Chapter Eight #3
“He likes me,” Dane said proudly, beaming at Gaston.
“Aye, he does,” Gaston agreed. “A smart animal.”
Dane continued to pet the dog and Gaston turned his head in the direction of approaching horses; destriers, no doubt, from the sound of the thunder. He briefly wondered what fools would be riding chargers in the midst of civilians.
Remington picked that moment to cross the street toward them.
He caught her out of the corner of his eye and whirled around, preparing to yell at her to halt.
His heart went racing into his throat, visions of her plastered all over the dirt filling his mind.
Gaston had never come close to panic in his life; the distinct taste of it on his tongue brought him to a new level of awareness.
But the chargers were already coming to a stop, and so did Remington. She took a few steps back as the great warhorses danced in front of her, four of them in all. Astride them sat four well-seasoned, over-dressed knights.
Gaston went from the verge of panic to the brink of extreme protectiveness. He could see Roald taking hold of Remington’s arm and pulling her back, away from the men, but Remington did not appear the least bit concerned. One of the knights threw up his visor.
“By damn. Remington Stoneley, in the flesh.” he crowed. “I have not seen you in over a year, girl. Where are your man-eating sisters?”
Remington smiled broadly at the man and Gaston had to clench his fists to keep from raging out of control. Already, he was making his way toward them, fighting to keep a casual pace.
“What are you doing here, Derek? I heard you were in Manchester,” she said gaily.
The knight was a young, fair, generally dashing man. He waved a careless hand at her. “I was, but I came back here to catch a glimpse of you. You look ravishing, love, as usual.”
She blushed prettily and Gaston nearly exploded. But he kept his calm demeanor, rounding the chargers to stand next to Roald, several feet back, scrutinizing the knights, arms crossed to make their arms bigger and even more imposing.
Dane scooted to his mother and Remington took his hand affectionately. “Dane, do you remember Sir Derek Botmore of Rainton?”
Dane shook his head, suddenly shy, and Sir Derek laughed. “Thank God he looks like you and not his father,” he said, leaning forward in his saddle. “Say, I heard a nasty rumor that Guy was thrown in the White Tower after Bosworth and that Mt. Holyoak is occupied by Henry’s arm. What about that?”
Remington’s smile faded. “Sir Gaston de Russe is our lord now,” she said evenly.
Sir Derek sat back in the saddle, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “De Russe? De Russe? Christ, Calvin, where have I heard that name?”
“The Dark Knight,” the knight on his flank said assuredly. “You have heard of him, Derek. The bastard that betrayed Richard and turned the tides at Bosworth, among other things. He and Matt Wellesbourne go hand in hand when speaking of traitors.”
Derek waved him off. “The White Lord cannot be grouped with de Russe,” he told him. “There is a reason why they call the man the Dark Knight. He is pure evil.”
Remington’s light mood was gone. She hated to hear these men speak so callously of Gaston, even though they spoke the truth.
She had never asked him about Bosworth because she honestly did not care; she knew him to be a fine, noble man and knew he must have had his reasons for what he did.
Whatever the reason, though, it did not matter to her.
“He is an excellent lord, Calvin, and I will not hear you say such horrible things about him,” she said firmly, motioning to the two knights behind Derek and Calvin, as well.
“Surely you are no angel yourself, any of you. George, Robert, do not try to hide behind your visors for I know it to be you. Cowards who chose to pursue the tournament circuit rather than fight for your king.”
Sir Derek put up a hand to silence her. “To each his own, Remington. Calvin meant no harm,” he said. “As to your accusation of cowardice, I beg to differ. It takes a good deal of bravery to fight in tournament after tournament against men who are trying to skin you alive.”
“The same as with on the battlefield, only we get paid for taking risks,” Calvin cut in with a grin. “If I am going to risk life and limb, I want to be well-compensated.”
She shook her head, the mood entirely broken. “You are nothing but little boys. Get out of my sight before I take you all over my knee.”
Derek’s face brightened lewdly. “Me, first.”
Gaston had all he could take from the young idiots. He stepped forward but was caught off guard when Dane latched onto his leg as if afraid of the men who were speaking to his mother. Astonished, he put his hand on the boy to reassure him but continued forward.
