Chapter Seventeen #3
“It will not work! The church will not listen to you and it will not work!” she screamed. “They will force me to be with Guy and I will not allow it. I shall kill myself; do you hear me? I shall kill myself!”
“I shall kill Guy first!” he shot back, receiving a sharp blow to his cheekbone as she flailed wildly. “Remington!” Receiving no coherent response, he shook her hard. “Remi!”
He shook her so hard that her neck snapped and she gasped from the shock.
Her wildly constricted pupils suddenly dilated with recognition, as if suddenly realizing that for a brief moment she had been truly insane.
He saw her start to quiver violently and the tears finally bubbled forth. He saw a terrifying panic in her eyes.
“Kill him, Gaston!” she hissed.
He did not hesitate. “I shall do it.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off the sobs. “No, no, do not. I did not mean it.”
“I did,” he was gripping her arms tightly, feeling her pain and terror seeping into his veins.
He couldn’t stand seeing her so terrified; his natural instincts to protect her were running rampant.
“No, Gaston,” she breathed heavily. “I do not want to you murder for me. Let him rot away in the Tower; let him become fodder for rats. I could never live with the guilt if you killed him for me.”
He felt her shaking violently in his grasp until he realized it was he who was shaking, too. Fiercely, he gathered her against his chest, breathing in the faint scent of the perfume he had purchased for her.
“It’s all right, angel,” he whispered against her hair.
He had her gripped tightly in his arms, her feet dangling a good distance off the floor.
“The church will listen to me, and we shall be married by this time next year. I vow it on my oath as Henry’s Dark One.
Nothing will stand in my way, not God, nor king, nor your bastard husband. ”
She was sobbing softly in his arms, frightened and tired. “I hate him!”
“I know,” he crooned. “So do I.”
They spent a good deal of the evening in the solar.
Remington had a death-grip on his neck and refused to let go, and he ended up sitting on the desk and holding her across his lap like a child.
But he was content to stay there the rest of his life, holding her, keeping her safe from those who would seek to harm her.
He found as of late that he was only content with her in his arms, as if she were the other half of him. Alone, he felt as if a great piece of him was missing.
The evening meal came and went and they continued to hold each other in the dim room, listening to the crackles of the banked fire.
Remington had long since fallen into a deep sleep, a catch in her breathing every so often to remind him of the emotional upheaval she had suffered.
He caressed her gently, staring into the fire and considering exactly what he would need to do upon his arrival to London.
He would take Remington with him and seek out Henry.
After a private audience, wherein he fully intended to explain everything to his king, he would settle her in a secured portion of the castle under the protection of his own elite guard, and then he would seek an audience with the papal legate, Bishop John of Imola.
Unfamiliar as he was regarding the procedures of annulment, he would seek the bishop’s advice and proceed, with or without the man’s blessing.
Gaston did not know much about Pope Innocent IX, only that Henry had a love/hate relationship with the church, mostly hate.
But Gaston knew one thing; with enough money and royal interference, he would have his annulment.
Even if it meant liquidating everything he had of value as a donation to the church.
He might very well lose Clearwell and Mt.
Holyoak, but he would have Remington and that was all that mattered. The rest was insignificant.
He would beg if he had to.
And he would have Dane and Trenton, two of the finest sons a man could have.
Even if Dane was not of his blood, he was of Remington’s and therefore, a part of him.
Ever since he met the boy he had considered him his own flesh.
It was never his intention to steal another man’s son; it merely became the way of things.
There was a soft knock on the solar door and Arik entered quietly, eyeing the both of them questioningly. He took a couple of halting steps into the room, his eyes on Remington.
“Is she all right?” he asked softly. “What happened?”
Gaston was weary, so damn weary he could barely speak. “Guy has requested that Remington join him in his captivity, and Henry has graciously granted his prisoner’s request.”
Arik’s eyes widened briefly. “My God, Gaston. What are you going to do?”
He shrugged slightly, Remington dead weight against his arms and chest. “Take her to London as I am ordered to and start annulment proceedings the moment I arrive. I shall make her a ward of the church until the matter is settled.”
