Chapter Four #3
“Unremarkable. I would have expected no less from a witless young girl,” he removed his helm. “Confine her to the vault until I decide what to do with her. I shall not have her disrupting my knights, and especially Nicolas. He is too hot-tempered to deal with her and I am afraid he might hurt her.”
Patrick nodded, leaving Gaston to go to his brother and the redhead. Gaston did not give them a second glance, even as he entered the castle and heard the young girl cursing a blue streak as the knights physically carried her to the vault.
He took a flight of smaller stairs to the second floor, looking forward to soaking in hot water. Yet he paused here and there, glancing in rooms and checking alcoves. He had only taken a brief tour of the castle and set about reacquainting himself as he made his way to his room.
The keep of Mt. Holyoak reminded him of the White Tower, a massive place with a myriad of rooms and passages. As he rounded the second floor landing, he suddenly plowed head-on into a small, female body and sent her crashing to the floor.
Jasmine looked up at Gaston with shock and terror, sitting quite squarely on her behind.
“My apologies,” he said, reaching down and pulling her to her feet, studying her curiously. She was a delicate, lovely girl with blue eyes and straight blond hair, but not nearly as beautiful as her eldest sister. “You are Lady Jasmine, are you not?”
She nodded, rubbing her backside. “Aye, my lord.”
He acknowledged her with a slight nod. “Then, if you are not injured, I shall be on my way.”
Jasmine stepped aside and gave him a wide berth, turning to watch him as he marched down the hall.
Had she not been so frightened of him, she would have thought him to be a ruggedly handsome devil.
He was so tremendously masculine that there was no other way to describe him.
But she did not think of men in terms of handsome or desirous; men were terrible, vile creatures and she generally hated the sex.
Rubbing her bottom once more, she continued on her way.
Gaston reached out to open his door and was cautious when he saw the door slightly ajar. Inside his room, he could hear banging about and his sword drew forth from its sheath in a clean, swift movement. Carefully, he inched the door open.
He had hardly taken a step into the room when he was suddenly flooded with the scent of lavender.
He heard a good deal of splashing now, pouring water, and deduced that no one lay in wait for him.
Unmistakably, someone was taking a bath in his room and he had vague suspicions as to who the culprit was. The lavender gave it away.
Remington sat in a huge tub in the center of the chamber, her head wet and her hands vigorously lathering a white cake of soap.
The clothes she had been wearing to gather flowers in lay in a pile by the hearth, while still other garments were carefully laid out on the bed.
He was amazed that it had taken her so little time to prepare a bath and plunge into it; he had seen her not ten minutes before.
He pushed into the room; his eyes riveted to her back the color of fresh cream. Never had he seen such pure, flawless skin and it amused him that Remington had yet to notice him.
“What are you doing in my room?” he asked.
Remington shrieked, immersing herself in the water up to her chin. Her eyes were so huge they threatened to leap from their sockets as she turned to him.
“My lord!” she gasped. “I thought…. I had no idea that …oh!”
A corner of his lips turned up. “You thought what?”
Her cheeks were a delightful shade of pink; she was deeply mortified. “I was dirty after gathering flowers this morn and…I thought you were too busy in the bailey for some time. I had hoped to take my bath and be gone in plenty of time.”
“Why did not you simply take the tub to your room?” he asked.
“Because it is too heavy for the female servants to carry it, my lord, and the men are too old,” she explained. “We must do all of our bathing in this room.”
“I see,” he said. Much to her horror, he was moving closer. “I could have moved it for you.”
“I did not want to be a bother, my lord,” she said, eyeing him warily. “As I said, I had hoped to be done well before you returned.”
“Yet I have returned and you are not finished,” he said.
Remington was starting to shake; she was not only embarrassed, she was terrified. He had the same look Guy had right before he….
“I am finished now,” she said, her voice rising with fright. “If you will but allow me a moment to dry myself, I shall be gone.”
Her sudden terror caught him by surprise; what had he said? Yet he realized that his mere presence frightened her and, for once, he was sorry. He did not want to frighten this woman, although he knew not why.
