Chapter Four #2
He wasn’t surprised. He knew Stoneley, as he knew all of Richard’s barons.
The man was vile and low, and he felt a tremendous urge of protectiveness towards Remington and Dane.
The fool baron had a beautiful family and he abused them.
By God, what he would not have given for a wife and son like Remington and Dane.
A wife with unearthly beauty and a son with his mother’s features, intelligent and curious.
Why was Stoneley blessed with such a beautiful family when he himself had been cursed with a hellish mistress? It wasn’t fair.
“He shall not hurt you again, Dane,” Gaston said quietly. “I promise you that.”
Remington whirled around, her eyes boring into Gaston. “You cannot promise him that, my lord. ’Tis not fair to him.”
“I can and I will,” Gaston said evenly. “He shall not touch you again. Either of you.”
Remington let out a small cry of disbelief, wiping at her eyes. “Dane, take my flowers back to the castle,” she told her son. “I shall come later. Go now.”
Dane, still thinking mightily on the Dark Knight’s words, did as he was told and disappeared through the bramble. When Remington heard the last of his footfalls, she turned to Gaston.
“How dare you make promises like that,” she hissed. “I forbid you to give my son false hope.”
“’Tis no false hope I give, madam,” he replied. “I never make promises I cannot keep.”
Remington’s face flushed. “So you intend to always be at my son’s beck and call to protect him from his father? It is simply not possible. Sir Guy is my husband and has every right to do with us as he pleases. The contract of marriage forbids you to interfere.”
Gaston let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the tree. “Mt. Holyoak is my property now. If I keep you on, you are technically my property, too.”
“That is ridiculous,” she snapped softly. “I am Guy’s wife, to do with as he pleases. And Dane is his son. You cannot own us.”
“Mayhap not,” Gaston said, meeting her incredible sea-crystal eyes. “But I can protect you.”
Remington shook her head and turned away from him, embittered and confused. Gaston studied her miraculous hair and the myriad of colors within, wondering if it were as soft as it looked.
“Has he always beat you?” he asked quietly.
Remington thought a moment. She couldn’t remember when he had not; there had never been a time during her married life that she had not lived in daily fear. She found the question ludicrous.
“If you only knew,” she whispered.
“I want to know,” he said. “Tell me.”
She simply couldn’t talk about it. This man was a stranger, a feared stranger at that, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him her most terrible secrets.
She took a deep breath and faced him. “I would return to the keep now, my lord,” she said with forced bravery. “I have gathered enough flowers for the day.”
He looked back at her, seeing the terrible vulnerability underneath the beauty. How could Stoneley abuse something as tremendously fragile as this woman? He couldn’t fathom the reasoning and that, in turn, angered him.
And then the strangest feeling swept him, a sort of pity for Lady Remington, yet it was deeper than mere pity. It was broader, softer and by far more unsettling. He did not realize that for the first time in his life, he was feeling compassion.
“If that is your wish, angel, we shall return,” he said. “I am anxious, for God only knows what my cousins have done to my keep in my absence.”
Remington blinked. Had she heard right? Had he called her angel? She was so stunned she couldn’t answer him and he caught her stare.
“What is wrong?” he asked, pushing himself off the tree.
She managed to shake her head unsteadily. “Nothing, my lord.”
She moved past him and onto the path, acutely aware of his massive presence behind her. Much to her surprise, he did not mount his destrier but instead chose to walk beside her. She fell silent as they passed through the thickness of the trees and emerged onto a wider path used by the peasants.
Gaston’s booted steps were heavy beside her, like great stones crashing to earth in rhythm.
She stole a glance from the corner of her eye and watched his powerful gait, thinking the size of his hands to be bigger than her head.
A heady sense of pleasure filled her to think this man had pledged to protect her against her husband, although she did not believe it for a minute.
She was so intently studying the size of his hands that she failed to realize the destrier was plodding along behind them without benefit of a lead, following Gaston like an obedient dog. When she finally did become aware of the fact, she was impressed.
“Your horse is well trained, my lord,” she said softly.
He grunted. “Taran is my other self. We have been together for many years.”
“Taran? I like that name.” She turned to look at the destrier, whose head was as long as her torso. “He seems docile enough now.”
