Chapter Ten
Gaston sought out Arik to find out where exactly his wife had been housed.
Arik personally led his liege to the northern wing, a seldom-used portion of Mt.
Holyoak. All of Mari-Elle’s household had been roomed here and Gaston passed by several people he recognized from Clearwell.
He ignored them here, as he ignored them there.
He had not even reached his wife’s room and he could hear her shrieking.
His veins ran cold; this was the same woman he knew and despised.
His resolve to get rid of her strengthened ten-fold as he quickened his pace down the hall.
He would not listen to that irritating voice any longer than he had to.
The door to her chamber was open partially and he shoved it open the rest of the way as he barged in. Mari-Elle was in the process of reaming one of her servants, a poor girl getting her ears boxed, when she caught sight of her husband.
From what he had seen of her at the nooning meal, he half expected her to turn instantly sweet and subservient in a desperate ploy to throw him off his guard. But he was not surprised when she turned to him like a wild animal, her eyes bulging.
“At last!” she cried. “You have arrived, my lord.”
He raised his eyebrow and gave her an intolerant look. “You will not be so glad when you hear what I have to say. Dismiss your women.”
Mari-Elle let out a desperate gasp, dramatic to say the least. “My lord, they are trying to kill me,” she began to weep exaggeratedly. “You have an assassin within your midst.”
He scowled; he had no time for her ridiculous stalling tactics. “Dismiss your women, Mari-Elle.”
Suddenly she doubled over and grabbed her gut, moaning in pain. He watched her curiously as she disappeared into a small alcove and he could hear her snapping at a servant and grunting. He passed a glance at Arik, still behind him.
“This is going to take all day if she keeps this up,” he grumbled. “Be on your way, man. I can handle her myself.”
“Are you sure?” Arik quipped seriously.
Gaston twisted his mouth drolly and Arik snorted in response, exiting the chamber.
Mari-Elle was grunting and cursing like a barmaid and Gaston’s patience was nearly at an end, but he reined himself. Drawing in a deep breath for strength, he crossed his arms and planted his feet apart, waiting.
It took several minutes, but Mari-Elle re-emerged from the alcove looking the least bit pale. She swallowed hard, holding a handkerchief to her lips as she weaved across the room to the wine decanter.
“Someone is trying to kill me,” she gasped, pouring herself a dose of wine. “I have been poisoned.”
He frowned intolerantly. “What are you talking about?”
She took a deep drink before answering, distraught. “Someone has poisoned me. My stomach is in knots and…. and everything is coming out of me as quickly as it went in. I am slowly dying, I tell you.”
He did not believe her for a moment and raised his eyebrow to let her know just that. She caught his look.
“To make matters worse, my room has been sabotaged.” She rushed to her bed as fast as her shaky legs would take her and threw back the covers. Seeing nothing, Gaston peered closer and noticed a fine sheen on the covers and pillow.
“Honey.” Mari-Elle informed him. “I ruined my best dressing coat with it. And this,” she bent down and picked up a pair of slippers next to the bed, turning them over; honey poured out. “I put my feet in this slime.”
Gaston watched the honey dribble to the floor and knew exactly who was responsible. He put his hand over his mouth casually so Mari-Elle would not see his twitching lips.
“But that’s not the worst of it,” Mari-Elle went on dramatically.
“The assassins saved the best for last.” She suddenly threw open her bed robe and from the neck down she was a lovely shade of yellow, saffron yellow.
“The tub was filled with steaming water when I retired this afternoon from the nooning meal and like a fool, I got in it. Now look at me.”
Gaston closed his eyes; he had to or he would giggle like an idiot. He quickly turned away from his wife so she would not see that he was struggling for composure. “Cover yourself, madam, so that we might talk.”
Angry and upset, Mari-Elle did as her husband ordered, and moved for the nearest chair. “You have evil within your midst, Gaston. A killer who has sworn me to death.”
As soon as her bottom hit the chair, it collapsed as if it were made from rotted wood.
Gaston spun around when he heard the crack to see Mari-Elle sitting on a pile of wood and silk.
Out of obligation, he moved forward to help her up, but not before she grabbed a piece of broken wood and hurled it at the wall in her fury.
“I swear if I will not have someone’s head for this!” she yelled, tossing another piece of wood. “They shall not get away with any of this! I swear vengeance; vengeance, I say!”
