Chapter Twenty-One #4
“Too large,” he replied, looking at de Tormo. “I am dropping off half of my men, to be housed here. I do not want to go riding into London looking as if I plan to lay siege to the Tower. A small guard and two knights will serve me better.”
Remington wasn’t listening to their conversation; she was watching the people.
Men finely dressed with pointy shoes and strange, pointy beards pranced about with elaborately dressed ladies on their arms. She self-consciously looked down at her own dress, thinking the aqua satin with gold embroider to be quite plain.
“Remi?” he broke into her thoughts. “Would you like to get out and look about?”
She was moving for the door before she answered him. “Aye, I would. Gaston, why are those men wearing such gaudy clothing? Who are they?”
He helped her from the carriage. “Pansies. They are nothing but noble men who look more like women.”
She looked strangely at one man, his privates bulging obscenely. She found it so appalling that she began to laugh and Gaston passed a glance at the same man, who looked down his nose at the two of them before going on his way. Gaston shook his head. “Idiot.”
They were standing in front of a huge doorway, carved into a tower four stories tall. Remington tilted her head back, gazing to the top of the tower.
“’Tis called Earl Marshall’s Tower,” Gaston told her. “St. George’s Hall is this structure to the right. ’Tis where most state business is conducted.”
She was actually speechless a moment, absorbing the sights. Behind her was a huge, cylindrical tower as large as any castle she had ever seen. “What’s that?”
“’Tis called The Keep.”
She shook her head, overwhelmed. “This is so large. And there are more turrets and towers than I have ever seen.”
He smiled, taking her arm. “And they all have names, like the Lieutenant’s Tower, Chancellor’s Tower, Winchester Tower. Anything that remotely resembles a tower is named for someone or something.”
He led her around the northeast side of The Keep, letting her stretch her legs and gain a full look at the tower.
She held his hand tightly and he felt as prideful as a peacock; every soldier or knight who caught a glimpse of her was interested, until they saw who it was who held her arm.
Every fighting man in England knew the Dark Knight on sight.
They had wandered over by the King’s Gate simply because she wanted to get a better look at the massive structure. People were coming and going and Remington was in heaven with all of the activity. She turned her beautiful face to him.
“Can we go into London while we are here?”
He squeezed he hand gently. “I do not know, angel. A good deal will depend on my meeting with Henry, and your immediate future. But we shall try.”
She smiled sadly, latching onto his arm. Every time she thought on their separation, tears stung her eyes. Fighting them back, she turned her attention to another interesting sight when a voice shouted out at Gaston.
They both turned to see a man crossing the bailey toward them. Average of height, but well-built in spite of the armor that covered him, the helmetless man was smiling broadly at Gaston. When Remington turned questioningly to Gaston, she was surprised to see he was smiling, too.
“You bastard,” the man shouted. “I had no idea you were coming. Have you just arrived?”
“Greetings, John,” Gaston put out his hand and the man shook it warmly.
Remington was astonished; she had never seen Gaston shake hands with any man, and his manner was nothing short of friendly. Obviously, this man was well respected by Gaston.
The man was older, with streaks of gray woven into his well-kept brown hair. His face had been extremely handsome once, but was now lined with age and scars. In spite of that, Remington still thought he was very handsome.
“It has been too long, Gaston,” the man chided gently. “I did not even see you before Henry sent you north. So how is Yorkshire? Controlled like the dogs they are?”
Gaston snorted, smiling. “Quite cooperative for the most part, actually,” he was acutely aware of Remington clutching his arm. “John, this is Lady Remington. Remi, this is John de Vere, Earl of Oxford. He is Henry’s premier military general and advisor.”
Lord John’s brown eyes studied her intently. “My lady, ’tis a pleasure.”
Gaston could see that John had no idea how to react to Remington.
He and the earl went back for years and knew each other very well.
John knew of Mari-Elle, of Gaston’s troubles, and was frankly puzzled to see the Dark One in the company of a beautiful young woman.
Gaston was not the type. And, because he and John were well known to one another, Gaston knew he could take the man in to confidence.
“Lady Remington is my future wife, John,” he said quietly. “Mari-Elle passed away a short time ago.”
The earl’s eyes widened a brief second before taking another glance at Remington. Knowing how Gaston felt about Mari-Elle, he did not even express his condolences. “God’s Blood, Gaston, she’s too beautiful for you! How much are you paying her to marry you?”
Remington blushed prettily. “’Tis I who am paying him, my lord. There was no other way he would consent.”
The earl laughed. “Surely, my lady, I can talk you out of this.”
Remington leaned into Gaston affectionately. “I am afraid not, my lord.”
De Vere shook his head with pleasurable disbelief. “You did well for yourself, Gaston. Mayhap now you can produce some worthy heirs for your heritage.”
Gaston caressed her hand, his mood sobering. John was one of the men he wished to have sign his petition for the church, a man of supreme standing with the king and country. “But not before we annul two marriages, John. I neglected to tell you that Lady Remington is Sir Guy Stoneley’s wife.”
The earl lost his smile. “Stoneley? The bastard that surrendered at Stoke?”