Arik stroked his scratchy face thoughtfully, moving to sit on the desk beside his liege. He snorted softly after a moment. “Hell of a problem, I’d say. Guy was smart to send the church as an envoy.”
“I do not know he did that for certain, but it was certainly a shrewd move,” Gaston raised his eyebrows in a resigned gesture. “Who would deny the church?”
Arik nodded in agreement. “Guy is an intelligent man, Gaston. I was mildly acquainted with him some time ago and know him to be cunning and sharp. I have no doubt that having the church bear his message was a planned move.”
“But why?” Gaston asked and Remington shifted at the sound of his raised voice.
He put his huge hand on her head, covering her ear until she stilled.
“Why would he do this now, one year after the defeat of Stoke? In all that time, he had no contact with her and suddenly he decides he cannot live without her? I do not understand his logic.”
“Mayhap that is not his logic,” Arik replied softly. “Mayhap he is angry because another man has his possessions and he simply wishes to regain a portion of what is his.”
“But why Remi?” Gaston gazed at the top of her dark head. “Why not send for…oh, hell, I do not know. Why not demand his plate or coinage, or his personal possessions to surround him?”
Arik looked at Remington, at Gaston. His blue eyes were grim. “Think, Gaston. He can pump Remington for information. Having been living in the same keep with Henry’s Dark One, she would be privy to privileged information, knowingly or not. Guy wants to find out what she knows.”
Gaston’s eyes darkened. “And being the intelligent, sly man he is, he is almost certainly linked with a network of Yorkist spies. In prison or not, he has most likely not been isolated from his peers and comrades. He would be passing them any information for their resistance.”
“Exactly.”
Gaston held Arik’s gaze a moment longer before turning away, a weary sigh escaping his lips. “Once again, she is a pawn. I will not allow this, Arik. I will not allow this man to harm her any more than he already has, no matter what Henry says.”
“One would hope that Henry has already thought of the possible reasons behind Guy’s request, outside of unrequited love,” Arik said with muted sarcasm. “He must not believe her to be a threat, knowing that you would not have become personally involved with her or divulged any crown secrets.”
They both looked at each other as the enormity of the statement hung between them. “Have I changed overmuch since I met her, Arik? Am I not the same man you rode into Mt. Holyoak with those weeks ago?”
“You have changed, but it is a positive one,” Arik replied. “I thought you quite incapable of feelings until you met lovely Lady Remington.”
“I thought I was immune,” Gaston mumbled, burying the lower part of his face in the top of Remington’s hair. “I was wrong.”
Arik smiled faintly. Watching how tenderly Gaston was holding Remington made him reconsider life in general; he would not have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes.
“Do you remember once, years ago, when I asked you why you did not make friends?” he said quietly. “Do you remember your reaction? You knocked out two of my teeth.”
Gaston nodded vaguely, the light of the dim fire reflecting on his face. “Remington is not merely my friend, Arik. She is quickly becoming my life and that scares me.”
“Why did you hit me those years back?” Arik pressed quietly. “What was so terrible in that question?”
Gaston shifted a bit, mulling over the question.
“My father was a mighty warrior, a younger son of the Duke of Exeter. He married my mother when she was thirteen. I was their only child, born a scant year later, and I remember my mother and father well. Mother was more like a sister to me and she always called me her very best friend. My father was also my best friend, taking me everywhere with him.” His look grew distant.
“I was sent away to foster when I was seven and I missed them more than I could stand. When I had been away six months, I received word that my mother had died as a result of a bad pregnancy. My father followed her in death three months later, succumbing in a battle. I swore then and there that I would never have another friend, Arik. I did not even like to hear the word because it reminded me of my parents. Emotions like friendship hurt too much.”
Arik was somber, his expression gentle. “But you do have friends,” he said quietly. “Matthew Wellesbourne is your closest friend.”
Gaston shrugged. “He is an exception. We are alike, Matt and I. He understands me.”