Chapter Nine #4
Quietly, they took their places by the huge hearth and Remington stood forward, clearing her throat loudly until the room eventually quieted.
Gaston saw her standing bravely in front of the room, wondering what in the hell she was doing.
He slanted a concerned glance at Arik, who merely lifted his eyebrows.
The meal was growing more interesting, and more puzzling, by the moment.
Something told him to put a stop to it, but morbid inquisitiveness won over.
“Good knights and honored guest,” Remington began; she had a most delightful speaking voice. “In honor of our arrived mistress, we have commissioned a special song. With your permission, my lord Gaston?”
Gaston nodded slightly, his eyes glittering at her. A roomful of people was watching them and he carefully banked his reaction.
Remington resumed her spot between Rory and Skye. Jasmine began stroking the lyre beautifully, the rich chords filling the hall. The men relaxed, settled back, and waited for what was sure to be a most delightful song. They were positive nothing else could come from such a lovely woman.
They were wrong.
Which was why they were startled when the chords suddenly stopped and all four women dug into the song with the fragility of waves crashing onto jagged rocks. The first word, a roaring “Oh” sounded like four drunken tavern wenches lifting their tankards in tribute to a fine man gone by.
It certainly made them sit up and take notice.
Patrick sprayed his wine all over the floor at the boom, his eyes widening in surprise.
Antonius, who had been balancing his chair on two legs, almost fell over had Nicolas not reached out and grabbed him.
The loudness, the rowdy manner coming from the sisters was beyond believing.
They were not even singing; they were yelling at the top of their lungs.
Oh! We serve the lord, his keep, his hold
We love to eat, to piss, to scold
They call us bawdy. Hiyo! ’Tis an art.
In honor of our new mistress, a ceremonial fart.
They put their tongues between their lips and let out the most obnoxious sound ever heard. The entire room burst into screaming laughter, tankards banging so loud on the tables that it was difficult to hear. The room was full of rabble-rousing men, demanding more of the song.
Gaston could only stare at the four women near the hearth, barely comprehending what he had just heard. Absently, his hand went to his head in utter disbelief and beside him, Trenton erupted into giggles. Mari-Elle, however, was not amused.
“My lord,” she hissed. “Are you going to allow them to continue to insult me?”
Gaston did not answer as they started in with another one of their roaring “Oh’s.” The “Oh’s” seemed to get louder and he could hear Rory at the head of it.
Oh! Welcome to our humble fortress and keep
Do not let the shit in the bailey stick to your feet
Enjoy your visit, my lady, we pray
Do not let the door hit you in the arse should you
Decide not to stay.
The room went wild with screaming, riotous men voicing their approbation.
The four sisters smiled and curtsied swiftly before dashing off the floor and into the kitchens.
Gaston watched them go, laughter such as he had never known threatening to spill forth.
When he looked at Mari-Elle’s reddened face, he wanted to laugh all the more.
Patrick and Antonius had to excuse themselves; they were too far gone to control their laughter and risked being rude by abruptly leaving. Nicolas had his napkin up in front of his face, shielding him from everyone’s eyes. The mood of the room was still one of hysteria.
“Do not you feel honored, Mother?” Trenton asked, still giggling. “They sang a song to you.”
Mari-Elle’s thin face was taut. “Some song,” she put her napkin down stiffly. “My lord, if you will excuse me, I would like to rest. I find I am not feeling well.”
Gaston gazed impassively at her. “Rest while you will. I will seek you out shortly.”
Angrily, she rose and quit the room. Gaston was thankful that Remington and her sisters were nowhere in sight. He, however, was most interested in seeking out Remington and discovering her reasons for disobeying him, even if she and her sisters had performed brilliantly.
“Arik, take my son in hand,” he rose from his chair. “I have something to attend to.”
“No doubt,” Arik lifted an eyebrow.
Gaston ignored the remark and disappeared into the kitchens.
The nervous servants pointed him in the direction the sisters had taken and he followed swiftly. He wound his way out of the kitchens and came upon a small staircase. Realizing they had retreated to their chambers, he went after them.
Remington was in her room stripping off the coarse garment and girdle, giggling to herself. Dane and Charles were in Charles’ room after quickly informing Remington that Lady Mari-Elle’s room was a minefield. Feeling wicked, but gratified, Remington set about removing the scratchy servant’s garb.