“Nay, madam, take your time,” he said, backing away. “I have duties that can use my attention. I am in no hurry.”
But Remington was ignoring his words, hell-bent on leaving the room as hastily as she could. She did not like the look in his eye. She knew what he was thinking and she wanted no part of the horrible, unspeakable deed. Stripping her naked, putting his hands roughly on her, and…
“If you will turn around, please,” she asked, her voice cracking. Much to her shame, she was beginning to cry. She simply wanted to be out of the tub and away from him.
“Truly, Lady Remington, you may finish your bath,” he insisted, his voice growing gentler. “I will antagonize you no further.”
She did not even wait for him to turn around; she shot out of the tub and grabbed the huge piece of drying linen, her sobs evident now and her body shaking.
Puzzled and concerned, he watched her jerky movements, wondering what he had done to upset her so.
But even as her mental state concerned him, it did nothing to dampen his appreciation of her nude body.
From the brief glimpse he had stolen, he could see that she was absolutely perfect.
She was sniffling and coughing as she wrapped the linen about her. Snatching the dress, she wrapped that around her haphazardly as well, trying desperately to cover herself from him. Gaston could see how terribly upset she was and he felt the least bit guilty.
“My lady,” he moved to the door. “Please finish your bath. I shall bother you not and I am sorry to have upset you in the first place.”
“You did not upset me,” she insisted loudly, wiping at her nose. “I am leaving now.”
Holding all of her garments to her recklessly, she started to dash past him, desperate to leave his presence. But he reached out to stop her, his massive hands grasping her upper arms and covering them completely.
“What have I said to upset you so?” he asked, not unkindly.
“No,” she shrieked, trying to pull away from him.
She was shaking so badly that her knees gave way and she fell backward, smacking into a chair and landing on her behind.
She looked up at him as if he were planning on eating her alive and her arms wound themselves around her body protectively. “Oh, please…do not….”
He was stunned. She was like a panicked animal, desperately trying to escape whatever terror was hounding her. He’d never seen such a violent reaction to his presence, but he furthermore wasn’t so sure it was entirely him. How could it be? He’d done nothing to warrant this behavior.
Armor and all, he slowly crouched where he stood, several feet away from her. His smoky gray eyes were wide with concern.
“Do not what?” he asked gently.
Remington blinked at him, aware that she had let her fear get the better of her. Where Guy was concerned, she was always irrational with terror and she was suddenly deeply ashamed of her actions. She couldn’t stop herself from slipping into hot tears of embarrassment and fright.
“Why are you crying, angel?” he asked again, his deep voice more soothing than anything she had ever heard in her life.
But she couldn’t speak, instead, burying her face in her hands. She wished he would simply go away and leave her to compose herself.
He watched her sob for a moment, feeling a strange tugging at his heart.
Then, very slowly as not to provoke her further, he stood and removed his plate armor.
It dropped with little noise against the wall by the door, piece by piece.
He shirked his mail hauberk and trews and his heavy black boots.
When he was free of the equipment, he took several careful steps towards Remington, being mindful not to get too close.
She continued to sob softly, absolutely drained emotionally.
“You are going to make yourself ill,” he said softly. “Get up off the floor, my lady, and sit by the fire.”
His voice jolted her a bit and she wiped her eyes and face, clutching the garments awkwardly.
“I do apologize, my lord, for my display,” she said hoarsely, trying to rise. “I would return to my room now and leave you in peace.”
He wanted to help her to her feet but he wasn’t sure how she would react to him.
Clumsily, she stood and picked her way across the cold floor to the door.
Her drying hair was a mass of dark spiral curls, dampening her back but infinitely charming.
He watched her with gentle eyes, something completely out of character for him.
She closed the door softly and left him standing there, puzzled to the core.
He somehow knew that Guy Stoneley was responsible for the outburst and he was truly curious as to what she had meant by “do not”.
Do not hit me? Do not hurt me? Do not…? His head came up sharply and he stared at the closed door.
Do not rape me?
He wondered.