Chapter Nine #2
Mari-Elle was clear. She wrote to Henry and discovered that Gaston had recently been sent north to Yorkshire, to a keep called Mt.
Holyoak. Mari-Elle packed up her entire household and set out for Yorkshire, desperate to be with her husband.
She had to convince him that she had missed him terribly and to beg his forgiveness, to lie with him and conceive another child.
Her plan would work perfectly if everything went according to her schedule.
Much had happened between her and Gaston and she knew he hated her, and frankly she had not cared in the least until a few weeks ago.
Now, she could only hope she was convincing when she pledged her undying love to the man.
He knew her well; too well, and she knew he would take a great deal of convincing.
Trenton walked beside her, his dark gray eyes observing his surroundings solemnly. He was extremely tall for his age, almost as tall as his mother, with his father’s dark features.
“Father returned hours ago,” the boy said. “Why hasn’t he come to see us?”
“Do not feel badly, dear,” Mari-Elle said. “You know your father has never liked children, and he certainly never wanted a son. But he will grow accustomed to you, I promise. That’s why I brought you here, isn’t it? For you to get to know your father.”
Trenton shrugged in the same gesture Gaston used sometimes.
He knew his father did not like him, but he was proud of his father nonetheless.
There was a great deal of prestige being the Dark Knight’s son.
He was torn between hating his father terribly and loving him desperately, wondering what he had ever done to make his father stay away all the time.
He was a good boy, with a good heart, fortunately not damaged too badly by his mother’s devilish ways.
More than anything, he was simply confused.
His mother did not have time for him, his father was non-existent, and there was truly no one for him.
He spent his days at Clearwell playing with his dogs or exploring in the neighboring woods when it wasn’t too cold, a lonely life for a lonely boy.
“I believe this keep will do quite nicely,” Mari-Elle said with approval. “Far different from Clearwell, is it not?”
“It is bigger,” Trenton said. “But not as well decorated.”
“That will change,” Mari-Elle said confidently, already imagining the possibilities. Then, her eyes fell on her son. “Let us go and find your father, shall we? He must be outside somewhere.
Controlling his nervousness and excitement, Trenton followed her.
They stood on the steps overlooking the inner bailey for quite a while. Soldiers and knights whirled past them, but no one stopped, even when Mari-Elle tried to gain their attention. Finally, she spied a familiar head and sent Trenton across the courtyard to Arik.
“Sir Arik,” Trenton called.
The knight turned around, smiling at the lad. “What is it, young de Russe?”
“My father, Sir Arik. Where is he? My mother wishes to speak with him,” Trenton said.
Arik’s eyes rose over the boy’s head and he stared straight on into Mari-Elle several yards away.
Tall, elegant Mari-Elle. She was lovely in a high-bred sort of way, but her face was too thin for his taste.
Her dark hair was pulled back sharply and arranged with all sorts of jewels, and her brown eyes gazed haughtily over the courtyard.
He sighed, feeling his sincere dislike for the woman.
He looked back at Trenton, forcing his face to brighten. “Would you like to come with me as we search for him?”
Trenton nodded. “Aye, I would.”
Gaston wasn’t hard to find. He was inside the troop house, watching the final touches being put into the ceiling.
“My lord,” Arik called to him. “You have a visitor.”
Gaston turned sharply, his eyes falling on his son, a younger version of himself. He was suddenly sorry he had not sought out Mari-Elle earlier, if for no other reason than to see Trenton.
“Greetings, Trenton,” he said, coming closer. “I am pleased to see how much you have grown since I last saw you.”
“It was a year ago, my lord,” Trenton said, trying to control his quivering. He couldn’t believe he was actually facing his father. “I was only seven years old.”
“And now you are practically a grown man,” Gaston said with satisfaction. He looked at Arik. “What do you think of my son?”
“He shall be a great knight as you,” Arik replied. “Look at the size of his hands already.”
Trenton looked at his hands, turning them over. “I…I am set to foster soon, mother says.”
“She is correct,” Gaston replied. “You will be fostering here with me. You and I have been apart far too long, Trenton. I would keep you here with me and oversee your training.”
Trenton’s jaw hung slack. “I will train here? With you?”
“Indeed,” Gaston replied, wondering of the boy’s shock was from displeasure or happiness.
