Epilogue
“By the power vested in me by God and his Holiness, Pope Innocent IX, I have the pleasure of pronouncing you man and wife. My lord, you may kiss your bride.”
Gaston tore his eyes off Archbishop Bourchier and focused on the radiant vision before him.
Lady Remington de Russe smiled back, tears already coursing over her cheeks as he took her in his arms and kissed her far more passionately than he should have in front of the church.
Remington sobbed through the kiss and Gaston chuckled as he released her to a chorus of applause.
Westminster Abbey had never been quite so gay.
Bourchier was the first man to congratulate the happy couple, unusual that the clergy should include themselves in the well-wishers.
Henry and Elizabeth could barely wait for Gaston and Remington to descend from the dais before pushing forward with hearty best wishes.
Everyone seemed completely intent on congratulating them all at once so Gaston merely stood in one spot while his friends kissed his new wife and shook his hand happily.
Matthew Wellesbourne went so far as to coordinate the admiring throng, making sure no one person occupied the duke’s time for too long before ushering them along their way to make room for the next well-wisher.
The guests knew full well that there was to be a lavish reception following the wedding at the Tower, yet none could wait that long to convey their wishes. After all, Gaston and Remington had waited terribly long for this day and the excitement was tangible.
Dane and Trenton stood next to their parents like proper young men, dressed in their finest. Guests would file by and slip the boys coins as congratulatory gifts, which they would stuff happily into their tunics.
It wasn’t long before they were quite rich and looking eagerly for more wealth.
Gaston saw what was happening above all the commotion and shot them both reproving looks, to which they smiled innocently.
Unwilling to dampen their day, Gaston allowed his sons to become wealthy off the tribute from the guests.
Jasmine and Skye remained seated in the pews as the throng rushed forward to congratulate the newlyweds, bouncing Sophia and Robert on their respective knees and attempting to keep Mary entertained.
Beside them, Patrick had hold of Arica while Eudora contained Adeliza.
Patrick was still recovering from the knife wound dealt to him by Guy and had therefore lacked the strength to stand with Gaston at the altar.
However, keeping Arica quiet had proved quite a task and he wondered if standing beside Gaston would have been less strenuous.
Between Arica and Adeliza, there had been an abundance of baby chatter during the service and he was embarrassed that he had not been able to control them better.
When the horde had died down, Wellesbourne and de Vere cleared a path for Gaston and Remington down the center aisle. The couple went to their daughters, who babbled and screeched with delight when their father reached for them.
“Ah, my little magpie,” Gaston said happily as he took Arica from Patrick.
“By God, if you two aren’t the noisiest little birds I have ever heard.
” He held out his other arm for Adeliza.
Clutching both babies, he turned to his wife and smiled.
“Now that I have all of my women, shall we retreat to the reception?”
“They’re not going to the reception,” Remington informed him. “Eudora is taking them back to the Tower.”
“Not going?” his face fell. “Why can’t they go?”
“Because they need to go to sleep, Gaston, it’s already past their bedtime,” she insisted, waving over Eudora. “Patrick is going back to the Tower, too. See how tired he is?”
Gaston’s gaze lingered on his cousin. After Guy had stabbed him, the man had lain bleeding in a doorway for nearly a day before someone happened upon him.
It was by pure luck alone that he had survived, although he was still terribly weak.
But he had made a remarkable recovery, for which Nicolas, Martin and Gaston had been extremely grateful.
Gaston never did tell him about Rory’s specter.
Neither had he told Remington. Mayhap someday, when the time was right, he would divulge the turning point in his struggle against Guy.
Even if Rory wasn’t with them anymore, she’d been instrumental in the most major event of his life.
As had Arik; dead or not, his spirit had been within the sword that had slain Guy. Gaston knew that without a doubt.
As if on cue, Martin de Russe came alongside Remington and kissed her loudly on the cheek.
Any hard feelings from a year back were dissolved due to the fact that Martin loved Gaston and Remington far too much to hold a grudge.
Hurt that Gaston did not think him capable of protecting Remington in her time of need, Martin’s pride had been restored when Gaston had asked him to protect Skye and Jasmine after Guy’s escape.
The small gesture had meant a great deal to the once-powerful knight.
“Lady de Russe!” he boomed. “Surely the most beautiful woman to bear the de Russe name, except for Skye, of course.”
Remington beamed at him, radiant in her pale yellow surcoat and pearl tiara. “Thank you, Uncle Martin.”
He hugged her closely and pinched Arica’s cheek. “Beautiful babes, like their mother. Now, I must go and make sure the reception is properly prepared.”
Martin kissed Skye and bound off, thrilled to be of use once again and acting as if he were someone of import. Gaston chuckled. “He acts as if he is in charge.”
“He thinks he is,” Nicolas said from behind Gaston. “You should have heard him and Henry arguing over the types of ale to serve. He acts as if he is paying for your wedding celebration instead of our king.”
