her in an irritated sort of way, and her death cut him to the bone. He knew Patrick was madly in love with the fiery redhead and he could only imagine the grief hisbrother would be feeling. The thought made Nicolas even more miserable; he had not only failed Gaston, but his brother as well. In general, he was hopelessly inadequate as a knight and anguish flooded him.
Before him he could see a far greater problem. Remington, stricken with grief, sat on the cold ground between two dead bodies. It was up to him to return her to the castle so the bodies could be prepared for burial on the morrow.
He wandered up behind her silently, greatly disturbed to see that she wasn’t crying or carrying on. She simply sat, like a rock, cold, emotionless.
“My lady,” he began softly. “May I help you inside? The night grows chill.”
“Nay,” she answered in a flat, firm tone.
He gazed down on her a moment. “Lady Remington, this night air is not good for your health. You are still recovering from your wound.”
Remington snapped out of her daze. “Go away!” She roared at Nicolas, “Go away! I will hear no more talk of the night and the cold when my sister’s only future is to be buried in the cold, cold earth. Leave me alone!”
He was stunned; he had never heard her raise her voice in the least, and especially not in anger. Knowing it was her grief talking did not make him feel any better.
“I cannot,” he said gently. “You must come inside and allow the bodies to be taken away for burial.”
“No!” She bellowed, turning to look at him with venomous eyes that startled him. “You shall not take them away, not until I say. Go away, Nicolas de Russe, before I kill you myself.”
He felt a tremendous sense of despair. “My lady….”
“You hated her, did you not?” Remington seethed, grabbing both of Rory’s hands into her own. “You are glad to be rid of her.”
His composure vanished. “That’s not true. We were fond of each other. I was the only knight she considered worthy of her pranks.”
“Get out of my sight!” she screamed. Suddenly, the dam burst and the tears, the agony poured out. She threw herself atop her sister’s stiff corpse and began to cry hysterically.
Nicolas dashed back the tears as fast as they came, but it wasn’t fast enough. They streamed down his face, coating his stubbled skin, and dripped off his nose.
He couldn’t let her weep so uncontrollably; she was already close to fainting from the way she was breathing and he swooped down on her, gathering her up in his arms. He expected her to fight and claw and beat at him for all she was worth, but instead, she collapsed against him and held him tightly.
“Why, Nicolas, why? Why did this happen?” she moaned desperately.
He couldn’t speak for a moment; his voice would have cracked like a child’s. “I do not know. But Gaston will find out and he will avenge your sister and Arik. I swear it, my lady.”
She wept pitifully into the crook of his neck as he carried her into the castle. In their wake, soldiers scurried from the shadows to tend to the bodies, torches burning brightly in the night air.
*
The burial detailwas ready at dawn. The humidity was already stifling as the two plain coffins were loaded on carts and moved into the outer bailey en route to the Stoneley cemetery at the base of the hill.
Two funerals in one week was about all Remington could take, but she forced her emotions down. Skye clutched Nicolas as they stood in the inner bailey waiting for the procession to organize, but Jasmine had been too overcome to attend thefuneral. As the sun rose higher and the day grew brighter, Remington stood on the steps of the castle with her arm around her son, waiting patiently for the detail to move out.
She went completely against Gaston’s instructions. Dane had slept with her last night and even now she continued to hold him and cradle him as if he were her son again and not Gaston’s pledge. She needed him, and he needed her, and if Gaston said one negative word, she would kick him in the teeth. Her emotions were running terribly high, but she banked them outwardly. She knew she had to put on a strong front for her family. She would let her emotions run wild when, and only when, Gaston returned.
