Chapter Eleven #9
“You are drinking too much,” she said, hearing his movements.
“I will be the sole judge of that,” he rumbled.
She still lay on her side, her arms wrapped protectively around her body. “You always drink too much after you have had contact with your wife.”
He paused, the goblet mid-way to his lips. After an eternal pause, she heard him sigh and then the sound of the cup as it met with the table.
“Can we dispense with the animosity tonight?” he finally said. “I am in great need of your comfort.”
She felt her anger abate with his words; they were soft, almost pleading. She had never heard him beg before. Slowly, she rolled onto her back and looked at him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shrugged irritably. “Everything. But the last thing I want to be wrong is you and I. Get up and come to my chamber.”
She sat up and raised an eyebrow at the door. “Heaven only knows there will be no privacy here. Did you truly have to break it down? A little more pleading and I would have opened it.”
“I did plead but you ignored me,” he held out his hand and pulled her from the bed. “I shall have it repaired tomorrow.”
She picked her way over the broken frame, a remembrance drifting over her as she viewed the carnage. It was horribly disturbing and she felt her stomach twist as she recalled the event, but somehow with Gaston beside her, she was able to face it quite rationally. His strength had become hers.
“I tried to lock Guy out one time,” she said softly. “He took an axe and chopped the door down. Then he took the butt and beat me with it. My eyes were swollen shut for three days.”
His grip tightened on her arm as he led her into the corridor.
The dim hall was cool as he took her down to the master chamber, a vast, room furnished with heavy, dark furniture.
She took a second glance at it as he closed the door behind them, seeing that he had brought his own items with him and had nearly redecorated the entire room.
Heavy furs lay in front of the hearth and on both sides of the bed, filling the already-musty room with a more animalistic scent.
There were weapons strewn about, boots, clothing, and it suddenly occurred to her that the room looked like him.
She could see him, and smell him, everywhere.
“It looks a bit different since you were last here,” he commented, removing the mail tunic he wore and casting it over a chair.
“I like it,” she said, sinking down on the end of the bed. “It feels like you.”
He sat down to remove his boots. “I should hope so, considering it is my room.”
She smiled faintly at him. “I just meant that the room no longer reminds me of Guy,” she said softly. “The more time passes, the more you become a part of our lives and it is easier to forget about my husband.”
He looked at her a moment. “Do not use that term to describe him anymore. When next I hear it, you will be referring to me. Only I am worthy of that title, madam, when it pertains to you.”
He wasn’t angry, merely stating a fact. She nodded once, slowly. “Of course, Gaston.”
He stood up and removed his shirt, leaving him clad in only snug leather breeches.
Remington felt her chest tightening and her limbs go warm at the sight of his magnificent chest, surely the most beautiful piece of flesh in the entire world.
Antonius, as sculpted as he was, couldn’t come close. Gaston was built like a god.
He ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with satisfaction as he moved to the huge hearth and stoked it to a roaring blaze.
She could only sit there and watch him; the most glorious male God had ever created.
She still found it hard to believe he was hers.
Sometimes she wondered if she would awaken from this dream only to find Guy looming over her, demanding service.
If it were a dream, she would stay asleep forever.
When the fire was blazing, he held out a hand to her. “Come over here, angel. The room is cold.”
She had not noticed; she had been so involved in watching him and he always made her blood boil. Obediently, she went to him and sat on the huge rug next to him. He took her in his arms and leaned back against the huge leather-covered chair behind him.
Content as a fat baby, she snuggled against him and gazed dreamily into the flames, feeling the thick fur against her legs.
“What kind of fur is this?” she asked.
“Bear,” he replied. “Killed the animal myself when I was seventeen. It damn near ate me for supper.”
She ran her fingers over the soft rug. “I have a sheepskin coverlet for winter.”
“Tell me,” he said thoughtfully. “Have the sheep already been shorn?”
“Aye, they were shorn in April of their winter coats,” she said. “They will be shorn again come September. And then we will have to deal with the merchants from London as they barter for the wool.”
“Yorkshire wool is the finest,” he said. “Honestly, I have been focusing so much on the arrival of my new troops that I have scarce had time to learn in detail the workings of Mt. Holyoak.
