Chapter Eight #4
It suddenly hit her that she wished for it to be true. Somehow, in the two weeks she had known him, something completely wonderful and utterly devastating had happened. He had endeared himself to her completely as her savior, her hero, her friend, and her son’s idol.
She was in love with him.
She did not want to love him.
“Ah, I see your son has his father’s features,” the merchant continued recklessly. “See if he holds his father’s good taste, as well. See if he likes the perfume, too.”
Remington felt a painful shock go through her and suddenly she was reeling away from the table, rushing away blindly with no destination in mind, simply to get away.
She couldn’t control the tears that were gushing freely now, not even knowing why she was crying, but that she was.
Every emotion she had ever felt was magnified ten-fold by the merchant’s words, the slap of realization painful to her soul.
Gaston tried to catch her as she whirled away but Dane stood in the way. Quickly, he set the vials down and passed the boy off to Roald.
“Stay here,” he told them.
She had dashed behind the vendor’s shacks and he followed, walking quickly but not running because just one of his strides equaled three of hers. She was several yards ahead of him, dashing into a heavily tree-lined park that was surrounded by peasant huts.
She ducked behind a thick oak. He could still see the rose of her surcoat and saw that she had come to a halt, and he slowed his steps accordingly. Quietly, he came up on the tree and made sure he was in plain view as not to startle her.
She was sobbing against the trunk, her face pressed into her crooked arm.
“Remi, what on earth is the matter?” he asked gently.
She had heard him approach, knowing that he would come for her, but she truly wanted to be alone. She could not comprehend the myriad of emotions taking their toll on her spirits.
“Go away,” she cried softly. “Please, Gaston, just go away.”
“Not until you tell me why you are crying,” he said. “Was the perfume really that bad?”
She choked out a laugh among the sobs, but it was short-lived.
He waited patiently while she cried, wanting earnestly to know why her heart was broken.
In the back of his mind he suspected a reason, but he was reluctant to pursue it.
He was fearful to know if she was crying because the merchant had called him her husband and she loathed the idea.
But something inside him needed to know.
“Are you upset because he called me your husband?” he said softly, moving closer to her. “It was an innocent mistake. He saw us together, and Dane, and naturally assumed we were a family. Is it so terrible?”
“No,” she burst out, turning her face to him and stumbling back against the tree trunk. Her beautiful face was red with tears and intense feelings. “It’s not terrible at all. That is the problem, Gaston. I….”
She stopped dead in her tracks and all sobbing ceased, her eyes wide at him.
Shocked as she was that she had almost spilled out the contents of her mind, she sniffled and stepped away from him quickly, wiping at her face.
“I…just do not like being reminded that I have a husband,” she whispered, although that was not what she was thinking. I want my husband to be you.
His brows drew together in faint concern and he removed his helmet, tossing it to the ground. Slowly, he pulled off one of his gauntlets. “Is that all? There is nothing else?”
“Aye,” she said, her voice squeaking and her lip quivering.
His gaze devoured her for a moment and she was positive he could read everything she was thinking. They were hidden behind the oak tree, surrounded by undergrowth from prying eyes, and his huge head came up to her cheek. “I do not believe you.”
She burst into tears right then and there. He pulled her up against him, sorry for the very first time in his life that he was wearing armor. He did so want to feel her against him.
He cradled her as she bawled like a baby. “Tell me, angel. What is so terrible that you cry as if your heart is broken?”
Her hand was partially covering her face, her cheek against his cold armor. Her sobs were open, painful, and she felt him kiss her forehead and lay his cheek against the top of her head. It undid her even more until she could hardly breathe through the force of her sobs.
“Slow down, angel,” he whispered against her forehead. “You are going to make yourself ill. Slow down and breathe and tell me what the matter is.”
How could she tell him? She had never been able to verbalize her feelings because she had so deeply suppressed them. She had no idea where to begin, or how to lie to him, because she was terrified to tell him the truth. But she had no control over her mouth for a moment.
“I want to die,” she squeaked.
“You want to die? Why in the hell do you want to die?” his eyebrows drew together.
She coughed and sobbed and he held her tighter. “Because my life is ruined.”
“It is? Why?” he asked gently.
