The knight, young with wide brown eyes, saluted sharply.
“My lord,” he greeted loudly. “Thank God I have found you. Lord Ingilsby suspected that you might be at Mt. Holyoak, but we were not entirely sure. With Stoneley running loose, we….”
Gaston grabbed the reins of the destrier, his eyes wide and his massive body rigid. “What do you know of Stoneley’s escape?”
“We know that he abducted his wife and brought her north,” the knight replied. “He sold her to Ripley’s captain at a tavern in Stanford-on-Avon and….”
Gaston cut him off by grabbing him sharply, yanking him completely off the destrier. The young knight struggled to his feet, still in the iron grip of the Duke of Warminster. When he turned surprised eyes to the duke, he was met with a glare of such anger that it frightened him.
“Cease with your prattling tale,” Gaston hissed, mere threads away from snapping the knight’s arm in half. “Where in the hell is Remington?”
The knight winced as Gaston twisted his arm even tighter, but a faint glaze of a smile managed to twist his lips. “That is what I am trying to tell you, my lord,” he said quietly. “She’s at Ripley, safe and whole.”
Gaston’s mouth went agape and every last bit of color drained from his face. He stared at the knight as if he did not comprehend him, or at least he thought mayhap he heard only what he wished to hear. But the knight was smiling, whipping him back to his senses as he realized that, indeed, he had heard correctly.
“She’s atRipley?” he echoed, his voice a whisper.
The knight nodded. “Aye, my lord. Sir Hubert Doyle saved her from her husband.”
Gaston blinked, slammed with the news. He let go of the knight’s arm and put a hand against the entry wall to steady himself; he could feel himself weaving with shock. “She’s all right?”
“Not a scratch, my lord,” the knight replied.
Gaston gazed at the knight a moment longer and closed his gawking mouth, licking his lips that were dry. He could hardly believe what he had just heard, but believe he did. Excitement and relief exploded in his chest, coming forth as a loud exhale of pure disbelief.
When he turned to Roald, he was aware that his whole body was shaking with pure assuagement. “My destrier,” he ordered hoarsely.
Roald was already moving, bellowing for the duke’s mount and ordering an escort readied to accompany him. Gaston turned away from the knight, his mind consumed with Remington, but he retained enough of his manners to stop before he rudely departed.
He faced the young knight. “Thank you for delivering the message, my lord. Might I have your name?”
“Sir Adam Nelson, my lord,” the man said. “And it was my pleasure. Lord Ingilsby and Sir Hugh surmised just how frantic you would be. As soon as Lady Remington arrived, I was sent on my way.”
Gaston looked pale and shaken. He was elated beyond believing; in fact, he still had difficulty grasping the situation. “Not a scratch, you say?”
Adam shook his head, smiling broadly. “Nary a mark. She is tired, of course, but that is all.”
Gaston nodded slowly, his eyes becoming distant. But not before he extended his gratitude one more time. “Thank you.”
Within a quarter hour, he was mounted and riding for Ripley.
*
The plan wassimple. Lay siege to Mt. Holyoak, distract the army inside, and slip in through the secret entrance Guy had built into the wall by the kitchens. It was an entrance seldom used by the peasants because of the sheer fifty-foot drop to one side of the two-foot-wide path. When Guy had it built, it had originally been constructed as an escape route should the drawbridge ever be compromised. He never dreamed he would use it to breach his own fortress.
Problem was, that only one man at a time could enter through it. This would lay them open to snipers by the greater forces inside, when and if the breach was discovered. It was Guy’s hope that he could lead enough men through the opening to effectively quell de Russe’s men and reach the greater goal of opening the portcullis and drawbridge.
Keith Botmore was more than eager to mount two hundred men for the reclamation of Mt. Holyoak. After Guy convinced the man that they both had suffered so terribly at the hand of de Russe, and after they had drunk a good deal of wine and discussed Derek’s entire life, Keith was over-anxious to go to war against the Duke of Warminster.
He was a foolish man, rash to seek revenge before stopping to think of what he was doing. He knew full well of de Russe’s reputation, of his strength in aiding Henry. He knew de Russe led an army of a thousand and he furthermore knew the man wielded mayhap the greatest military power in all of England. But he was still eager to overrun Mt. Holyoak and regain it for his ally, escaped prisoner though he might be. He simply sawthat he was exacting revenge for his son; Guy saw it for what it was, and that was regaining what was morally his.
Guy was using Botmore for what the man could do for him; as long as Botmore agreed to Guy’s demands, Guy was his very best friend. But any refusal on Botmore’s part, and Guy would turn on him like a viper.
In armor that had once belonged to Derek, Guy sat astride a powerful gray destrier next to Keith as the lord’s army was assembled. He felt a distinct pull of power, the days of old when he led his own army against the Tudor. In a sense, he was doing it again, only this time the adversary was far more powerful.
He would rid de Russe from his keep once and for all.
Guy and Keith led Botmore’s army from the confines of Knaresborough, edging the town of the same name on their trek northeast to the Vale of York. The peasants turned out en masse to witness the army mobilizing, wondering if the War of the Roses had not yet ended, in fact, and they were due for another series of battles. The fact that their liege was moving to overtake another Yorkist keep never occurred to them.