“Be gone with you,” he growled. “You have taken enough of the lady’s time.”
The four men were startled by the deep voice and pure size of the man; Gaston found it hard to believe that they had failed to notice him until this moment.
Remington turned to look at him, visions of him snapping the soldier’s neck on her behalf filling her mind. She was suddenly fearful that Derek’s life was in jeopardy, as well.
“Sir Gaston, this is Sir Derek Botmore,” she said quickly. “His father is Lord Botmore, one of the more powerful barons in Yorkshire. They have a large fortress just south of Rainton.”
“Sir Gaston?” Sir Derek repeated in a whisper. “The Sir Gaston?”
“Your father is expected to meet with me soon. I do not want to see you with him when he comes to my keep,” Gaston said.
Derek’s mouth opened in outrage, and then quickly shut it again. “If that is your wish, my lord, then I will oblige you.”
Gaston did not reply. Derek eyed him for a moment longer before looking to Remington.
“Remington, always a pleasure,” he said with a forced smile; he was truly frightened of the massive man with the legendary reputation.
“That is Lady Remington to you, pup,” Gaston took another step forward. “You will show no disrespect to the lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Derek cleared his throat and slammed his visor down. Reining the chargers a wide berth around Gaston, he and his companions lost themselves in the crowd as they headed for the tournament arena. Gaston turned to watch them go, patting Dane again after a moment.
“Arrogant whelps,” he mumbled.
Remington was watching him. He turned to look at her, seeing an expression he had never seen before; her eyes were smiling and her face was almost seductive.
There was nothing particular about her expression for she wasn’t truly smiling; it was simply the way she was looking at him.
His visor went up for the first time since their arrival.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
“Not a thing, my lord,” she replied, a smile creeping onto her lips.
He was jolted by the entire action, his body tingling with excitement. Before he could press her further, she coyly lowered her lashes and turned away.
Dane let go of his leg but slipped his hand into the great mailed glove. Gaston held his hand tightly as they followed Remington along the line of merchants. Roald, the men-at-arms, and the horses brought up the rear.
Woodcarvers tried to sell them items both useless and common.
A merchant dealing in weapons tried to convince Remington that she needed an exquisite bejeweled dagger, but she giggled and politely waved the man off.
There were jugglers and acrobats parading up and down the avenue to a long pole.
One of them sat Dane in a chair and proceeded to balance the chair atop the pole on his chin as Dane clung to the chair for dear life.
Gaston firmly indicated for the man to put the lad down, and he did so.
But then Dane begged to be put aloft again and Gaston rolled his eyes, moving the child along before he demanded to join the circus.
Remington watched her son and Gaston together, the affection was evident between them.
Dane acted as if Gaston were the most important person in his life and she completely understood; he had never had a true father, nor a real male figure to look up to.
He was completely in love with Gaston as only a little boy could be.
Her heart warmed at the interaction, at Gaston’s uncanny ability with the boy.
She could see what a wonderful father he was and it softened her and hurt at the same time.
She greatly envied Mari-Elle de Russe her husband, for it was something Remington would never have the pleasure of knowing.
A man to love her son, and to love her. Once she never even thought of such unattainable things, but seeing Gaston with Dane not only made her think of it, it made her want it.
The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
A perfume merchant made her forget her tears as he tried to sell her on everything he had.
She sniffed at a couple of bottles, but nothing caught her attention.
Gaston pushed his way forward and picked up one of the bottles, inhaling deeply.
Dane maneuvered between his mother and the knight, watching them both eagerly.
“You do not smell perfume like that,” Remington admonished softly. “You sniff it delicately, two or three times to better digest the scent.”
He looked at her seriously and took her advice with the next bottle. His eyebrows lifted with mild approval and he held it out to her for her opinion.
“Ah, lady, your husband knows a fine scent when he smells it,” the merchant gushed. “See if you do not approve of his taste.”
Remington looked at the man in shock; she could barely smell the vial Gaston was offering to her. Strangely, her breathing grew rapid and her insides twisted painfully at the one word the merchant had used; husband. He called Gaston her husband.