Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Just that,” Martin snorted loudly, reaching for the plate of marzipan. “At least your father was not branded a traitor, though God knows you had your reasons. I would not have shown the self-restraint that you did if my wife had slept with my king.”
Remington closed her eyes, feeling the words like a stab through the heart.
Gaston’s hand still held hers, though the pressure had increased.
She squeezed his hand tightly, comfortingly.
She felt as if she could cry rivers on his behalf.
Head down, she didn’t see the looks that passed between Gaston and Matthew at that moment.
There was something of sorrow and grief there, of untold secrets that would be buried with great men who had made great and terrible choices. Matthew finally hung his head.
But Martin was oblivious to the silent words between Gaston and Matthew as he smacked his lips loudly, chewing the marzipan with relish. He glanced at Gaston, and then Remington, and back again.
“I say what I feel, Gaston,” he said. “You of all people should know that. I do not blame you for betraying Richard. My God, he was an evil bastard, killing his nephews and flaunting his affair with Mari-Elle in your face. He knew you were loyal to the core for Edward and assumed you would be loyal to him as well, no matter what he did to you. You made a wise choice to serve Henry and Wellesbourne made the right choice to support you. Henry would respect you again and would treat you with dignity. Richard used you for a doormat.”
Remington couldn’t stand it any longer. She bolted out of the chair, rushing blindly from the room. The front door was cracked slightly; she threw it open and continued running, anywhere at all where Gaston and his hateful uncle couldn’t hear her sobs.
She had barely rounded the corner of the manse when Gaston caught up to her. Without a word, he threw his arms around her and she clung to him desperately, sobbing her heart out. She was so terribly hurt for him.
“Shh, angel,” he soothed her quietly. “It’s all right. ’Tis old history.”
“Oh, Gaston,” she sobbed. “The shame you suffered. Everyone thought you were a traitor to your king, when in fact you did what you had to preserve your dignity. You would allow everyone to think badly of you rather than make public the truth.”
He held her tightly, her feet dangling off the ground. She had no idea why he really betrayed Richard at Bosworth and he wasn’t sure he would ever tell her. Perhaps it was something that he and Matthew needed to keep between themselves. It was, after all, their secret.
“Angel, my shame is no greater than the shame you suffered at the hands of your husband,” he said quietly. “Do not let my uncle’s words upset you so; I have recovered. I have found you, and you have helped me heal my wounds.”
She gripped him, her hands in his hair, wishing she could absorb all of his pain. God, they had both suffered so much.
“I told you my uncle was a boor,” he reminded her. “He is a wise, brave man, but he’s still an oaf.”
Her face darkened and she hiccupped. “I do not like him.”
He gripped her arms gently. “In spite of everything, I do. All I ask is that you tolerate him, please. You do not have to like him.”
“I do not,” she repeated stubbornly. “How dare he speak of your father so carelessly. How dare he speak of you as if you had no feelings.”
Gaston shrugged and put his arm around her shoulders, leading her back toward the house. “That is simply his way, Remi. Kind of like Rory.”
Her mouth opened in outrage. “Rory had more sense than to run off at the mouth like that.”
“Mayhap so, but at least Uncle Martin does not put saffron dye into bathtubs or honey into beds,” he countered gently.
She had to agree with him. Silently, he led her back to the house. As they reached the door, Matthew was exiting.
“Where are you going?” Gaston asked, grasping him by the arm. “Please stay. I would like Remington to become acquainted with you.”
Matthew smiled at Remington. “As I would like that very much also,” he replied.
But his smile faded and he glanced back towards the house.
“But I fear I must be on my way home and it would seem you have much here in London to deal with. Moreover, if your uncle cannot control his mouth then I fear I may have to slug him, which I am sure you will not like, so it is best I remove myself. However, if you would like for me to stay to support you in your endeavor against the church, I will be happy to.”
Gaston shook his head. “I am afraid it is something only I can do,” he said. “But I swear I will send for you if I need you. When can we see you again?”
“As soon as you can make it to Wellesbourne,” Matthew’s smile was back. “I am anxious for you to see my daughter and Alix will drive me mad with questions about Lady Remington, so I would encourage you to come as quickly as possible.”
“We will,” Gaston’s gaze was warm on the man. “It was good to see you, Matt.”