Trenton was stunned. His gray eyes widened at his father a moment, but he said nothing. Truth was, he was speechless. Arik slapped the boy affectionately on the back.
“Say what you had in mind, lad,” he said. “Your father is a busy man.”
He was always busy, always moving, always fighting. Trenton cleared his throat, for he was terribly nervous in his father’s presence. “Mother seeks you, my lord. She wishes to speak with you.”
Gaston’s face darkened. “Tell your mother that I am indisposed at the moment and will join her when I am able,” he said evenly, then paused thoughtfully.
“I have changed my mind. I shall send a soldier to your mother. You may stay here with me and help me oversee the finish of my troop house. What do you think so far?”
Trenton was in a daze; his father actually wanted his opinion?
After everything his mother had told him, after everything he had been led to believe, he was confused and delighted beyond his young mind’s grasp.
All he could do was nod as his father took him along, explaining the purpose of the addition.
Arik watched them slowly walk away, knowing how terribly Gaston had missed his son and pleased to see them together and away from the influence of the bitch.
Turning on his heel, he would deliver the master’s message personally.
*
The nooning meal was served with a good deal of flourish and style. Mari-Elle’s cook was from Normandy, a talented artisan that had turned a simple meal into a sumptuous affair.
Gaston entered the hall last, as was usual, passing a skeptical eye over the room. Strange smells from exotic dishes assaulted his nose and he found himself wishing for the simple smell of mutton. Trenton, beside him, caught sight of Mari-Elle first.
“There’s mother,” he pointed eagerly. “She’s waving to you.”
Gaston clenched his jaw as he focused on his wife. Tall, thin, and cold, exactly as he had remembered, except…except she was smiling. Instantly he went even more on his guard than he usually was. Trenton ran on ahead and Arik approached casually.
“Ah, the spider calling to the fly,” he mumbled in the direction of his lord’s ear.
Gaston’s jaw flexed dangerously. “Except this fly is about to quash the spider. Have you checked on Remington and the rest of the family?”
“I sent a couple of knights upstairs to make sure they were taken care of,” Arik replied. “I did not want to miss the entertainment.”
Patrick and Nicolas joined the small group, suddenly very conspicuous in the archway to the great hall.
“She’s turned this meal into a goddamn courtly affair,” Patrick murmured. He had always been the most mild-tempered of Gaston’s knights, but even he had little love for Mari-Elle.
“Get in there,” Gaston snapped softly. “Eat and be done. We shall not turn this into a social occasion.”
They wandered into the hall to their usual places.
Mari-Elle had taken the extreme liberty of setting herself next to her husband and greeted Patrick with overbearing affection.
She began to seat the men around her, her thin face flushed with pleasure.
Gaston stood a few feet away, his hands on his massive hips as he watched his wife with great disapproval.
Mari-Elle’s eyes met with his and her expression grew very soft, loving even. “My lord husband,” she said in a husky voice. “I am so glad to finally see you.”
He did not reply for a moment. His displeasure was obvious, like a slap in the face. “And I am surprised to see you. We have much to discuss, wife.”
She smiled prettily and lowered her lashes. “As my lord pleases. I am at your disposal. Would you take your seat now, my lord, and be served?”
He moved past her briskly, ignoring her soundly as he took his seat. Mari-Elle sat next to him, making sure to brush his leg with her knee. He did not react, instead, drinking deeply from his tankard. He always drank too much when he was around her.
Servants began flowing from the kitchens, bringing out trenchers for the men.
There were suddenly several serving wenches at the head of the table where Gaston sat, all setting food in front of the knights.
The wench serving Gaston set his plate down carefully and fully brushed her breasts against his arm as she pulled back.
Annoyed, he shot her an icy look and was shocked to see Remington wink back at him.
His eyes rapidly went to every serving wench at the table; Skye and Jasmine, dressed as servants, were assisting the knights. Rory smiled boldly at him. It took him a second to realize his mouth had popped open and he quickly shut it.
Arik met his eyes questioningly but he ignored the look; he was trying to figure out what the devil the women of Mt. Holyoak were doing dressed in coarse linen serving clothes, wooden clogs and leather girdles.
He was so stunned he almost forgot about his food. Mechanically, he dug into his plate, eyeing Remington and her sisters as they served his men.
“Where is my food?” Mari-Elle demanded imperiously; she was the only one that had not been served. “You – wench!”