The army moved along the vacated road, not a town nor an obstacle between them and their destination. They veered northeast just south of Boroughbridge, trampling the early summer grass in the fertile vale. The closer they drew, the more Guy’s adrenalin began to flow.
Mt. Holyoak would soon be in his grasp. He predicted no more than twelve hours before the fortress fell and her gates opened wide for the invading army. The design was rudimentary; Botmore would create a diversion and lay siege to the bridge of the keep, drawing the attention of the army inside. Meanwhile, Guy and 75 men would build ladders to straddle the moat. When the makeshift bridges were complete, they would lay them across the deep moat and crawl across to the smallfootpath that bordered the wall. From there, they would breach the small wall gate and file in.
Simple enough, but Guy knew they were likely to lose a great many men against de Russe’s skeleton force. Moreover, he wondered if de Russe wasn’t already there; spies had returned stating that activity was normal, which meant additional men led by the duke had not arrived. If, in fact, de Russe was bringing a massive army to rescue Remington, he could quite possibly have come alone, the idea of which intrigued Guy. Why would he come alone to rescue his whore? Why would not he bring all of bloody England to assist him?
He still could and Guy knew it, which was why the quick recapture of Mt. Holyoak was imperative. Guy wanted to be in complete control when de Russe arrived.
The very top of his revered keep came into view shortly after noon. Men moved into battle-heightened positions, shields raised and swords drawn, as they continued to march. The knights, only six of them, slung their shields over their left knee for quick access. Guy felt the familiar surge of battle flush through his limbs, the excitement that finally, he would regain his home. Even as they drew nearer to the keep and they could see the drawbridge hastily rising, he felt the thrill of the fight like a potent aphrodisiac. It excited him like none other.
There was no pretense, no words exchanged. Botmore led the majority of his army up the narrow road to Mt. Holyoak and let loose a barrage of Welsh archers, flame arrows to the drawbridge. Most fell, a few stuck, and the burning began.
Down in the surrounding trees, Guy was whipping his smaller army into a frenzy cutting down trees and stripping saplings. He could smell the smoke from the bridge and he could hear faint shouting and he smiled; battle always made him smile.
Finally the time was upon him and his redemption was at hand; the redemption of hispride. Turning back to his sweating soldiers, he whooped words of encouragement.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It was lateafternoon when Gaston and his small escort rode into the cramped bailey of Ripley Castle. The sun was hot, the air dusty around him, but he wasn’t aware of anything other than the fact Remington was within these old walls. He was completely focused as Sir Adam led him to the stairs of the castle. Gaston’s gaze was locked to the structure, as if he could look through the stone and find Remington inside.
Minutes seemed like hours, long and drawn out as their separation drew to a close. The closer he came, the more time expanded as if to torture him just a bit more. It was enough to drive him insane as he approached the entrance to the castle, his desperate eyes seeking what his heart so desperately sought.
He did not have to look any further. As soon as his boot hit the bottom step of the structure, a flash of scarlet silk came bolting out of the open front door. He barely had time to look up as Remington hurled herself at him, hitting him so hard that he grunted and stumbled off the step.
“Gaston!”
His arms went around her reflexively, shocked at first, but transforming into wild delight. Her hair was in his face, in hismouth, caught in the joints of his neck armor and the wonderful fragrance of soap and wildflowers assaulted his senses. Her warmth in his hands was the most comforting sensation he had ever known. He had never been so damn thankful for anything in his whole life.
“Remi!” he gasped, squeezing her fiercely. “Oh, God, are you all right?”
She nodded vigorously, still clinging to him, refusing to loosen her hold. Gaston clutched her to his armored chest, relief running rampant in his limbs and rendering him as weak as a kitten. Yet in the same breath, he had never felt so strong nor whole.
He simply held her, no words between them. Their embrace said everything that needed saying. His pain faded more and more with each successive breath.
He lost track of time, holding her protectively, thanking God over and over for her safety. The feelings wreaking havoc in his soul were indescribable.
Somewhere, someone cleared his throat and Gaston was aware that there were others standing about, observing the touching scene. Reluctantly, he set Remington to stand, pulling strands of her hair free from his armor. Much to his surprise, she was smiling at him, tears of joy in the sea-crystal depths. As emotional as she was, he had expected days of hysterics at their reunion and was pleased to see that she was controlling herself. It made it far easier on him to deal with his own emotions if she were rational.
He smiled back, ignoring the group crowding around them. “Are you sure you are all right, angel? He did not…?”
She shook her head, stopping his line of questions. “I am fine, my love. Truly.”
His great hands were touching her face, her hair, relieved beyond words. As long as she appeared fine and untouched, hewould not press. But when they were alone, he would know every gory detail. There were a million questions he wanted to ask her, but they would all have to wait. The only thing that mattered was that she was safe.
Alex Ingilsby stood several feet behind her, smiling openly at Gaston. When their eyes met, the baron shrugged. “She’s been rooted to the windows for the past six hours, waiting for you. When I heard her running down the stairs, I knew of your arrival. Call it intuition.”
Gaston grinned, patting Remington affectionately. “I am forever in your debt, my lord. I cannot adequately express my gratitude for what you have done for Remi and myself. Had it not been for you….”
Ingilsby shook his head. “I had nothing to do with this, my lord. ’Twas Hugh’s doing, all of it, and it is he you should thank.”
Hubert stood at the door of the castle, his handsome face expressionless. He had watched the entire scene unfold and had experienced a distinct stab of… something, he wasn’t sure. Jealousy? Envy? Sorrow? Something he could not quite isolate, but it depressed him nonetheless. When the duke’s gaze found him, he tried his best not to let his confusion show.
Gaston took the steps, keeping Remington clutched to his side. He walked past Ingilsby, focusing on the captain. He had fully intended to thank the man but mere thanks seemed grossly insufficient. He struggled for a brief moment.
“To thank you appears quite deficient. I should offer you my life, my wealth at the very least,” Remington hugged him tightly and he glanced down at her dark head, returning soft eyes back to Hubert. “I am grateful, Hugh. Never consider any request too great to ask of me. I shall do everything within my power to repay you for your loyalty.”
Hubert nodded faintly, humbled with the adoration of the Dark One. “I have always been loyal to you, my lord, sincethe days of Edward. When we met at the tourney last year, I was surprised you remembered the green young upstart, newly knighted, serving his king,” he looked at Remington, positively glowing in Gaston’s arms. “What I did, any man would have done. It was nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Not true,” Remington insisted, turning to Gaston. “Guy tried to sell my services as a whore and it was only by luck that Hugh was the prospective client. He helped me escape and fought off ten robbers during our journey here. He is far too modest, Gaston. He’s a hero.”