“But I suppose I will have to leave that to you, my lady. Unless, of course, you would rather switch duties with me.”
She giggled softly, “Can you see me in front of five hundred men, trying to teach them to hold a sword? The sword is as big as I am.”
He smiled, stroking her arms as he held her. The fire spit and crackled, the comfortable smell of smoke lingering in the air.
“Is Mari-Elle all right?” she asked, not particularly caring, but curious all the same.
“Who knows?” he replied. “If I am lucky, she shall die before fall and then I will only have Guy to deal with.”
“Gaston, it is not nice to wish someone dead, no matter who they are,” she admonished gently. “Heaven only knows I have been tempted to wish it for Guy, but I am afraid that fate will punish me by taking away someone dear to me. ’Tis bad luck to wish another dead.”
His arms held her tighter. “Nevertheless, I wish it anyway. Besides, Fate is a friend of mine and would never betray me.”
Pressed against him, feeling his heat, was the most satisfying feeling she had ever experienced.
Never had she simply sat with her husband, enjoying his company.
Guy was the terror of her life and there had been nothing to enjoy; there had been no friendship in their marriage, no respect, no joy.
It existed of fear and intimidation, of pain and humiliation.
Sitting with Gaston, it was as if she were reborn. She never knew this sort of life existed.
She was warm, deliciously so with his massive body and the heat from the fire. As much as she tried to fight it, her lids grew heavy.
“Did Trenton and Dane behave themselves after I left?” he asked.
She jolted from her dozing state. “Aye, they actually played together. A sea battle, I believe, for they were using lily pads as boats.”
“’Twas your battle story that inspired them,” he said, shifting a little and pulling her closer against him. “I am glad to know that there was no more quarreling.”
“Not to worry,” she said sleepily. “Rory was watching them and they were too frightened of her to get out of hand.”
He raised his eyebrows in agreement. “I would not be hesitant to take that woman into battle with me. She would be most formidable.”
“She knocked out three of Guy’s teeth once,” she said with a bit of pride. “But he broke her arm for her troubles.”
Gaston sighed heavily, low and deep in his chest. His disgust for the man grew with every new fact that he learned. He was silent for several moments.
“I have decided something, Remi,” he said finally.
“What is that, my love?” her eyes were closed and she was fading fast.
“I am going to kill Guy,” he said it so casually that she did not grasp it for a moment. “I am going to break every bone in his body and mention you or your sisters with each snap. The man will wish he had never been born.”
Her eyes opened and she blinked at the fire a moment. Then, she sat up and looked at him. “You are going to murder him?”
“I prefer to call it justice,” he said evenly. “I will make him pay for everything he has done to you and your family.”
Her eyes widened. “Gaston…why must you do this? He is away from us, locked up for the rest of his life. Why must you kill him?”
“To avenge you,” he said simply.
She looked gravely concerned and thoughtful and he watched her furrowed brow, knowing how distasteful murder was to a lady. Her puzzled eyes met his. “Did I somehow ask this of you? I never meant to ask that you commit murder on my behalf.”
“You did not,” he said. “But I would punish this man who has been punishing you for simply being his wife. I must right what he had wronged.”
She wasn’t at all comfortable with his declaration. “As much as I love your devotion and chivalry, I would wish you to stay the hell away from London and from Guy. I want you to stay here, with me, forever. Let God punish him for his sins, Gaston. To be rid of the man is enough for me.”
“Well said,” he said, running his fingers lightly over her hair. “But I must go to London to see Henry if we are to obtain an annulment, and while I am there I must see Guy for the same reasons. So you see, either way I will see the man.”
She looked at him a moment. “I do not want you to kill him.”
His face hardened. “Why not?”
She swallowed. “I…I have a difficult time believing in God, Gaston, but I believe that we will be held accountable for our sins. I do not want you to burn in hell for murder, and I do not want to burn in hell for allowing you to carry out your plans. Guy is not worth losing our eternal souls.”
He gazed at her a moment before relaxing and pulling her back against him.
He could see that she was frightened and sincere and, truthfully, he had never given much thought to the afterlife.
He did not voice his thoughts, but with all of the men he had killed, he was already guaranteed a prime spot in Purgatory. One more would not make or break him.