Upon closer scrutiny, the razor-sharp point of the dagger penetrated the head of the man, dead center, in the eye.
With a slow sigh, de Tormo faced Gaston again. “Well done. Take your aggressions out on the furnishings, but not on Stoneley. Not yet, anyway. ’Tis far too early in the game to create more problems than you already have.”
Gaston did not answer him for, in truth, he did not trust himself to speak. Anger and hatred toward Stoneley was growing by the minute.
“I promised Henry I would collect Remington,” he murmured, moving for the door but not bothering to retrieve his blade. “We are supping with he and Elizabeth this eve, alone. Mayhap you can use the time to recover from your meeting with Stoneley.”
De Tormo lifted an ironic eyebrow. “I fear I might have to go to Westminster and have myself exorcised. I feel as if I have tangled with the devil.”
Gaston paused abruptly at the door. “You are wrong on that account. By tonight, Guy Stoneley will have met the devil face to face. They do not call me the Dark One for frivolous reasons.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gaston was determinedto see Stoneley. He was nearly blinded with rage with the results of de Tormo’s meeting with the man and he fought a losing battle to control himself.
He crossed the compound of the Tower, passing by the White Tower where Stoneley was held and fighting the urge to race to the third floor, tear the door from its hinges, and then proceed to gut Guy Stoneley with his bare hands. He almost veered for the entrance to the Tower, but he forced himself away.
De Tormo had been quite correct in one thing; he would have to bring another man with him when he met with Stoneley if for no other reason, than to prevent him from committing murder.
John de Vere had not yet left the Tower and was more than happy to accompany Gaston. De Vere could see the banked rage in the Dark Knight’s eyes and spent the entire walk from the Queen’s council chambers to the White Tower trying to calm Gaston’s fury. A wise man with a keen intellect, he was able to force some reason down Gaston’s throat so by the time they approached Stoneley’s cell door, Gaston could think somewhat rationally again.
Outside of the door, Gaston paused to collect himself further. De Vere had helped him a great deal with his wisdom, but now he felt himself start to slip again. The fact that he was actually to face Guy Stoneley was overwhelming him.
“Come to grips, Gaston,” de Vere said quietly. “You will gain your ends, eventually, but not if you kill the man first. Control yourself, as I have seen you do in battle so many times. There is no one greater at remaining calm than you.”
Gaston let out a hiss. “Except when it comes to Remington. I am tremendously unstable when it comes to her and I do not like being unstable. I feel as if I have no control over anything I say or do, as if my words and actions are coming directly from my heart.”
De Vere watched him for a moment, the disturbing body language of a man his size. “A suggestion, if I may, Gaston. Detach yourself. Handle this problem as if it were Patrick or Nicolas, and not you. Pretend, if you have to, that you have come here to plead on Patrick’s behalf. You are far too close to the situation and it is tearing you up. For your own sanity, you must detach yourself.”
Gaston was staring off, listening but not looking at the earl. John wondered if he had even heard what he had said. Then, finally, the smoky gray eyes focused on him.
“Wisely spoken. I suppose I can do no more than try.”
“Good,” de Vere said quietly. “Now; shall we meet the man?”
Gaston paused a moment longer before nodding his head to the sentry and the door was swung wide.
A surge of adrenalin hit Gaston the minute he passed through the threshold and he knew it was not a good sign. But he fought it, controlled it, and his eyes came to rest on the half-naked man at the far end of the room. The man he had learned to hate above all else, his enemy, and his worst nightmare.
Guy Stoneley turned around when the door opened, his ice-blue eyes focusing intently on the two knights entering his room. When Gaston’s eyes met with his, there was nearly a visible arc of electricity. Each man felt as if he had been slapped and tension filled the room.
Gaston studied Guy closely, for it had been a long time since they had last met. The man was pure of muscle, sculpted if not a bit thin. Gaston was almost physically impacted by the mental visions of the man using his muscle, his strength against Remington and her sisters. He could suddenly picture the man raping his wife and her sisters, breaking Rory’s arm, impregnating a crying Jasmine. Every evil thing had been told of the man suddenly came pouring down on him.
“De Russe,” Stoneley said, still on the far side of the room. “I did not think it would take long for you to come and see me, and I was right.”
Gaston’s hands began to twitch as he paced leisurely into the room. Behind him, he heard the door close. All he could think of was racing to the man and throwing him from the window by which he stood. Black, swirling hatred consumed him.
“You were indeed,” he managed to force out. The bastard who had beat and humiliated the woman he loved was no more than a stone’s throw away and he was nearly wild with the idea. By God, how long had he dreamed of meeting Stoneley and cutting his heart out?
Stoneley smiled thinly, a humorless smile. He walked closer, unaware or uncaring of the mortal conflict he was creating inside Gaston.
He’d had time to think since de Tormo had left him. Aye, at first he was outraged at what had been suggested, not because he cared for Remington, but because Henry wanted to take everything away from him. But as he pondered the proposal, he became increasingly aware of the lengths Henry would go toprovide de Russe his wish and he realized that he was at a great advantage. The church would not grant an annulment without his consent, and Henry would most likely do anything to gain it.
Anything.
For the first time in over a year, Guy felt hope. Hope that he would return to his beloved Mt. Holyoak, home to his family, such as they were. He could live without Remington, so long as he had another whore to take her place. But he would not let on, at least not so soon. He wanted Henry and Gaston to stew about it to the point where they were willing to grant him anything he asked.
The game was afoot.
