Chapter Seven #5
Remington blinked; aye, he was handsome and it was about time she realized it.
She had always known it, but she was not ready to admit it to herself.
To think of him as handsome would open the gate for other emotions she had never experienced yet was terrified to know.
She had spent so many years masking her emotions that she was unwilling to allow them to surface.
She turned her head slightly and found herself staring at his profile. He was far more than handsome; he was sensual, virile, and masculine. Beautiful. Could a man be beautiful? She wondered.
The minstrels struck up a slow ballad, traditional and lovely. A few of the more drunken knights grabbed the nearest serving wench and drug them out into the center of the floor, breaking into an elegant dance.
Antonius rose, smiling at Remington as he moved away from the table. She thought to herself that he looked much like a Roman god, sculpted and elegant. It took her a moment to see that he had gone directly to her sister and instantly the two of them were gliding across the floor.
Before Remington could react, Nicolas and Patrick had the same idea and soon Rory and Skye were traipsing the stone as well, swung giddy by their knights.
“Mummy.” Dane tugged on her arm. “Mummy.”
She tore her eyes away from the scene and looked at her son. “What is it?”
“Arik has a sword he says I can have.” Dane was twitching with excitement. “Can I see it? Please?”
She was torn. He looked completely delighted and she found it difficult to refuse him. God only knew the boy had had so little excitement out of life.
Jasmine’s blue dress swung by and caught her attention, for a second, until Dane tugged on her again.
“Very well, very well,” she agreed, looking to Arik. “Take good care of him, my lord. He’s just a boy.”
“Mummy,” Dane protested weakly.
Arik smiled and put his hand on Dane’s shoulder. “Beg your pardon, my lady, but he is nearly a man grown. However, for your peace of mind, I shall watch him like a hawk.”
Remington watched the two of them retreat from the hall, leaving her alone with Gaston. They had yet to say one word to each other.
The dance suddenly livened and the delighted shrieks of the women filled the hall as they were swung about by their partners. Remington could see Jasmine laughing happily into Antonius’ arms and she felt her protectiveness turning into confusion. Was Gaston right? Was she too overprotective?
Nay. She told herself sharply. She had to protect her sisters from those who would do them harm, supposedly chivalrous knights included.
And Jasmine, somehow, most of all. She was the most vulnerable; the most bitter.
And she was the only sister to bear a bastard from her sister’s husband.
The child was nearly two years old now and living with a family in Boroughbridge.
It had almost killed her sister to give up the blond-haired girl and Remington was sick every time she thought of little Mary.
She had to protect Jasmine.
She suddenly stood up. “’Tis time we retire for the night, my lord. Thank you for permitting my son and I to dine with you.”
He reached out and put a hand on her arm. “Sit down, Remi.”
She turned to him sharply. “I…we have had a full day, my lord. My sisters are tired.”
“Nay, they are not,” he tugged on her arm and she plopped back into the chair. “They are enjoying themselves as you should be.”
She stumbled a bit, glancing nervously at the dancers. He sat forward in his chair, his great head by her shoulders. “You do not know how to enjoy yourself, do you?”
She peered at him over her shoulder. “You are the one without a sense of humor, my lord. Not I.”
“Eggs in a knight’s helm is not humorous,” he said flatly.
Her lips twitched. “I disagree.”
His gaze raked over her. “You were most calculating this afternoon, madam. I had no idea you were so sly.”
She turned her attention back to the dancers. “I know not what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” he studied her profile, her flawless skin. “I should punish you as well as your sister for going against me.”
She raised an eyebrow and looked at him impatiently. “Lock us both in the tower?”
It was a saucy statement and he raised his eyebrows in response. “I was thinking more of locking you both in the vault for thirty days.”
“What?” she gasped, turning her full attention to him. Gone was her flippant attitude.
“Unless,” he held up a finger quickly. “Unless you are prepared to do penitence of my choosing.”
“Penitence of your choosing?” she repeated, puzzled. “What in the world would that be?”
His eyes twinkled and she was greatly confused. “A dance, my lady,” he said softly. “One dance will spare you and your sister my wrath.”
Her mouth opened, dumbfounded. Then she was frightened. “A dance?” she repeated. It wasn’t that she did not like to dance, but that meant that he would have to…hold her.
Arms around her only meant pain and humiliation.
