Chapter Eleven #6
“Madam, I have not only succumbed, I have been mortally marked,” he said. “What do you think all of this talk of annulment had been about? I would not do that for anyone, but for you, I would do anything. Anything at all.”
Her smile faded and her face fairly glowed with love and admiration. “I love you, Gaston. I have never loved anyone in my life.”
“Nor have I,” his voice was soft. “Until I met you.”
They gazed at each other, wanting to hold and caress one another until they were both senseless.
It was a tremendous act of willpower for Gaston not to even touch her cheek, but he had to be careful with his son about.
Yet as he gazed down into the sea-crystal eyes, he found his desire burning holes in his determination and he tore his gaze away before he broke completely.
“Kiss me, Gaston,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes briefly, fighting for strength. “Nay, angel, not here in front of the boys.”
“Then take me into the trees and ravish me until I faint.” Her breath was a seductive whisper.
He stood up rapidly and strode away from her, toward the lake, and she sat up with a smile.
It was a pleasure to know he had such a difficult time resisting her and she was happier than she had ever been in her life to know he loved her.
The Dark Knight was in love with the daughter of a simple baron.
She watched him as he stood next to Trenton, saying something to Dane she couldn’t quite hear.
Dane splashed stubbornly at the water, listening to Gaston but obviously not liking what he was hearing.
Finally, Trenton ventured timidly into the water and picked up the bladder ball that was floating on the surface. Gaston turned and left them.
He approached her with a raised eyebrow. “I will turn on my heel and return to the castle if you mention anything more about ravishing you. Do you understand?”
She smiled coyly, lowering her lashes. “As you say, my lord. Heaven only knows I would not want to tempt you.”
“You tempt me simply by living,” he said, kneeling next to the basket and rummaging inside.
Remington looked over with interest. “Is there any cheese? I am starved.”
He drew forth a large wedge of white cheese and handed it to her. She chewed slowly, watching every move he made with nothing but lust on her mind. He put a large slab of mutton between two huge pieces of bread and ate with a good deal of satisfaction.
“I am expecting more troops from Henry in the next few days,” he said, looking out at the lake where Trenton and Dane were playing dutifully with the ball. “When they arrive I want you to make sure that you do not travel outside the castle without an escort.”
“I travel with an escort now,” she glanced over at the two soldiers on the rise overlooking the lake.
“Aye, but it will be far more important in the future that you are never without protection,” Gaston looked down at her. “And that goes for your sisters, as well. I shall have nearly a thousand soldiers walking the grounds, men with little discipline or self-control.”
She nodded, returning to her cheese with a bit of rising apprehension. It also sounded as if she and her family were to be made prisoners upon the arrival of Henry’s troops.
“Your intention is to turn Mt. Holyoak into a training ground?” she asked.
“The largest training ground outside of London,” he said. “And it shall be, too.”
She finished the cheese thoughtfully. “Mayhap, then, it would not be wise for my sisters and I to stay here,” she said after a moment. “Halsey Manor is not far from here and sitting vacant. Mayhap we would be safer there.”
He looked at her, hearing Arik’s own words and wondering if she and Arik had been talking. He did not want her away from him, not even for a moment.
“I do not believe that will be necessary,” he said steadily. “You will be safe enough here, as long as you adhere to the rules.”
She did not reply, turning to the wine bladder and taking a dainty sip. Secretly, she was glad he had not agreed with her. She did not want to leave him, soldiers or no soldiers.
Her sisters appeared on the crest of the hill opposite the lake, descending noisily into the little valley. Gaston finished the last of his meal, eyeing the trio.
“Here come the gaggle,” he mumbled.
Remington smiled at him. “Be of good cheer, my love. They are not so bad.”
He snorted and dug into the basket once more, this time for a large green apple. “I will be related to them one day, so I suppose I had better become accustomed to them,” he said. “Hopefully my knights will marry them soon and I will not be burdened with the baggage.”
“My sisters are not baggage,” she insisted with feigned outrage, slanting him a taunting look. “I hope that they never leave me and that we live together forever. All four of us, ’Twould be wonderful….”
