Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
“No,” Guy said flatly. If the king were responding so agreeably, then he would push him to the limit. “Since I will be losing my wife, I wish another in return. Her sister, Jasmine.”
Gaston’s eggshell composure cracked. “Impossible. She is married and with child.”
Guy raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? My wife neglected to tell me that. Oh, well. With Rory dead, I suppose that leaves little Skye.”
“Out of the question,” Gaston’s jaw ticked. “She is also married and with child.”
Guy raised both eyebrows. “Truly? Now that is remarkable. I wonder if it is also true.”
“It is,” Nicolas stepped in beside his cousin, his youthful face taut. “I married Skye.”
Guy looked between Nicolas and Gaston as if seeing right through their half-truths. Then he looked at Henry. “I would have my son returned to me. When Remington marries de Russe, my son stays with me.”
Another crack appeared in Gaston’s facade. “The boy is fostering.”
“At Mt. Holyoak, I am told,” Guy, said coolly. “He will stay there and remain with me.”
Dane. Remington’s most prized possession, her beloved son, and the boy Gaston himself had come to love. Gaston could not make that decision; neither could Henry. “Gaston?” the king pushed.
Gaston’s eyes flicked to his king helplessly. “I cannot agree, my lord. That will be for Lady Remington to decide, but I can tell you without a doubt that she will refuse it.”
“All or nothing, de Russe,” Stoneley said with a confident growl. “All of my terms or no agreement.”
“Is that everything?” Henry demanded roughly.
Guy looked thoughtful a moment. “Aye.”
Henry looked to Gaston, who was staring at Guy as if the man had just declared he was Christ in the flesh. “Well, Gaston?” Henry prodded gently. “You have his terms. They are not entirely disagreeable.”
Gaston stared a moment longer. “Nicolas, send word to Mt. Holyoak. All troops and weaponry is to be dispatched to Clearwell. The keep is to be vacated without delay.”
Nicolas blanched. “What of… what of Jasmine and Skye?”
“To Clearwell,” Gaston still wasn’t looking at him. “Dane and Charles will remain at Mt. Holyoak.”
Nicolas’ jaw swung open. “Christ, Gaston. You are going to leave them? What about…?”
Gaston’s eyes riveted to his cousin, boring a hole clean through to his brain. Nicolas met the gaze, feeling its impact as if he had been physically hit. Without another word, he quit the room.
Gaston turned back to Guy. “De Tormo will write up the agreement this night.”
“Shouldn’t you discuss my terms with Remi?” Guy asked, his mood lightening. “She will not want to leave Dane, you know. She could end up hating you for leaving her son behind in your haste to gain her.”
Gaston knew that only too well, but he had no other choice at the moment. Hoping to throw Stoneley off the track, he said: “We will have more children, Stoneley. One son will not matter in future years, not when she will bear me ten.”
Even Henry thought the remark was rather callous but he did not reply. He had done his work and moved for the door, making sure de Vere and Uncle Jasper had hold of Gaston.
“When can I expect my freedom, my lord?” Guy asked pleasantly.
Henry paused coldly. “After the priest writes up the consent, and after the annulment proceedings have been completed, and no sooner. You are still an enemy of the crown, Stoneley. I do not take those charges lightly.”
Guy lowered his head respectfully, watching the great group of men file from his room.
When the door closed and he was alone, he smiled.
Remington would never leave Dane behind and he knew it.
De Russe had no right to agree to that particular term, but he had taken the liberty anyway.
Guy snickered into the darkness; he had his freedom promised and his keep returned.
And mayhap, after all, he would still retain his wife.
There was no reason to gain an annulment if she was not going to marry anyone else.
Especially if she ended up hating the reason for all of these troubles – Gaston de Russe.
Remington did not sleep at all that night. The convent was cold, her pallet made of straw, and her stomach hurt with all of the emotions she was feeling.
She wondered where Gaston was and how he was handling her removal. He had always seemed remarkably calm, with the exception of when she’d met with Guy. It was the only time she had ever seen him rage, but she wondered if he had not torn the Tower apart when he realized what had happened.
The nuns had been kindly to her, older women with wrinkled faces exposed underneath their wimple. One had seen that she was made comfortable, bringing her bread and wine before leaving her utterly alone in her tiny cell. She felt as if she were in prison.