“Because…because it is,” she stammered, feeling light-headed with all of her crying.
“You are not making any sense,” he kissed her forehead again. “Stop your tears, now. Dane will not wait patiently for us much longer.”
She sobbed anew at the sound of her own son’s name and he frowned gently. “Now what? What did I say?”
“Dane,” she cried softly. “He loves you.”
“I am very fond of him, as well,” he was beginning to smile at the comical nature of the situation; she was absolutely silly but he was enjoying it in a peculiar sense. “Come now, Remi. Stop crying or Dane is going to go on without us.”
She almost couldn’t cry anymore. Her head hurt dreadfully and she had the hiccups to boot. Biting her lip, she wiped and wiped at her wet face until the tears had evaporated. He held her the entire time, stroking her hair with his uncovered hand.
“That’s better,” he held her back, gazing down into her angelic face. “Would you like to get something to eat now?”
She nodded, sniffling. He reached down and collected his helmet, plopping it back on his head and pulling his gauntlet back on. She watched him absently, feeling depressed.
His head came up from adjusting his gloves and he smiled at her, a rare bright smile. “What do you want to eat?”
She shrugged as he took her arm. “Ask Dane.”
Dane was eager for a meat pie. Gaston found a vendor that made a wonderful cheese and meat concoction and the young boy devoured two of the dishes.
Remington picked at hers, keeping an eye out for her sisters, as Dane delved into a raspberry custard.
They ate together under the shade of a tree while Gaston and his men stood watch several feet away.
There were streets and streets of merchants come to Ripon for the Mid-Summer Faire.
Dane had no shortage of interests as he went from booth to booth, scanning the wares until he came across something that interested him.
Remington and Gaston followed him, not speaking to each other, pretending to be interested in other things.
In faith, Remington had no idea what to say to him and turned her attention to whatever the faire had to offer.
To think of Gaston and her outburst threatened to bring on the tears again.
They met up with her sisters at a cloth merchant’s store and the four women began pouring over the winter fabrics.
Excellent wool from Leeds and as far north as Scotland graced his tables and Remington bargained heavily for several different materials.
With winter coming, they wanted to stock up on their heavy garments.
Gaston watched Remington barter with the merchant, noticing how cleverly she wheedled the man down from his original price.
Whereas most women could be very aggressive, Remington used her natural charm and pleasant manner to achieve her goal.
In fact, in the end, the merchant was barely making a profit on the substantial sale and lamented loudly on it.
Rory and Jasmine nodded confidently to one another as Remington counted out the money; they would each have three new winter surcoats with the fabric secured and Gaston’s men began loading the bolts into the wagon.
“That woman barters like a barrister,” Antonius murmured to Gaston. “I personally would not want to go against her.”
“She is intelligent,” Gaston said simply, proudly in fact.
Antonius made a sort of a longing sigh and Gaston banked the urge to shoot him a hard glance. Instead, he broke rank with his knights and moved forward to take a bolt of material that Remington was trying to handle. He put it in the wagon and turned around, his hands on his hips.
“Anything else?” he asked with a touch of sarcasm.
She raised a stubborn eyebrow. “Could be, my lord. I shall know when I see it.”
He wanted to swat her on the backside playfully but dared not touch her. Instead, they progressed down the street again, mayhap a bit more comfortable with each other. The more time passed, the easier it was to forget about her crying jag.
At mid-afternoon a parade passed down the street, loud women and even louder men dressed in wild costumes and brightly painted.
They were singing and dancing and Dane thought it all great fun as they passed by and threw bits of ribbon to the crowd.
He caught a ribbon to go with his dirty candy, mightily pleased.
The parade passed and the crowd disbanded, moving along their way. Remington had Dane by the hand and was walking forward with her sisters as the men paced leisurely behind them, followed by the wagon. From the rear, they heard the weighty fall of hoof beats and the jingle of armor.
“I thought it was you,” came a voice, very low and unfriendly. “You have a lot of courage to show your face in Yorkshire, de Russe.”
Gaston turned around calmly. Four massive knights astride huge, scarred chargers stood beside the wagon. Several men-at-arms were following the knights, all as ruthless-looking and hardened as the knight sounded.