“Stop right there, madam,” he pointed the apple at her. “I refuse to support three old maids. If they are not married off, then I will sell them to the highest bidder. I hear men are most desperate for English brides in Turkey.”
“Turkey?” Remington repeated loudly. She wasn’t even sure where Turkey was, but she knew it was far away. “My sisters will marry Englishmen, I shall have you know. They’ll not marry barbarians.”
The corners of his lips twitched and he chewed loudly on the apple. She watched him a moment. “Aren’t you going to sit with me?”
He took the last large bite and tossed the core. “Nay, madam, not with the horde approaching. Besides, I must return to my duties. I have left Arik and Antonius overlong with the new recruits.”
She was disappointed. “Do you have to?”
“Aye, angel, I do,” he wiped his hands on his thighs, facing her fully. “I shall see you tonight, however. All night, most likely.”
She smiled seductively, leaning back against the tree. “I look forward to it, my lord Gaston.”
He grinned faintly and opened his mouth to reply when two yelling boys suddenly cut him off. Trenton and Dane were sloshing out of the water, yelling at each other as they marched toward their respective parents.
“Mother,” Dane hollered. “Tell him that we are descended from the Tuatha de Danann.”
“They’re fairies,” Trenton yelled at Dane. “You aren’t a fairy.”
Gaston glanced down at Remington, but she was smiling softly at the boys. “Sit down,” she told them.
Wet and angry, they obeyed, but they sat several feet apart from each other. Remington’s manner was most calm and patient, delaying Gaston’s natural urge to demand they behave. Since they were addressing her, he decided to let her deal with them.
Her sisters finally reached the little group, looking curiously at Trenton.
“Who’s this?” Rory pointed at him.
“This is Trenton de Russe,” Remington looked at her sisters deliberately. “Sir Gaston’s son.”
She saw the eyebrows go up on all three of them, turning to look at Gaston at the same time. He gazed impassively in return and Remington motioned her sisters to sit. “Sit, sit. I am about to tell Trenton and Dane of our roots.”
She turned back to the boys as her sisters got themselves comfortable.
“Now,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Trenton, do you know of the Tuatha de Danann?”
Trenton looked uncomfortable, and bright little splotches appeared on his cheeks. “A…a little, my lady. They are Ireland’s fairy race.”
Remington nodded. “That’s right. They existed many centuries ago when the world was a dark, magical place, a place of dragons and fairies and great wizards.
But they were not originally from Ireland; nay, folklore tells us that they were from an island even further north than Ireland.
Before they came to Ireland as conquerors, they made an alliance with a fearsome race called the Fomoiri.
The Fomoiri were half-man and half-monster, terrible beings from across the sea, and it was wise to seal an alliance with them.
The chief of the Fomoiri, a beast named Balar of the Evil Eye, gave his daughter Ethne in marriage to the son of the chief physician of the Tuatha de Danann, and a great relationship was forged. Or so the Tuatha de Danann thought.”
Trenton and Dane stopped all of their quarreling and were listening quite intently. She smiled, pleased at their interest. Even Gaston was listening.
“When the Tuatha de Danann first came to Ireland, they encountered a race of farmers called the Fir Bolg, whom they went on to defeat in the battle of Mag Tuired. Unfortunately the king, a man named Nuada, lost his arm in the battle and thereby had to forfeit the throne.”
“Why?” Dane demanded, interrupting her.
“Because only a whole man can be king,” Trenton snapped at him as if he were an idiot.
Dane opened his mouth to retaliate but Remington continued quickly.
“That’s true, Trenton,” she said. “Therefore, the throne was offered to a man by the name of Bres, whose mother was a Fomoiri. Bres, unfortunately, was a terrible king. He taxed his people heavily, throwing the entire country into poverty. Even the greatest Tuatha de Danann warriors were reduced to farming to maintain their lives, chopping wood and tilling the earth. It was a truly awful sight to behold.”
“Warriors like my father?” Trenton asked.
Remington glanced at Gaston; he was leaning against the tree trunk, his arms crossed casually. He smiled at her and she felt her cheeks flush. “Aye, like your father. Can you see Sir Gaston tending the earth like a peasant?”
The boys shook their head solemnly. “Why did not they fight the king?” Dane wanted to know.