She spun around, her face filled with sorrow and fury. “No, I do not. I do not understand why you are not fighting them tooth and nail on this, Gaston. Why are you being so bloody cooperative?”
“Calm down, angel. ’Twill do no good to get upset now.”
“I shall get upset if I want to!” she raged. “’Tis I who will be isolated in some God-forsaken convent for an indeterminate amount of time– not you. Separated from you, from my family, from my son. Why aren’t you at Canterbury right now convincing the archbishop what an evil bastard Guy is, and how he would do or say anything to keep us apart?Why?”
He stood up, reaching for her, but she shrank away. She did not want to be comforted at this moment. He sighed heavily when she yanked herself from his grip, his gaze sad.
“You are distraught, angel. Sit down and calm yourself and we shall converse rationally.”
“No. I do not want to sit!” she snapped, feeling the tears beginning. “Tell me why you are not fighting for me!”
He put his hands on his hips, his face tired. He suddenly looked as if he had aged ten years in the past day. “I cannot fight, Remi. To fight would only confirm what Guy has said of me. I must do what the church says; I cannot make them bend to my wishes, no matter how badly it pains me. And if this separation does not kill me, I will be surprised.”
Her eyes welled, but she fought off the cascades that threatened. “If you were to fight, it would only confirm to the church that your feelings for me are sincere.” Her hands suddenly flew to her mouth and her voice turned into a shriek. “I do not want to be separated from you, not even for a moment!I cannot bear the thought of spending months and months away from you Gaston, I shall go mad!”
He was upon her in a half-second, enveloping her in his massive arms and shielding her from the world. She sobbed harshly, painfully, her agony blooming. ’Twas no matter that she had vowed to remain brave; she couldn’t help herself anymore.
He held her, gripping her with the anguish he felt. Was she right? Should he be proving himself difficult, fighting like a tiger? Should he be substantiating rumors of his reputation, that there is more to the Dark Knight than merely a seasoned warrior? Mayhap if they believed he was truly in league with the devil, then they would give him what he asked for simply to avoid Lucifer’s wrath?
Yet he chased those thoughts away rapidly. He was doing what he believed best, no matter how painful. Fighting the church would only make them angry with him; cooperating would put him in their good graces.
And then his mind clouded with thoughts of Guy Stoneley. Aye, he would see the man on the morrow and be done with these foolish games. He would have his agreement and his terms.
And then he would kill him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Henry was seatedin the dining hall in the Queen’s House, well into his third goblet of wine. His wife and his mother had yet to arrive, as Gaston was similarly late. But he was not angered; it was, after all, a small sup and he was in no hurry.
Christopher Urswick, Dean of York, entered the hall clad in his traditional broadcloth robes, as indicative of his ecclesiastical station. He and Henry had been together since well before Henry had been crowned king of England, and the two men shared a close bond. Among other duties, Christopher had been chaplain of Henry’s troops.
A slight man with a balding head in spite of his young years, Christopher seated himself next to his king and turned down the offer of wine, opting for flavored water instead.
“I shall be damn glad to leave this place,” Henry murmured. “I prefer my Windsor to the Tower.”
Christopher smiled faintly. “I rather like it here. There is much history.”
“You like it because I keep my prisoners here and you feel important counseling their souls,” the king eyed the dean a longmoment as a servant lit the hearth. “What do you think of all of this with de Russe?”
Urswick pondered the tabletop a moment. “I have yet to speak with him, but I understand he is deeply in love with Lady Stoneley. And I think Sir Guy Stoneley is… evil. He makes me uncomfortable.”
“De Tormo said the same thing. Tell me, then; is this man the incarnate of the devil that he should make men of God fearful of him?”
Christopher shrugged. “I only know what I feel; I cannot vouch for de Tormo. Were it up to me, I would grant Lady Stoneley her annulment without question. De Tormo told me the stories of her husband’s bloodlust. Shocking.”
“Indeed,” Henry took another drink of wine. “Courtenay was hard-pressed to carry out Bourchier’s orders, but he had no choice in the matter. Especially since John of Imola is involved. He must do everything according to the law of the church.”
“Of course he must,” Christopher agreed, shifting in his chair. “I pity de Russe. I understand his wife was most unfaithful to him with Richard, and now the poor man has fallen in love with a woman who is married to Satan’s apprentice. Were it me…,”
“Go on.”
Urswick paused. “Were it me, I would do what I had to in order to marry the woman I love. All I have spoken with agree on that account.”
Henry was silent a moment. “Are you thinking that de Russe might do something drastic; something disobedient? Speak out, man.”
Urswick shook his head, drinking from his glass. “I am thinking nothing of the sort. I am merely sympathizing.”
“They will be here tonight. De Russe and his lady.”