Gaston shook his head at his aggressive uncle, reluctantly handing Arica and Adeliza over to Eudora and Patrick when his wife nudged him to do so.
Around them, the crowd was filing from the church to waiting carriages and horses outside.
Lord Brimley passed Remington, kissing her hand sweetly and barely able to speak for the lump in his throat.
Clive and Walter were behind their father, smiling broadly at her.
They moved to kiss her hand but Gaston raised a threatening eyebrow and they settled for a kind word instead.
Lord Tarrington extended his congratulations as well, as did Ingilsby.
In fact, Ingilsby seemed particularly emotional and Remington was driven to tears again by the man’s demeanor.
He had truly been her friend through the bad years and she valued him greatly.
Ingilsby’s knights filed past as well, respectfully conveying their best wishes.
When Hubert came upon Remington and offered his congratulations, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
Hubert did not know if he should respond or not with the Dark One gazing at him, but he overcame his fear and hugged her back. Blushing, he went on his way.
Matthew had been absent during Remington’s kidnapping and the subsequent fight for Mt.
Holyoak because Gaston had been too swept up with the events to send for him.
He eventually received word of what was happening from Henry himself and had made his way from Wellesbourne Castle to be by Gaston’s side.
He hadn’t left the man since everything had happened and had been forced to leave his newly pregnant wife at home, even for the event of Gaston’s wedding.
Even now, he stuck close by Gaston as at the man escorted his new wife out of the cathedral.
Best of friends, the two of them shared a bond closer than brothers.
Thick or thin, they were always there for one another.
Gaston took his wife’s arm as they made their way out into the bright July sun.
He gazed down at Remington, thinking her to be well worth the trouble of the past year.
In fact, they had met exactly one year ago this month and when Gaston took possession of Mt.
Holyoak, he never dreamt it would change the course of his life forever.
He had gained a wife, two daughters and a son.
He had lost friends to death, but he had gained a whole new perspective on life.
He discovered he had friends who were willing to do anything for him, priests who were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, and even a woman who returned from the dead to help him in his most valiant struggle.
The one event he regretted was de Tormo’s offering; with Guy’s death, the sworn confession from the priest had been unnecessary.
Gaston had paid the church five thousand gold coins for de Tormo’s soul, hoping it would lessen his time in purgatory.
Lying to the church surely entitled the priest to the seventh level of hell and Gaston was determined that he not spend an over amount of time there.
And there had been other sacrifices, too.
Botmore had been wiped out as punishment for assisting Guy.
Douglass Archibald, although indirectly involved with Botmore and his weak resistance, had been stripped of his lands.
Gaston would have rather made allies of them than enemies, but his vengeance for Remington had extended into political boundaries and he had shown all of Yorkshire his considerable wrath.
Lord Ingilsby, or more rightly, the Earl of Hampsthwaite, ruled the lands of the now-disposed Yorkists.
Taran was waiting for the couple, decorated in polished armor and banners of black and silver. He snorted at Remington happily, dragging his big tongue across her hand. Gaston lifted her up into the saddle and she smiled at him.
“Are you sure you want me to ride with you?” she teased. “We tried this once before, as I recall, and I ended up angry with you.”
“I am sure, wife,” he mounted behind her, cradling her against his armor. “Do you know I have never liked the word ‘wife’?”
“And now?” she asked.
He squeezed her gently. “I like it a great deal. In fact, there has yet to be a more beautiful word invented.”
“Aye, there already has been. Husband.”
I want for you to be my husband. The wish that had come true.
Remington knew little of Guy’s death not three weeks before and was not overly curious. She had not asked the circumstances, and Gaston had not offered. All that mattered was that they were finally wed and she never believed she could ever be so happy.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said as they fell into the wedding procession. “We are going on a trip.”
“A trip? Where?” she was instantly excited.
He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Venice.”
“Italy?” she exclaimed. “You are taking me to Italy?”
“Absolutely. Are you pleased?”
“Oh, Gaston!” She turned in the saddle, kissing him happily. “I am so excited. I can hardly wait.”
He returned her kisses. “You won’t have to wait long. We leave tomorrow on the Majestic, one of Henry’s private vessels. Have you ever been to sea?”
“I sailed to Ireland with my mother, twice,” she replied. “Unfortunately, I was seasick most of the way.”
“Hmm,” Gaston said thoughtfully. “Mayhap we should simply sail the channel and go the rest of the way by caravan. I would hate for you to be ill during our journey.”
She sat back against him, a coy smile playing on her lips. “I am afraid I shall most likely be ill whichever way we travel.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
Her coy smile grew. “I have a surprise for you, too.”
He did not answer for a moment. When he spoke, it was with the greatest hesitation. “And what is that?”
She turned to look at him. “By the look on your face, I believe you already know the answer.”
Venice was lovely. The following spring during the month of March, Cortland Henry Hubert de Russe was born without incident.
* THE END *