Gaston grasped her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, greatly annoyed when she pressed against him. “Oh, my lord Gaston, how comforted I am to know you are here to protect me. Thank you, my lord, for being here.”
He held her away from him quickly and pointed her to another chair. “Sit, madam, and shut your mouth. I will speak now.”
Mari-Elle eyed the chair, kicking its legs and shaking the arm to make sure it was not on the verge of collapse.
Looking it over and satisfied it was not going to spill her onto the floor, she turned and settled herself there.
But the moment her backside touched the cushion, she shot up with a wild screech of pain and grabbed her buttocks.
Whirling, she identified the sharp nail sticking out of the cushion.
“By God!” she roared. “A knife with which to gore me!”
Gaston was on the brink of hysteria. He eyed the cushion and worked the long nail out, examining it. Then he tossed it to the floor carelessly, eyeing his wife. “You are lucky you did not sit down with force. That nail would have pierced you soundly.”
Mari-Elle looked at him with disbelief; how could he be so callous? She opened her mouth to tell him so when she was suddenly seized with a fit of cramps and had to make a mad dash for the chamber pot lest she embarrass herself in front of her husband.
Gaston shook his head, a smile toying on his lips. “I will return later when you have control of yourself, madam.” he called to her sternly. “I expect to have your complete attention.”
He left his wife grunting and cursing harsh enough to raise the roof.
*
Mari-Elle did not leave by the morning. In fact, she was so ill with diarrhea and nausea that she could not get out of bed.
Remington was a bit disheartened that her plan had not gone exactly as planned, but she consoled herself in the knowledge that Gaston’s wife would be gone as soon as she was able to stand.
Dane and Charles had gleefully told her of the tricks and gags they had planted in her room and she laughed herself silly.
Surely no woman could stand all that had been done to her and not want to leave.
Gaston had not come to her that night and she was terribly disappointed, yet she knew he must have had a good reason for his absence.
’Twas ironic that a woman who used to start with terror at the sound of men’s boot falls approaching her room was suddenly eager to hear them, but her life had changed so much since he had arrived that it was almost as if she were living out a dream.
Forgetting her discouragement that he had not come, she dressed in a pretty surcoat and pulled her hair away from her face, planting herself in a comfortable chair to embroider the hours away.
Remington did lovely embroidery and was currently working on a piece depicting a hummingbird and a wild assortment of flowers.
She worked on it alone in her room, sitting in the bright sunshine that streamed in through her window.
The morning was tapering into the afternoon and the day was warm, and she felt a tremendous sense of peace.
Never in her life had she felt this sort of settled existence; she lived day-to-day fearing her husband, terrorized by his mere voice or presence.
It had been no way to live, but live it she had.
With a young son and sisters depending on her, she had had no choice.
To be able to sit and not fear what the day held was truly an answer to prayer.
In the room adjoining hers, she could hear Dane and Charles playing some sort of chess game. Charles was trying to explain the rules to Dane, who wanted to play it his own way. She smiled; they felt the peace, too.
There was a knock on her door and she bade the caller to enter. Gaston swung open the door, drinking in the sight of her. She always took his breath away.
“Greetings this day, madam,” he said evenly. “I am pleased to find you in your room, not frolicking about like a serving wench.”
She lay her embroidery in her lap, her entire face brightening. “Me? Frolic? I should say not.”
He twisted his mouth wryly and closed the door. “From what I saw yesterday, you frolic with the best of them. Rory could take lessons from you.” He moved across the room. “Speaking of which, she has been very busy, hasn’t she? Writing blasphemous songs. Sabotaging bedchambers.”
Remington lifted her eyebrows innocently. “I know not what you mean, my lord. Rory was with me all of yesterday, as you know.”
He leaned on the wall next to the window, his gaze alternately on her seated directly next to him and roving over the countryside beyond the opening.
“I see,” he said. “Then you know nothing of the destruction of Mari-Elle’s room?”
She continued to play the innocent, lowering her gaze to her needlework. “I heard from Patrick this morning that Lady Mari-Elle has had a most difficult time of it. Ill, I believe he said. So ill she is yellow.”
His eyes narrowed. “How would you know she is yellow, considering I did not tell Patrick?”