The next day after her sleepless night dawned sticky and hot.
As soon as Remington rose, her stomach announced itself loud and clear and she knew it was because of the child.
Nibbling on bread calmed it somewhat, and she was able to sponge herself with cool water and don a soft linen surcoat.
Her hair gathered back at the nape of her neck, she continued to nibble bread and gaze from the narrow window, wondering what would happen to her now.
She had never felt so alone in her life, and memories of Mt.
Holyoak and her family seemed years past.
St. Catherine’s Convent was a huge place. Young, noble girls were schooled and finished here, and the place was full of novice nuns. She could see them down below occasionally, dressed in rough woolen garments and wooden clogs, even in the oppressive heat.
She spent the entire morning pondering her future, losing track of time. Before she realized it, the sun was over her head and there was a soft knock at the door.
A novice nun entered the room. Remington turned to the girl, looking at her curiously.
“My lady? The nooning meal is being served below, and your knights said that you could enjoy it outside of your room,” she said softly. “I would escort you there.”
Remington stood up. “I’d like that. This room is a might small.”
The girl smiled, a beautiful smile. In fact, she was very pretty in spite of the fact that her hair was hidden and she was dressed in shapeless brown wool.
Remington guessed that she was close to her own age.
“And this room will become quite hot as the day progresses,” the girl assured her.
“Which is why you have been allowed the coolness of the common room.”
Their walk down the corridor was silent.
Remington glanced about her curiously, having never been inside a convent before.
It was barren of anything other than necessary furnishings, but it was absolutely spotless.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear children laughing as they descended the stairs.
The common room was a cavernous hall with simple wooden tables and benches, reserved for travelers and others seeking refuge. There were few people in the room, but the young nun dashed away from her as one of Courtenay’s knights approached.
It was a knight who had brought her in the previous night, as tall as a tree and broad. His armor banged loudly and his faceplate was up, revealing his handsome face.
“My lady,” he greeted pleasantly. “I thought you would appreciate a change of scenery. Your meal is over here.”
She followed him silently to a small wooden table. A variety of fruits, cheese and hard bread awaited her, but she drank two large goblets of water before she even looked at the food. Meanwhile, the knight had moved far, far away, watching her from the shadows.
She ate slowly, her confusion and depression reflected in her movements. The food was fresh, but she thought it tasteless. She missed Gaston so terribly that her whole existence was tasteless at the moment. And she missed her son, her sisters.
The novice nun came to her, making sure she had enough to eat and drink. Remington almost asked the girl her name, but she lost her nerve. The girl moved away again, leaving her alone. Depression overwhelming her, she stopped eating and dropped her hands to her lap. She sat and stared at the table.
“You must eat more to keep up your strength,” came a voice.
She did not raise her head; instead, she peered sideways toward the source of the voice.
A figure dressed in coarse, dirty garments sat a few feet away. It was a large figure, with filthy hands that picked at a chunk of bread. Remington looked away, ignoring the man.
“I demand you eat what is put in front of you,” the man said again, and Remington looked up sharply. There was suddenly something strangely familiar about the voice.
Martin de Russe pulled the hood of his cloak back slightly, winking boldly at Remington.
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, but she recovered her shock quickly, glancing about to make sure no one was looking their way.
The knight, over her shoulder but several yards away, was of no immediate threat.
“Uncle Martin,” she whispered sharply. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching out for you, lovely,” he whispered back, pulling the hood down over him once again.
“Did Gaston send you?” she asked, her eyes flicking about nervously.
Martin snorted, shoveling bread into his mouth. “Good God, no. He does not even know I am here. He was adamant about not sending anyone to protect you, but I thought he was being ridiculous. I am here of my own accord.”
“How did you find me?”
“Waiting outside of the Tower entrance, lovely. When your party passed, I followed you. ’Twas not difficult.”
She eyed him with disbelief and amusement. “Well, what are you doing dressed as a peasant?”
“A disguise,” he told her as if she were a simpleton. “I can stay close to you this way,” he suddenly let out a series of horrible, gravelly coughs and snorts. “And I am desperately ill until they see it fit to move you, Remi. Then, suddenly, I will be gone that very day.”
“To follow me,” Remington supplied with a smile.