Gaston snorted into his hands, still pacing like a caged animal. Then, he choked out a loud burst of laughter. “Anything at all,” he repeated, muttering as if he were talking to himself. “Kill Stoneley! Kill Henry! Kill the whole goddamn church!”
Nicolas watched him pace, his eyes glittering with concern. He’d never seen Gaston come close to losing his control, ever, and he was scared.
“Do you want me to follow Remington and see where they take her?” he asked steadily.
Gaston did not say anything. He continued to pace and twitch, running his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. At some point, de Tormo joined Nicolas, and the two men watched the Dark Knight walk off his pent-up fury.
Gaston’s mind was a black jumble of rage. He still was not entirely capable of forming a coherent thought, but he caught sight of de Tormo’s robes from the corner of his eye.
“Did you know about this treachery, priest?”
De Tormo looked confused. “What do you mean, de Russe?”
Gaston stopped and looked at him. “The ploy to separate me from Remington so that Courtenay’s men could take her away. Well?”
De Tormo gazed into Gaston’s stormy orbs. With everything the two of them had been through, with all of the threats and emotions, he had never once feared the Dark Knight. But at this very moment, looking deep into the man’s soul, he was afraid of him. All he could read was death.
“No, Gaston,” he said quietly. “I knew of no such betrayal.”
Gaston’s ashen face was as tight as the head of a drum. He had stopped his pacing, but his whole body was still twitching. “Can Remington get an annulment without Guy’s consent?”
“I doubt it,” de Tormo replied. “The circumstances would have to be extreme, to say the least.”
One second Gaston was several feet away. Within the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of the priest, glaring down at him. “You do not call beatings, rapes and the like extreme? What of the devil worship?”
De Tormo took a step back; he had to. Gaston was scaring the hell out of him. He fought to keep his fear down and mull over the possibilities of what Gaston was suggesting. “It is extreme, I shall grant you. Mayhap… mayhap if the lady’s sisters and family testified to Guy’s cruelty, and if we could possibly secure witnesses that had first-hand knowledge of his brutality, the testimonies would weigh heavily enough that the church would advance the annulment without Guy’s agreement,” he met Gaston’s gaze seriously. “That is the only possibility I can think of, de Russe.”
Gaston pictured Jasmine and Skye trembling before the papal council, confessing their darkest shame to a group of indifferent men. He could see Dane, struggling to be brave as he told them of the nightly beatings, the screaming, and the fear. And he could see Remington, begging to be released from her hell.
Instead of comfort, as de Tormo had meant to give, Gaston went in the other direction. The past several minutes of struggle to calm were erased in a split second and he was suddenly whirling, making a break for the White Tower. Nicolas and de Tormo watched in horror, knowing exactly where he was going.
“Get de Vere!” Nicolas snapped to the priest, taking off on a dead run after his cousin.
Nicolas did not know how he was going to prevent Gaston from killing Guy. He was twice his size and strength. But he followed close behind, hearing his cousin’s heavy footfalls as he mounted the stairs on his way to the third floor cell of Guy Stoneley.
Nicolas called to Gaston, trying to plead with him as they raced up the stairs. But his cousin wasn’t responding; he did not expect him to.
Gaston reached Stoneley’s room ahead of Nicolas and ordered the sentry to open the door. The panel was barely released before Gaston was plowing into the room.
Guy was on the other side of the room, by the windows. He turned disinterestedly to Gaston, apparently unconcerned with his visit. From his vantage point, he could see nothing of the workings of the courtyard and had no idea of what had transpired.
“Get out, de Russe,” he said. “I have no desire to speak with you tonight.”
Gaston did not even reply. Suddenly, he was hurling himself across the room, grabbing Guy by the throat and tossing him over the wide, oaken table. Guy flew like a rag doll; his body went skidding across the floor and slammed into the stone wall. Before he could react in any way, Gaston leapt over the table and hit Guy so severely that the man instantly lost four teeth. Blood splashed onto the floor.
“Your agreement,” Gaston seethed, his hand still clenching Guy’s throat. “Your agreement or I kill you.”
Guy was struggling with the darkness that threatened to claim him. Stars danced before his eyes and his mouth was an agonizing, throbbing mass. “Go to hell!”
Gaston hit him again, in the torso this time, and Guy exhaled loudly from the force. He folded in on himself, but Gaston still held him around the neck.
“I will say it once more,” Gaston said through clenched teeth. “Your agreement or your life!”
Guy couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t walk, or stand, or think either. Horrible rasping noises flushed forth from his chest as he fought to take in air. He tried to form a word, any word, but was thwarted each time. Finally, he managed to spit out four words. “To hell with you!”
They were not the words Gaston was looking for. He slammed Guy again, tossing him against the wall and then pouncing on him.
“Gaston, no!” Nicolas was over his indecision as to whether or not to intervene; any more pummeling and Stoneley would be dead. He jumped on Gaston, using all of his young strength to pull his cousin back. “No! You shall kill him!”
