She nodded. “Ah. The lover. The Dark Knight.”
He almost choked on the sour wine. “I intend to be her husband, one day.” He did not know what else to say.
The old nun nodded faintly and Gaston began to feel uncomfortable as well as anxious. What had Remington told these women of the cloister?
“She did not tell me, my lord,” the nun finally said, a twinkle in her dull eyes. “Prioress Mary Margaret confided in me one day, and we prayed for thou both. It would seem that Remington doth not put great stock in God. We felt it our duty.”
Gaston set the cup down with a gentle thud. “Thank you, sister. Your concern is appreciated.”
“There are apparently a great many people concerned for you both,” Sister Josepha said. “Our prayers have been powerful indeed.”
“And how is that?” Gaston asked.
She smiled, a cracked ancient smile. “Thou has come, has thou not? Thou are not so dark, as the name implies. God speaks and thou listens.”
Gaston nodded faintly, not knowing what else to say. His mind was increasingly preoccupied with Remington and de Tormo. He hesitated to ask the old nun where Remington was; she had avoided his question twice.
They heard rapid footfalls coming down the corridor. Gaston smelled de Tormo before he saw him.
“Gaston! Thank God,” he exclaimed quietly. “You are finally here!”
Gaston forgot all about the old nun standing behind him. “What’s wrong?”
De Tormo glanced at the woman behind Gaston; Sister Josepha moved for the door discreetly, but she did not leave entirely.
“It’s Remington, Gaston,” he said quietly. “She entered into labor two days ago and….”
Gaston suddenly grabbed his head in agony. “Dear God, she is dead!”
“Nay, Gaston, she is not,” de Tormo assured him quickly. “But she…she is not well, not at all.”
“Take me to her,” Gaston was begging and de Tormo was struggling to keep the man calm. He put up his hands soothingly.
“Get hold of yourself, my lord, for there is much to tell,” he instructed firmly. It would not do to have Gaston lose control early on. “Listen to me completely, if you would. Remington went into labor two days ago and delivered your children this morning. But she lost a great deal of blood in the births, Gaston. Too much blood, and she continues to lose a great deal of blood. A physic from Glastonbury is with her, and I must be completelyhonest with you when I say that her outlook is grim. The physic believes she will eventually bleed to death.”
Gaston was literally white. His helm came off shakily, his face so white that his lips were gray. The smoky gray eyes were wide.
“Children?”
“Two girls. She named them Adeliza and Arica.”
Gaston let out a ragged sigh, dragging his hands over his face. He could barely speak.
“How are they?”
“Adeliza, the eldest, is well. But the physic says that something is wrong with Arica. He does not expect her to live. I have already given her last rites, and the prioress continues to pray over the babe,” de Tormo was trying to be gentle, but there was simply no easy way to deliver such devastating news. “They are three weeks early, you know.”
Gaston was looking at the floor. When his head came up, his cheeks were streaked with tears. “Take me to her,” he rasped.
De Tormo was shocked at the emotional display from the feared, almighty Dark One. But his heart was breaking for the man, for Remington, and for the children. He was simply thankful for the fact that Gaston had come when he did.
He took Gaston down to the end of the corridor, followed closely by Sister Josepha. At the end of the hall was a narrow staircase. Remington’s door was the first door to the right at the top of the stairs.
There were three or four nuns in the room, each busying themselves with something or another. Gaston paid them no attention; his eyes were instantly riveted to the ashen figure on the bed and his tears flowed even faster.
She was buried under a mound of covers, her damp hair plastered to her pasty face. Her breathing was shallow and every so often she would twitch. The head of the bed was lowered dramatically, so much so that her feet were nearly sticking up inthe air. She looked as if death were her shadow, waiting for the fleeting moment to step in and whisk her away.
He was oblivious of everyone else in the room; efficiently, mechanically, he began to unlatch his armor. Huge, heavy pieces fell on the floor as de Tormo and the elderly nuns struggled to cart them away. Gaston had eyes only for Remington; when he was completely free of his protective gear, he rolled up the sleeves on his heavy linen shirt and moved to the edge of the bed.