She hated to be touched as a result of her husband’s abuse and as Gaston had learned, she quickly turned into a hurricane of terror when cornered.
But thoughts of Gaston’s arms flooded her mind, arms so strong and beautiful that they made her feel faint.
She had slept in his arms, better than she had slept in years.
He stood up, holding his hand out to her just as another slow ballad began. She gazed up at him and he could read the terror and hesitation and smiled gently.
“Dance with me, angel,” he said softly. “I promise I shall be gentle.”
She did not want to be held by anyone…but the thought of his arms around her brought unfamiliar feelings of warmth and comfort. Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The next time she looked at him, her eyes were welling with confused tears and he stopped.
“Oh, Remi, forgive me,” he whispered. “I will not make you do something you are uncomfortable with.”
To his surprise, she stood firm. “Nay, I will dance with you,” she sniffed, dashing away the tears. But he wasn’t moving, instead, he was pulling her chair out again. “Gaston, truly. I shall dance with you. I think…I think I need to dance with you.”
His eyes studied her closely to see what exactly she meant. Weakly, she smiled. “I have not danced in years. I think I need to dance this night. If not with you, then with someone else.”
“Like hell,” he stood his full height. “You will dance with me and me alone. I forbid another man to touch you.”
He led her out onto the dance floor and took her in his arms with infinite tenderness. She stiffened instinctively, but forced herself to calm, giving in to his warm arms. With great skill, he swung her into the group of revelers.
They danced three dances together. Color flushed Remington’s cheeks and she found it hard to believe that she was actually enjoying herself, but she was and it was all of Gaston’s doing.
He was a wonderful dancer and she was growing more enchanted with him by the minute.
He could make her laugh; make her feel as if she were the most beautiful woman on earth.
The same minstrel who tried to dance with her the night before tried to cut in on Gaston, who sent the man cowering with an icy glare. Remington laughed, cradled in his arms, thinking that someday she might even like being held by a man. It was certainly easy to tolerate Gaston.
Arik found Gaston on the outer wall late that evening, well after the castle had retired for the evening. The world around them was still but for the crickets chirping in the trees and the soft whistle of the wind over the landscape. Above, the nearly full moon bathed the land in a silver glow.
“What are you doing?” Arik came upon him where he was leaning over the ledge of the wall, inspecting the grounds below.
Gaston flicked his hand in the direction of Brimley’s camp, a half mile in the distance. “Watching.”
“Any activity?” Arik could see the faint glow from the pyre.
“None,” Gaston replied. “Seems they are all sleeping like babes. They must trust us.”
Arik smirked. “Fools,” he turned his back on the wall, leaning back and looking up to the sky. “I heard you convinced Lady Stoneley to dance tonight.”
“After much pleading and coaxing,” Gaston confirmed. “She not only looks like an angel, she dances like one. In fact, there is not one thing about the woman that is imperfect and at times she makes me feel most inferior.”
Arik looked at him, gushing like a smitten boy. He had never seen him so…open. He should have been thrilled for him, but he found he was skeptical instead.
“You are quite taken with Lady Stoneley, aren’t you?” he asked carefully.
Gaston shrugged. “I enjoy her company if that’s what you mean.”
“It is not what I mean and you know it,” Arik said. “What was it you told Antonius? Keep your mind on your business, not on Lady Stoneley?”
Gaston’s jaw flexed. “Your point being?”
Arik looked at him a moment. “She is married, Gaston. And so are you.”
Gaston stood up, angrily. “I do not need you to remind me of that fact, my friend, for I am only too aware of it,” he snapped. “I enjoy Lady Stoneley on a conversational level and that is the extent of it. I have no time for mistresses.”
Arik was fully aware of the thin ice he tread upon.
He was acquainted with the Dark Knight’s temper, and fists, and took several steps back, crossing his arms thoughtfully.
“If you ask my opinion, my lord, there is more to it than that. I would say you were quite taken with the woman, as I have indicated before. And she’s scared to death of you. ”
“Why do you say that?” Gaston demanded.
Arik shook his head in a helpless gesture.
“Guy has scarred her terribly, Gaston,” he said.
“You have probably seen more examples of that than I, and it’s obvious that you frighten her.
Not in the physical sense, but more on the emotional level.
She is attracted to you, I think, and afraid of her feelings. ”