“Good,” de Tormo turned for the inn. “I expect a meal fit for a king and the biggest bed in the house. See to it, de Russe.”
Gaston watched the priest walk away, his head spinning with thought. De Tormo’s manner had been assured, confident, and factual. There was not the least bit of evil in his tone, and his motives did not appear to be sinister. He would help them, but he wanted something out of it. Gaston’s clue as to what that might entail came in the priests own words;creature comforts.
“Oh, Gaston,” Remington breathed, breaking him out of his train of thought. “What have I done?”
He turned to her. “Nothing, angel. In fact, I like his courage. He is not afraid to say what he feels, nor obtain what he desires. I feel we shall have a staunch ally in de Tormo, for he will not give up,” he took her arm, smiling encouragingly. “Cheer up, love. I have not made a deal with the devil.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The inn wasloud and stank of old ale and bodies, but it was warm and lively and Remington was delighted. It was much larger inside that it appeared outwardly, and it seemed as if every possible inch was crammed with people.
Nicolas and the four knights had cleared a table for them to sit at, literally. Six soldiers from Earlingham had been enjoying a pleasant meal when the Dark One’s knights had descended upon them and threw every man from the table.
De Tormo was already seated, enjoying a massive trencher full of meat. Gaston gripped Remington’s elbow possessively as they crossed the great room, his eyes focused on their destination, yet acutely aware of the looks from the crowd. Not only were they looking at him, as the Dark Knight, but also at Remington. He could feel the lustful stares.
Remington was thrilled to be in a busy, crowded place. She loved to people-watch and seated herself eagerly beside the priest. Gaston sat heavily on her opposite side, followed by Nicolas and the other knights. No sooner were they seated, than serving wenches were rushing forward with food and ale.
The innkeeper, a fat man with sparse, wild hair, followed the serving women. “’Tis a pleasure serving, the Dark Knight once again,” he looked at Gaston, who did little more than glance up from his food. “We were told of your arrival and I demanded another sheep upon the spit.”
He laughed loudly and Remington couldn’t help but smile at him. The other knights, as well as the priest, ignored him. Then the innkeeper focused on her.
“Ah, you must be the Dark One’s wife,” he moved around Gaston and took her hand. “Only Sir Gaston could warrant such a beauty. What a pleasure, my….”
Gaston’s hand shot out, yanking Remington’s soft hand out of the fat, greasy one. The innkeeper looked surprised and took a step back, suddenly terrified that he had overstepped himself. Gaston finished chewing before he turned to the man.
“You will not touch her,” he said, his voice low. He studied the man a moment, coldly. “Father de Tormo requests your best room for the night. See to it.”
The innkeeper stammered. “But…but, my lord, that room is taken by Baron Marchant’s son. He is already asleep. But I have another room that….”
“Rouse him. Move him. I care not what you do with him. Father de Tormo wants his room.”
“But, my lord, be reasonable,” the fat man pleaded. “One room is a good as the next. As long as there is a soft bed and a soft wenc….oh, sorry, Father.”
Gaston’s eyes were like ice. “Where is the room?”
“To the top of the stairs, last door at the end of the hall,” the innkeeper replied. “But the room right next to it is quite pleasant and….”
Gaston turned to Nicolas and Matts, jerking his head slightly in the direction of the stairs. Before the innkeeper could finish his sentence, the two knights were up and mounting the stairs.The proprietor, as well as Remington and de Tormo, watched with open mouths as the knights disappeared down the upper hallway. Not even a minute passed before they heard a woman scream and a great deal of scuffling.
Remington, her eyes wide, looked at Gaston, who was quite calmly finishing his meal. He acted as if nothing in the world were out of sorts, even though there was a good fight going on upstairs.
From a table across the room, four men jumped up and started to mount the flight of steps to the second level. Gaston eyed his remaining three knights with a silent command and the men were up, intercepting the soldiers before they could assist their lord.
The innkeeper was beside himself, watching a heady fight blossom. “Please, my lord. No fighting. I shall clear the young lord out myself if you will call off your men.”
“Too late,” Gaston drank deeply from his cup.
Remington put a soft hand on his arm. “Gaston, there is no need for fighting. Father de Tormo can take any room.”
Upstairs, swords came together and Remington jumped. Gaston, for the first time, turned to look toward the source of the scuffle with a bored expression.
“Gaston?” she pleaded softly.
He glanced at her, seeing that her very first visit to an inn was close to being ruined. He, personally, did not care if his men tore the place down around his ears. It would have been the proprietor’s fault for denying him his request. However, he did not want to upset Remington and purely on that basis, he submitted to her wishes.
Draining his cup, he stood up and the entire roomful of men and women cringed; he was by far the tallest, most massive man in the room and therefore a distinct object of fear. Moreover, there was not a soul in the place who did not know who he was.Should he join the melee, there would be several newly dead men.
“Halt,” he roared.
