“After a good rest, I shall be more than happy to discuss it with you.”
The two men rose, strolling leisurely for the second floor of the castle. Old, dried rushes crunched underneath Guy’s boots and he thought the place, in general, looked worn, unusual for the usually organized and well-kept Botmore.
As if Keith could read his mind, he spoke in a low voice. “It’s been nearly a year since Derek was killed by de Russe. We’re having a mass said tomorrow for his soul. You shall join us, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Guy replied, although he had no interest in attending a church service. But he would do it to gain what hesought. “And allow me to convey my sorrow on your loss, Keith. Derek was a fine knight.”
The pain was still fresh in Botmore’s face. “He was all that I had, you know. His mother died some time ago and…well, the priest says I should marry again and produce another heir. But I can’t seem to find the will.”
Guy paused at the bottom of the stairs. “We have a good deal in common, you and I. De Russe took everything from me, too. My keep. My wife. My son. Everything.”
Botmore’s face went rigid. “Aye, he did. Derek was killed trying to rescue your wife from de Russe’s clutches,” he averted his gaze, clenching his hands into hard fists. “Damnation, Guy, I wish I’d never sent Derek on that mercy mission. I curse myself every night for relaying those orders to him. I should have….oh, hell!”
Guy smiled thinly. “No need to relive your horror, my friend. What’s done is done. What remains now is to make de Russe pay for his sins. And we will start by regaining my keep.”
Keith looked at him a long moment. “I shall ride with you.”
Guy’s smile turned real. “Of course you will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Gaston skirted theedges of the trees that lay at the bottom of Mt. Holyoak’s rise. The very same trees and shrubs where Remington had once collected flowers the summer before, the very first time he had actually had a chance to speak with her. When he met Dane. When he realized that he felt something for her.
In early summer they were awash with gardenias, wild roses, jasmine, dogwood and other delightful blooms. The smell was heady in his nostrils as he paused at the very border of the trees, his eyes scanning the walls of the great fortress that two men so dearly claimed.
He drank in the sight of the stone edifice, feeling the warm memories and possessiveness filled him like a bottomless well; it ran much deeper than he realized. True, he was extremely fond of the fortress, but gazing at it again brought him to the realization that he was home. His and Remi’s.
His eyes scanned the battlements and he could see sentries walking their posts.Hissentries. Although he knew it was not possible, somehow he had wildly imagined that Guy wouldreturn and kill all of his men, replacing them with rebels. He could see now that that was not the scenario.
Spurring Taran on, he galloped up the steep narrow road that led to the drawbridge of his mighty keep.
The men stationed on bridge-duty saw him storm up. Shocked, the cries that the duke had returned bounced among the soldiers until every one of them had turned up to greet their liege. By the time the bridge was lowered and the sharp-teethed portcullis raised, Gaston’s men were assembled with waiting arms.
He rode in, balanced atop his excited warhorse. Roald and Charles were the very first to rush forward and greet him.
“My lord,” Roald called, smiling. “What brings you back to Yorkshire?”
Gaston bailed off Taran, sidestepping all pleasantries. “Did Guy Stoneley return here?”
Both Roald and Charles looked shocked. “Returned?” Charles gasped. “Is he free?”
Gaston’s answer was before him; they had no such knowledge of Stoneley’s return and Gaston felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. No Guy, and no Remington.
His breath exhaled painfully, laboriously. “He escaped and took Remington with him. I was expecting…nay, I was hoping he would come here.”
Charles went white and closed his eyes. “God help her. Oh, dear God, help her.”
Roald looked concerned, glancing at his young friend before turning his attention back to Gaston. “We have heard no word of his escape, nor of his presence anywhere in the area. He took Lady Remington, did you say?”
Gaston nodded, suddenly very weary and sickened. He had no idea where else to look, or where to go. But he knew withouta doubt he would spend the rest of his life looking for her. He would never, ever rest.
Roald could read the fatigue and the defeat in his liege, an expression he had never seen before on Gaston’s face.
“You are exhausted, my lord,” he said quietly. “Mayhap a bit of food and rest and we can help you search. In fact, Charles can send messages to the likes of Brimley and Ingilsby and ask for their help. Can’t you, Charles?”
Charles was nearly overcome by the news, but he managed to nod. “I…I can go to the solar and compose the necessary letters.”
“Good lad,” he gave the boy a shove in the direction of the castle. “On your way, then. The duke will rest while you write the directives.”