“The same. Henry sent me north to Stoneley’s seat, Mt. Holyoak, whereupon I met Lady Stoneley,” he glanced at Remington. “Without going into any unnecessary details, Lady Stoneley and I plan to annul both of our marriages to wed. But I will need your help, John.”
“My help? What can I do?”
“I need eight testimonies from important, honorable men in order to obtain my annulment from Mari-Elle. Will you do me the honor of testifying before the papal counsel on my behalf?”
“I shall be the first,” John replied without hesitation. “Tell me when and where, and I shall be there.”
Remington almost sighed with relief, somehow afraid that the man would refuse Gaston. But she could see that the earl would do anything for the Dark One.
Gaston smiled gratefully. “I shall, my lord. And I will be forever indebted to you.”
The earl waved him off. “God’s blood, Gaston. With everything you have done for me? Your declaration is ludicrous. If anyone is indebted, ’tis I, and I consider it a privilege to help you and Lady Remington any way I can.”
“Truly, thank you, my lord,” Remington said sincerely. “’Twill not be easy to do what we must, and I thank you for easing us one less worry.”
“Who will be testifying for you, my lady?” de Vere asked.
Her lips twitched with a smile. “A good many Yorkists, my lord.”
De Vere laughed. “A good many people who hate me and your…Gaston,” he sobered, waving his hand in the direction of the castle. “Would you take the nooning meal with me?”
Gaston shook his head. “I cannot, although I would love to. Henry is expecting me in London.”
“Of course,” John nodded, looking hesitant. “Does Henry know of this?”
“Not yet,” Gaston said as they began to walk back toward his men. “But he shall, which is why I must ride to London. The sooner I begin proceedings, the better.”
“Agreed,” de Vere said. “But you must sup with Anne and I before you leave. I will insist.”
“You know we will,” Gaston replied.
The remainder of the walk was silent, but comfortably so. De Tormo was waiting for them beside the carriage as they strolled up.
“My lord earl,” the priest bowed to de Vere.
“The great de Tormo,” John said, a bit sarcastically. “What are you doing as the Dark One’s traveling companion? Trying to save his soul?”
De Tormo glanced at Gaston. “’Twould be the utmost challenge for the holiest of men, my lord. I am along as Lady Remington’s escort.”
“Ah,” John turned to Gaston. “Well, I must be on my way. I will wait to hear from you, Gaston.”
“You will,” Gaston nodded, watching the earl walk away. Then he looked at de Tormo. “You know de Vere?”
“I do,” the priest replied. “I used to be assigned to the priory in Oxford and heard Lady de Vere’s daily confessions. A good, pious woman with a great imagination. The earl and I became acquainted.”
Gaston did not reply, instead, latching his helm. Remington watched a woman go by in the most bejeweled dress she had ever seen, her eyes wide. “Did you see that dress? Why, she has more jewels on that dress than I even own.”
“Not for long,” Gaston mumbled, pulling her toward the carriage. “I plan to buy you barrels of jewels, my lady, enough to put that wench to shame.”
She smiled at him. “I did not mean to insist you buy me more jewelry, Gaston. I was simply making an observation.”
“I realize that,” he opened the door. “But I will do it nonetheless. I want my future wife to be well dressed, as befitting her station.”
De Tormo, climbing back into the carriage behind Remington, snorted. “Since when do you care for stations?”
Gaston, thinking de Tormo was bordering on blasphemy, cooled. “What does that mean?”
“Just that,” he said. “I heard rumor that after Stoke, Henry tried to grant you the dukedom of Warminster, and you refused. If you cared for stations, you would now be the Duke of Warminster and not a simple knight. You would not even take an earldom.”
Remington was deeply surprised. She turned her sea crystal eyes to Gaston in astonishment. “You turned down a dukedom?”
Bordering on embarrassment, Gaston lowered his gaze and fumbled with his gauntlets.
“I am not an ambitious man, Remi. I prefer fighting to courtly intrigue, and as a duke, I would be expected to participate in such activities. I am content to lead my army and train Henry’s troops,” he paused a moment.
“Besides, it was one more thing Mari-Elle could sink her claws into.”
“But…Gaston. You turned down a dukedom?” she gasped softly.
He slammed down his visor so she could not see his face; a modest man, he was uncomfortable with her question. “Aye, I did, but if the title of duchess appeals to you, then I am sure I can arrange it.”
She shook her head, extending her hand from the window of the carriage and touching his arm. “Nay, my love. I would live as a pauper, so long as it was with you.”
He looked at her a moment through his visor, thinking that with all of the donations and bribing he might have to do, and such a thing was not out of the realm of possibility.
But, by God, if Remington did not deserve a dukedom!
In faith, he had not given his recent refusal a second thought until now.
He wondered how receptive Henry would be to reconsidering.
He raised his visor and brought her hand to his lips. “Then you forgive me for my refusal?”
She laughed softly. “My lord, you are too humble to believe.”
He kissed her hand again and re-secured his visor.
“I am not. I am arrogant where it is properly placed, and prideful as a peacock when it comes to you,” he turned in de Tormo’s direction.
“And so you have your facts straight, priest, ’twas two dukedoms I refused.
I had no desire to live in Lancaster, either. ”
He marched away, leaving both Remington and de Tormo to deal with the revelation. The two of them were silent the entire twenty mile ride to London.