Matthew reached out and took his hand again, snorting at the expression on Gaston’s face. “What on earth is the matter with you?” he asked. “I have never seen you so… emotional.”
Gaston gave him a half-grin. “I am not entirely sure,” he said, dipping his head in Remington’s direction, “but I am sure it has everything to do with her.”
Matthew turned to Remington and grasped her by the arms. It took her a moment to realize that he was only holding her with his right hand because his left was missing.
It was a startling realization because she had never heard that the White Lord was missing his hand.
As she pondered that mystery, Matthew leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
“Whatever magic you have over him,” he said as he pulled away, “I approve.”
Remington smiled bashfully. “I look forward to meeting your Alix,” she said. “I am sure we will have many happy conversations together.”
Matthew smiled warmly at her. “I am sure you shall,” he said, turning to Gaston. “Promise you will call me if you need me.”
Gaston nodded. “I swear it.”
With a final smile, and a hand to Gaston’s shoulder, Matthew continued on to the livery behind Braidwood to collect his horse as Gaston took Remington back into the house. Martin had devoured nearly the entire plate of marzipan, turning expectantly when they reentered the reception room.
“Ah. Are you well, my lady?” he asked. “You ran out of here so quickly that I worried for your health.”
She felt Gaston squeeze her faintly and managed a weak smile. “You will forgive me, my lord. Sometimes this child announces itself at the most inopportune times.”
“Of course,” Martin said. “Another de Russe heir. By the way, Gaston, how fares your son? I have not seen him in years.”
“Trenton is well,” Gaston was calm again, reaching for the goblet his uncle offered him. “He and Remington’s son are fostering at Mt. Holyoak.”
Martin raised his eyebrows at Remington. “So you have a son, as well? Then there is no doubt that this child you carry will also be male.”
Nicolas entered the room, his helm removed and his dark hair kinky with perspiration. Martin smiled warmly at his son. “Nicolas, I am terribly pleased to see you. But where is Patrick?”
“At Mt. Holyoak, training Gaston’s troops,” he replied.
Martin nodded. “You will relay my greetings to him.” He eyed his son a moment. “How have you been, Nicolas? I have not heard from you in a year.”
“I have been well,” Nicolas replied, picking over the remainder of the marzipan. “So has Patrick. Gaston has all but put us in charge of his new keep and we have been extremely busy.”
Martin nodded with satisfaction, very proud of his two sons. His only regret was that he was too old to fight with them anymore, for he missed them terribly. Being in London, far away from his sons, he was often lonely.
Nicolas popped a piece of candy into his mouth, not looking at his father. “But I do have news for you. I am getting married, and come spring, you will be a grandfather.”
Remington nearly fell out of her chair. Her eyes bulged and she looked at Gaston; he too, was astonished.
Martin leapt from his chair. “A grandfather?” he repeated, delighted.
“Holy Mary, lad, you do not know how long I have waited to hear you say that! I could never get a decent betrothal for you, being my second son. Everyone wanted Patrick, but not you,” he clapped his hands together, oblivious to the insult he had just dealt his son. “Who is this lucky lass?”
Nicolas was red around the ears. “Lady Remington’s sister, Lady Skye Halsey.”
Martin looked at Remington. “How thrilling! She must be a beauty, then, like her sister. How large is her dowry?”
Remington ran cold. Skye did not have a dowry; none of her sisters did. She opened her mouth to stammer out an answer when Gaston interrupted her. “One thousand gold marks. Nicolas will be well set-up.”
Nicolas passed a shocked glance at Gaston, who met his gaze steadily.
Remington reached up and grasped his hand, and they clung together tightly.
It did not surprise her that Gaston would provide Skye’s dowry, and she was tremendously grateful to him.
He constantly amazed her with the new ways he demonstrated his love for her.
“Delightful! Nicolas, you will be a wealthy man.” Martin was ecstatic. “I look forward to meeting my daughter, and my future grandson. You must bring them both here after the babe is born. Better yet, I shall travel to Mt. Holyoak.”
“I shall bring them here,” Nicolas mumbled firmly, then spoke louder to his father. “Skye would enjoy the trip.”
Remington’s emotions had exhausted her. From the depths of despair to the pinnacle of joy, she found she was fairly spent. As Martin and Nicolas and, occasionally, Gaston, prattled on. She could only sit in silence, holding Gaston’s hand, listening to his deep voice now and again.