Chapter Twenty
The party to London was up and moving before daybreak.
Remington, still half-asleep, sat atop her palfrey as the column departed Mt.
Holyoak. The morning was heavy with moisture, though bright, and the day promised to be sultry.
Wrapped in a durable silk cloak, she was alternately chilled from the temperature and sweating from the humidity.
She was surrounded by knights and soldiers but she was so sleepy that it took her nearly an hour before she realized Gaston was not riding near her. He was at the head of the column, riding alone aboard Taran.
As she perked up, she passed glances at the knights who rode around her, but she could see nothing through their lowered visors. Four men-at-arms flanked her, holding aloft a great canopy to keep the dew and sun off her. The men were very silent, and very imposing. She felt very alone.
De Tormo rode to the rear of Gaston’s soldiers, so she did not even have anyone to talk to. Around her, the day was coming alive and she soon found that she had no desire to talk to anyone at the moment; it would have spoiled her view of the morning.
The Vale of York was a wonderful, beauteous dell.
Green and fragrant, they passed through fields of sheep that belonged to Mt.
Holyoak and rode through a stretch of land Remington had not seen in years.
Off to the east was Halsey Manor, the manse in which she had been born, and she found herself missing it terribly.
Just a glimpse would have made her happy, but the army continued on and carried her to the west of York on their trek south.
The morning progressed and the day warmed, and she removed her cloak with the help of one of the silent knights. She did not even realize it was Nicolas until he responded to her thanks.
“Nicolas,” she said softly. “Why did you not tell me ’twas you?”
He flipped up his visor, eyeing Gaston. “Because Gaston does not like to hear talking within the ranks. He says it is a distraction.”
She looked at Gaston, too, riding far ahead of them. “Why does he ride alone?”
Nicolas shrugged. “Because he chooses to. He has always ridden alone, with the exception of Arik. Only Arik was allowed to ride with him on occasion.”
Remington’s heart tugged at the mention of the fallen comrade. “Where will we stop for the night?”
“Gaston would like to make it well south of Leeds,” Nicolas lowered his visor.
She knew Leeds to be a half-day’s ride from Mt. Holyoak and knew they were in for a long, long ride. Too bad, too; her bottom was already sore simply because she did very little riding.
The ride was long and by the time Gaston called a halt mid-afternoon, Remington swore she had become part of the horse.
Her legs were so stiff she could barely move until Nicolas helped her from the animal.
Gaston, long since dismounted, marched back through the column and Remington watched in awe, as men parted for him like the Red Sea.
He did not say a word; he did not have to.
De Tormo, coming up from the rear of the procession, reached Remington the exact same time as Gaston did. The two men eyed each other.
“Return to your people, de Tormo,” Gaston said. “I will see to the lady’s comfort.”
De Tormo lowered his voice. “My lord, I cannot allow you to be seen with the lady unescorted. Within the walls of Mt. Holyoak is one thing, but in the presence of the church and outsiders, it is quite another.”
A small blue vein in Gaston’s temple throbbed. “I have not yet placed her in the wardship of the church.”
De Tormo was not being obstinate, a remarkable event.
He seemed truly concerned for proper appearances.
“’Tis not your duty to, my lord. As an emissary of the church, I have already placed her in sanctuary until this matter can be ironed out.
’Tis well within my rights, my lord, since you truly have no power over the lady. ”
“She is my vassal.”
“She is your enemy’s wife and, therefore, entitled to the protection of the church,” the priest answered. “As soon as we reach London, I will place her in Saint Catherine’s Convent until the annulment can be obtained. Until then, I am her guardian.”
Remington was shocked and upset. She did not want to be kept from Gaston. Her head lowered and she bit her lip, trying hard not to weep.
“As lord of Mt. Holyoak, I am sworn to protect the lady,” Gaston said, although he knew his claim was weak.
He never suspected that de Tormo would immerse himself in their plans.
Eventually, he knew that he would have to obey whatever the church dictated until the annulment was complete, but he had hoped that their journey to London would afford them their last bit of privacy together.
“And you shall,” de Tormo responded. “But I am her guardian and anything that concerns her welfare and protection must be cleared with me. You understand this, do you not?”
