picked up a small stool and hurled it at
her sister as Rory screeched and ducked just in time to avoid the projectile.
It smashed harmlessly against the wall behind her.
“Stop it, Remi.” Rory cried. “I am sorry.
I did not mean it.”
Remington wasn’t finished raging. She knew
what Guy had called her, among other things, and she was raging at him as
well. Rory was, at the moment, a convenient whipping post, the catalyst to a
much larger problem.
Yet even with her anger, she was not
irrational. There were tears of frustration in her eyes as she threw the
second stool at her sister, badly aimed.
“Go to hell, Rory.” she whispered hoarsely.
Leaving her sister thankful for her hide,
she staggered back across the inner bailey toward the door to the castle,
wiping hastily at the tears and droplets that pelted her face. She hated
herself when she flew out of control, which was extremely rare, for it allowed
the pain and anger she felt to somehow seep deeper inside her. Instead of a
release, it was like opening the stopper just a little bit more, allowing
emotions to creep that much further. The dimly lit interior of the castle
beckoned her, and she answered gratefully.
High above in the southern tower, Gaston
watched her cross the bailey like a drunkard and wondered what the matter was.
Not that he had been looking for her intentionally; he had personally taken the
night watch to better acquaint himself with Mt. Holyoak and just happened to
see her moving in the darkness.
She disappeared into the castle and his
eyes lingered on the open doorway a moment long. He was puzzled by his
reaction to her, yet he did not dwell on it. He had a keep to explore.
CHAPTER FOUR
Days passed and Gaston immersed himself
into Mt. Holyoak. He rode the perimeter of the lands, studying the landscape
and becoming acquainted with the farms and encampments within the territory.
He went into Boroughbridge and became familiar with the layout of the town and
took a feel for the peasants, a hearty lot more loyal to each other than to the
Yorkists or the Lancastrians.
The people of the village were respectful
of him, over-reactively so. They acted as anyone else did when they came face
to face with the Dark Knight; they looked at him as if they were fighting the
urge to run for their very lives. Gaston was pleased, of course, for he wanted
them to fear him. Fear bred a healthy respect, he thought, especially with the
less intelligent.
Satisfied with Boroughbridge, Gaston
continued his reconnoiter and passed through the great corrals where the sheep
of Mt. Holyoak were kept. His first sight of the corrals was astonishing; from
the crest of the hill, there was nothing but a sea of white for miles. In the
distance was the great stone barn where the sheep were shorn come spring.
Bleating ewes and the strong smell of dung assaulted his nostrils, but it did
not dampen his enthusiasm.
This is mine, he thought. All of
this is mine.
He did not return to the keep at night,
instead preferring to camp on his land to become still better in tune with it.
He traveled with Arik and Antonius, leaving Patrick and Nicolas in charge of
his castle.
After five days of becoming familiar with
his new lands, Gaston finally returned to the massive fortress with a new
respect for his castle he was now in possession of. He reminded himself to
thank Henry for his generosity. Even if Henry had sent him to Mt. Holyoak for
the sole purpose of controlling Yorkshire, he was still vastly pleased with his
reward.
He and his knights were passing very close
to the fortress when he suddenly caught sight of a figure in the distant
trees. It was a slight female figure and something told him it was
her sister as Rory screeched and ducked just in time to avoid the projectile.
It smashed harmlessly against the wall behind her.
“Stop it, Remi.” Rory cried. “I am sorry.
I did not mean it.”
Remington wasn’t finished raging. She knew
what Guy had called her, among other things, and she was raging at him as
well. Rory was, at the moment, a convenient whipping post, the catalyst to a
much larger problem.
Yet even with her anger, she was not
irrational. There were tears of frustration in her eyes as she threw the
second stool at her sister, badly aimed.
“Go to hell, Rory.” she whispered hoarsely.
Leaving her sister thankful for her hide,
she staggered back across the inner bailey toward the door to the castle,
wiping hastily at the tears and droplets that pelted her face. She hated
herself when she flew out of control, which was extremely rare, for it allowed
the pain and anger she felt to somehow seep deeper inside her. Instead of a
release, it was like opening the stopper just a little bit more, allowing
emotions to creep that much further. The dimly lit interior of the castle
beckoned her, and she answered gratefully.
High above in the southern tower, Gaston
watched her cross the bailey like a drunkard and wondered what the matter was.
Not that he had been looking for her intentionally; he had personally taken the
night watch to better acquaint himself with Mt. Holyoak and just happened to
see her moving in the darkness.
She disappeared into the castle and his
eyes lingered on the open doorway a moment long. He was puzzled by his
reaction to her, yet he did not dwell on it. He had a keep to explore.
CHAPTER FOUR
Days passed and Gaston immersed himself
into Mt. Holyoak. He rode the perimeter of the lands, studying the landscape
and becoming acquainted with the farms and encampments within the territory.
He went into Boroughbridge and became familiar with the layout of the town and
took a feel for the peasants, a hearty lot more loyal to each other than to the
Yorkists or the Lancastrians.
The people of the village were respectful
of him, over-reactively so. They acted as anyone else did when they came face
to face with the Dark Knight; they looked at him as if they were fighting the
urge to run for their very lives. Gaston was pleased, of course, for he wanted
them to fear him. Fear bred a healthy respect, he thought, especially with the
less intelligent.
Satisfied with Boroughbridge, Gaston
continued his reconnoiter and passed through the great corrals where the sheep
of Mt. Holyoak were kept. His first sight of the corrals was astonishing; from
the crest of the hill, there was nothing but a sea of white for miles. In the
distance was the great stone barn where the sheep were shorn come spring.
Bleating ewes and the strong smell of dung assaulted his nostrils, but it did
not dampen his enthusiasm.
This is mine, he thought. All of
this is mine.
He did not return to the keep at night,
instead preferring to camp on his land to become still better in tune with it.
He traveled with Arik and Antonius, leaving Patrick and Nicolas in charge of
his castle.
After five days of becoming familiar with
his new lands, Gaston finally returned to the massive fortress with a new
respect for his castle he was now in possession of. He reminded himself to
thank Henry for his generosity. Even if Henry had sent him to Mt. Holyoak for
the sole purpose of controlling Yorkshire, he was still vastly pleased with his
reward.
He and his knights were passing very close
to the fortress when he suddenly caught sight of a figure in the distant
trees. It was a slight female figure and something told him it was
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