Gaston glanced back at the horse. “Taran is Welsh for ‘thunder.’ And I assure you, my lady, his mood is temporary. He seems to be quite interested in you.”
She looked at the horse more fully, his rich charcoal-gray color and black, intelligent eyes. “He is beautiful.” Before Gaston could stop her, she reached out to stroke the animal’s muzzle.
Gaston tried to shout for her to halt her actions, but the words did not come fast enough.
As soon as she stroked the silky fur, he had visions of Taran biting off her hand and he reached out to pull her away.
But, to his amazement, the horse did not make a move against her. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.
Astonished, Gaston watched her as she fell back a pace to walk beside the horse, speaking in a sweet, soft voice and stroking his face. Taran’s lids half-closed with blissful attention.
“By God’s Bloody Rood,” Gaston muttered. Then, he actually snorted in amusement and Remington looked up.
“He is a sweet animal, my lord,” she said. “Is he always this calm?”
Gaston shook his head. “Nay, madam, that horse had been the scourge of many an enemy. In fact, I would say he has killed almost as many men as I have.”
They came to a halt. Remington put her hands on the horse’s head and lay her cheek against his nose, laughing when Taran’s big tongue licked at her. Gaston was so astonished he put his hand to his face in disbelief.
“He is as gentle as a lamb,” Remington declared. “I choose to disbelieve your slanderous statements against this animal, my lord. He is not a killer.”
A shadow of a smile creased Gaston’s lips. Taran had never even been that affectionate with him at the best of times and he was, frankly, flabbergasted.
“I assure you, madam, he is indeed formidable,” he said helplessly.
Remington smiled at him, a smile that hit him like a bolt of lightning.
His reaction was so sharp that it was almost painful, but in the same breath he couldn’t ever remember seeing a more beautiful smile.
His knees actually felt shaky and he cursed himself for his foolishness.
Women were a nuisance, a bother, self-centered bitches with no purpose on earth other than to give a man pleasure and breed more males.
Mari-Elle was living proof that a female was a useless, vile creature and he stuck firmly by his beliefs.
… Then why did he feel like a giddy squire?
He cleared his throat quietly and resumed walking. Remington continued beside him, a few feet away, and it took him a moment to realize that Taran was walking behind her. Not him, his master and keeper, but her. A stranger.
He mounted Taran at the bottom of the hill and cuffed the horse when he struggled against him.
Remington continued to walk and he reined his dancing horse slightly behind her, following her up the hill.
Irritated with his horse’s behavior, he did not even see Remington enter the castle as he halted his snorting beast to an unsteady halt.
There were several men there to greet him, his squire rushing to take hold of the animal and almost getting his hand nipped off in the process. Gaston dismounted and snapped harshly at the horse as Patrick and Nicolas strode up.
“Well?” he demanded of his cousins. “Give me a report.”
“All is well, my lord,” Patrick replied. “Nothing unusual to report.”
Gaston removed his mail gloves, letting his gaze rove the walls of the inner bailey. “The men looked well-positioned and the keep appears in order.”
“We have been working since you left,” Nicolas said.
Gaston nodded. “Very well, then. As for the moment, I intend to take a bath and a hot meal and I shall send for you when I am finished. There is much to discuss.”
A woman with bright red hair suddenly emerged into the bailey and began to march purposely across the compound, away from Gaston and his men.
“Hey! You there!” Nicolas shouted at her. “I told you to stay to the castle!”
Rory continued to walk away from him, intent on going to the stables. She had a leggy gelding she was fond of riding and planned for a long ride this day. She heard the knight yelling at her, but she ignored him soundly.
Nicolas ran after her. Patrick and Gaston watched him jog across the courtyard.
“How have the women behaved in my absence?” Gaston asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“Well, for the most part,” Patrick replied.
“But that redhead is a banshee. Nicolas thought there was a truce between them after he spanked her our first night and was pleased when she graciously drew him a bath last eve. Fact was, she put some kind of coloring into the water and he did not realize it until he got out of the tub and was dyed a lovely shade of yellow. She is supposed to stay to her room, but obviously, she is not.”
Gaston took a slow, deep breath as he watched his youngest cousin grab Rory by the arms and begin his verbal assault.