Gaston could see that the priest was not trying to be cruel, merely proper. His manner was calm but firm. Gaston glanced at Remington’s head and saw that her lashes were spiky with tears and he felt his composure slipping. “De Tormo, might I have a private word with you?”
The priest agreed and Gaston pulled him to the edge of the road, away from Remington and open ears. “I will come to the point, de Tormo. I will not leave the lady alone, ward of the church or not. You cannot mean to separate us.”
“I must, de Russe. You know that,” the priest held his ground. “Surely I cannot allow…whatever it was that was going on at Mt. Holyoak to continue in my presence. I would be allowing a sin.”
Gaston let out a sharp sigh, grinding his jaw. “She carries my child, priest. You cannot and will not separate us, and if you tell anyone of our secret, I shall slit your throat from your chin to your belly. We….we are in love. That is why I intend to marry the woman. Because I love her.”
De Tormo blinked, looking uncertain for the first time.
He wasn’t intimidated by the threat, but he was impacted by the words of the greatest knight since Galahad.
De Russe’s reputation was beyond legendary; it was mythical.
But the man before him was laying himself wide open, as vulnerable as any mortal man.
He sighed heavily, his determination faltering. “Good Lord, de Russe. You are not going to make this easy, are you?” He paused long enough to scratch his fat chin thoughtfully. “Then I will allow you time together, within reason. But you shall be escorted. By me.”
Gaston scowled. “By God’s Bloody Rood. You intend to babysit us?”
“Not you; her,” the priest corrected. “She is my ward and I must.”
Gaston looked long and hard at him for a moment. Then, he rolled his eyes and hissed, “God!”
There was nothing more either of them could say. De Tormo glanced over at Remington, who now stood composed and waiting. He felt his firm stance slipping.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered. “Take her and feed her. But warn her of her future so she is not surprised.”
Gaston almost thanked the priest but refrained. He went to Remington and took her gently by the arm.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To eat,” he replied, catching a bag of food his squire tossed to him.
“What about Nicolas? Won’t he eat with us?” She turned to look for the knight. “And what of the priest? Where is he going?”
“Quit prattling, Remi,” he admonished softly.
He took her into a bank of trees, sheltering her from the sun.
She made herself comfortable on a stump and he took a moment to admire her as he drew forth the provisions.
She was dressed in a silk surcoat the color of her eyes.
The bodice was snug, lacing between her breasts and revealing a white blouse that peeked out beyond the neckline and extended slightly beyond the short sleeves.
The neckline, however, was revealing enough and his mouth fairly watered at the white skin exposed.
He handed her a wedge of cheese. “How are you enjoying the ride?”
She took a healthy bite. “I would like it more if I could ride with you. May I?”
He cleared his throat as he rummaged through the bag. “Nay, angel, I prefer you to remain where you are.”
She pouted. “You do not want to ride with me.”
He looked at her. “’Tis not that. It’s just….”
“It’s the priest,” she accused loudly. “He wants to keep us apart, does not he?”
He shook his head firmly. “Calm down, Remi. He shall not keep us apart. In fact, he promised to be quite lenient. Do not fault de Tormo for what he must do.”
Her eyebrows went up in outrage. “What he must do? Gaston, I do not want to spend months in a convent, away from you and the rest of the world.”
“Would you rather spend it with Guy?” he shot back softly, instantly sorry he had snapped at her. “Remi, if we want the church’s cooperation in this annulment, then we must do as they say. Please, love; it won’t be for long. You must be brave.”
She plopped back down on the stump, her pretty face molded in a pout. She tore into the cheese angrily, eating with fury. He ate his own cheese and bread, fighting off a smile at her frown.
“Remi, we have not seen nor spoken to each other all day,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Are you going to spend our short time together moping?”
She shoved the cheese in her mouth, her eyes angry at him. “I want to ride with you. I do not want to spend eternity in a convent, and I deplore this heat.”
“Then you are going to pout.”
“I am,” she shook her fist at him. “I am sick of this already.”
He let his smile break forth. “If I let you ride with me, will you stop sulking?”
Her stance softened. “Mayhap. What about the convent?”
He grinned, whipping her into his arms. “Angel, I can do nothing about the convent, nor the heat. Anything else you care to take offense with?”
She was melting in his arms, as she always did. He was grinning so openly at her that she could not stop the small smirk that played on her lips. “Give me but a moment and I shall think of something.”