“All is well, honey,” he said gently. “They are all dead.”
She couldn’t reply for the moment, still panic-stricken. He closed in on her, sheathing his sword wearily.
“Let me see your head,” he said, his voice a husky whisper.
She had not realized that her head was aching terribly. Suddenly, the pain hit her full bore and she whimpered, her panic fading. Her whole body began to shake.
“Oh, my God,” her face crumpled, racking sobs spilling forth.
He grabbed her head with his great mailed gloves, inspecting the split scalp directly above her right ear.
“All is well, my lady,” he whispered again. “You are safe. I killed them all.”
She heard him, still terrified out of her mind.
Satisfied the wound to her head wasn’t severe, Hubert tried to lead her away but she couldn’t seem to walk. In fact, they both seemed to be shaking a great deal, almost too hard to function.But Hubert was desperate to remove her from the area, away from the memories of horror. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her back to his horse.
Remington continued to cry even as he mounted behind her and spurred the charger onto the road. Behind them, four dead men littered the quiet countryside, bright red blood staining the sweet green grass.
Even after Remington’s sobs died and she fell into an exhausted sleep, Hubert remained deeply shaken. His good deed had almost turned deadly for both of them, and he would have never forgiven himself if tragedy had befallen the lady. He could still hear her shouts and her tears, and the memory cut him to the bone.
How fortunate he had not been overwhelmingly outnumbered. It made him ill to think of what might have happened if there had been but a few more outlaws, all intent on killing him and stealing his ward. Although bandits were quite common to the roads of England, he was still unnerved by the incident.
The urge to reach Ripley was greater than before. Spurring his steed into a canter, his grip on Remington tightened.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Sweet, sweet Yorkshire!
After passing throughthe sheep town of Leeds, Guy was gleeful to finally be entering the providence of his birth. Even if he was at least a day from home, he was still drawing close and that fact boosted him considerably.
He’d had the rest of the night and the most of the next day to think of the knight who captured his wife. Having no idea who the man was or where he went, there was truly no way to follow him. Moreover, the closer Guy drew to Yorkshire, the more eager he was to reach abandoned Mt. Holyoak.
Guy spent half the night determining how he would gain the necessary men simply to defend the place. He was sure his loyalist allies would provide him with ample manpower until such time as he could raise his own army, but the fact that de Russe was no doubt close on his heels worried him. With the size of Gaston’s army, Mt. Holyoak could possibly fall under siege. With no army of her own to defend herself, it would simply be a matter of time before she was breached.
He forgot more and more about Remington and focused on his keep and immediate future. After all, de Russe wouldassume that Guy would take Remington to Mt. Holyoak. Guy was still bound for his fortress, but now without the considerable addition of his wife.
Guy without Remington would not be worth the air he breathed. Unless, of course, he lied and told de Russe that Remington was indeed with him, but forbade any contact between his wife and the Dark Knight. That would keep de Russe guessing, desperate for a glimpse of his beloved and making it easier to keep the powerful duke at bay.
Or…. Guy could steer clear of Mt. Holyoak and retreat to one of his many allies in Yorkshire. That would throw de Russe off and keep him guessing all the more. Mayhap after enough guessing, he would eventually give up and return to London. That in turn would leave Guy free to move about, free to occupy his keep, and free to search out his wife. Eventually. But Remington was not the greater priority at the moment.
An insane, evil man with insane, evil thought patterns. Guy had no true rhyme or reason for doing what he was doing, other than in the end, he simply wanted to be free to live out his life at Mt. Holyoak. All the rest was purely because he liked torturing de Russe and Remington. And because he was an escaped criminal, the two were also the key to keeping Henry managed.
Once, during the first months of his captivity, he had entertained the thought of a rebellion against Henry. Carefully worded missives were sent between he and his allies that indicated such an uprising would be substantial, but from what Guy had seen and heard during his incarceration, it would not have been successful. There were too many powerful people supporting Henry.
Guy had had enough of war, to be truthful. A selfish man, his attention had turned from rebellion to merely regaining his keep. He wondered if talk of rebellion still filled the Yorkshirecircles, but he did not care anymore. He simply wanted to return home.
Dane had no meaning in his life. Neither did his young cousin, Charles. And he had long forgotten about his wife’s sisters. He had a new future ahead of him, and he faced it with eager anticipation.
It took him nearly the entire day to reach Wakefield, just south of Leeds. Another five or six hours would have him at Mt. Holyoak, depending on how well his horse withstood the vigorous pace. So far, the animal had done very well and Guy was confident he could reach his keep before the next morn.
He had long since dumped the papal tunic and pieces of too large plate armor. Lightened, he drove the destrier onward.
Just north of Leeds he stopped to water and rest the animal. Under normal circumstances, he would not have cared if the horse had fallen and died under him, but he had to rely on this particular steed if he was going to make it to his destination. Aye, he would ride to Mt. Holyoak first, just to see his beloved fortress for himself. But after that, he was torn between riding for Knaresborough Castle or Summerbridge Castle. Both housed valuable opposition allies, men he had been in contact with since his imprisonment.
Certainly Keith Botmore was closer, but Douglass Archibald of Summerbridge was more of an ally. Botmore was only interested in Remington, Guy thought, but an ally nonetheless. Trying to decide between the two seemed to occupy him for the moment.
Guy was preparing to mount again when there was a commotion of riders on the road. Out in the dead of night, he knew they were either robbers or cutthroats. As he scrambled into the saddle, one of the men shouted at him to hold.