She did not stop to think of consequences because she did not think there would be any.
She so terribly feared Guy’s wrath, but somehow, she did not fear Gaston’s.
It was difficult to explain, but she knew he would never hurt her, or shame her in any way, no matter what she had done.
With him, she felt…. free. Free to be herself.
Free of fear. Even if she had been sly and naughty!
The door to her chamber swung open and banged loudly against the wall. Startled, she whirled around to see Gaston looming in the doorjamb. And he did not look pleased.
She suddenly wondered at the wisdom of her actions, but she did not back down. “My lord?” she greeted innocently.
His gaze was hard. He waited a moment before stalking into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “Would you mind telling me what that was all about?”
She was clad in a peasant’s blouse that hung to the middle of her thighs and nothing else. Her lovely legs, exposed, drew Gaston’s hot gaze. She took a step back as he moved in closer and took a deep breath to bolster her courage.
“We…I wanted to catch a glimpse of your wife, my lord,” she said evenly. “Since she did not know who I was, I saw no harm in serving the nooning meal to satisfy my curiosity.” She looked into his hard face and felt a chill of fear shoot up her spine, and her bravery waned. “Are you terribly angry?”
“Angry that you disobeyed me when I ordered you to stay in your rooms, aye,” he put his hands on his hips. “Angry with your performance downstairs? I should be. It was certainly bold and insolent enough.”
She turned away from him, her head lowered. “And I do apologize for provoking your fury, my lord, but when Oleg told me of the things your wife had done with my…your house, I was quite incensed.”
“Ah, then you lied to me,” he said. “You did not simply want to sate your curiosity, you wanted to exact vengeance.”
She turned to him, half-pouting and half-defiant. “Aye, I did. She does not belong here.”
He looked at her a moment before pacing to the bed, sitting lightly on the edge. He extended his hand to her and pulled her between his thighs. Relieved he wasn’t going to spank her, she ran splayed fingers through his hair, remembering the passion from the night before with great happiness.
“I understand your feelings, Remi, but she is my wife and I alone will deal with her,” he said softly.
Rebuked, she refused to meet his eye but continued to stroke his hair. He watched her angelic face, remembering how tremendously drawn he was to her as she acted the serving wench. She was far too beautiful and sweet for a common servant; even Mari-Elle had known it.
“‘We love to eat, to piss, to scold?’” he suddenly repeated, and she burst into giggles.
“Rory wrote the song,” she insisted.
“‘A ceremonial fart?’” he recounted with disapproval, though he was smiling. “Really, Remi, how vulgar.”
“I never said she was a poet,” she snickered. “But it was effective, was it not?”
He shook his head. “Effective in making everyone hysterical and provoking Mari-Elle,” he agreed. “I should not be surprised with anything you four do.”
Her expression suddenly went sly as she ran her hand down the sides of his face. “Nay, you should not. With any luck, we shall have your wife gone by morning.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean? ? What else have you done?”
“Me? Nothing, my lord,” she said innocently. “And how is Trenton faring? He’s truly a beautiful boy, just like his father.”
“My son is well,” he said shortly. “Remi, what else have you done? Why is Mari-Elle likely to leave of her own free will by morn?”
She looked annoyed. “I told you, I have done nothing,” she insisted. “May I get dressed now, my lord?”
His hands moved up the backs of her legs, almost to her rounded bottom. “Nay, you may not.”
“And why not?” she asked, smiling, feeling the wicked warmth of lust already flowing through her veins.
He responded by sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, drawing the most pleasurable of moans. He answered with a low groan of his own accord and the peasant blouse came off.
He flipped her onto her back on the mattress, covering her body with his massive frame.
She clung to him, already parting her thighs and wrapped her legs around him.
His mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting into her mercilessly, licking the honeyed orifice.
Passion that was merely building one moment was instantly full-blown and fierce.
He left her a brief moment to strip off his shirt and peel off his breeches and then he was on her again, urged on by her soft pleading. His mouth fastened to a rosy nipple, sucking it into a hard pebble and slipping his hands underneath her back, pulling her up to his lips, trapping her.