Chapter Six #5
“Dane seems remarkably unaffected by all of this,” Gaston murmured.
Remington nodded firmly. “He’s been spared the brunt of it, thank God. Guy never actually went after him, but Dane had to witness what his father did to us. He is most protective of me, as you have seen.”
“He’s a good boy,” Gaston agreed. “He shall make a fine knight.”
Remington hugged herself, rubbing her arms against the chill of the room now that the sun had set. “What about your boy, my lord? How old is he?”
Gaston rose from the bed with a grunt. “Trenton is eight years old, tall and well-built. And smart.”
“Like his father, I am sure,” Remington said. “And your wife? What is her name?”
His warm exterior deteriorated rapidly. “Mari-Elle. And I do not speak of her.”
Remington was shocked at the reprimand. She instantly lowered her gaze uncertainly. “Then I apologize, my lord. I meant no harm.”
He wiped his hand across his face, letting out a harsh sigh to regain his composure. “Of course you did not. It’s just that…well; do not speak of my wife. I prefer to imagine that she does not exist.”
Remington was deeply curious but banked herself. She did not want to provoke the man on an obviously sore subject. “As I prefer to imagine that my husband does not exist. Mayhap they can slip into non-existence together and we can be rid of them.”
She was smiling faintly, an innocent remark and nothing more. But he was acutely aware of how true he would like that to be, not simply to be rid of Mari-Elle, but so that he and Remington could become…friends. He wanted Remington for a friend.
“Too bad they did not marry each other,” he grinned back.
Remington laughed softly and he was enchanted by the white, straight teeth and bow-shaped mouth. She was absolutely stunning when she smiled.
He had a tremendous amount of work to attend to, but he was reluctant to leave. He liked talking to Remington; he liked the way she made him feel. And he liked the way she smiled.
“I suppose I must go now,” he said, but he was not moving for the door. Instead, he was moving for Remington and she was watching him openly. The fear was gone.
“I have ordered roast mutton and venison for supper,” she said. “I hope it is to your liking.”
“You eat a lot of mutton, do not you?” he asked, jesting with her. “Can I expect a fleece pie for dessert?”
She smiled broadly, her dimples deep. “Sheep is the primary crop of Yorkshire and we eat everything but the coat, my lord. But I will order you up a fleece piece if that is your wish.”
He studied her a moment, his gaze softening. “My wish is for you to call me Gaston in private,” he said.
She looked surprised, but recovered. “I would be honored, my lo…. Gaston.”
He gave her a lop-sided grin. “It will become easier with practice. I shall see you in the dining hall, then.”
He moved for the door, leaving her feeling breathless and warm. She had no idea why.
“Can’t I call you the Dark Knight?” she asked, still jesting with the light mood.
“No,” he said flatly as he reached the door. “I do not like that title.”
“You do not?” she was genuinely surprised. “But everyone calls you that.”
“Edward started it, and I hated it even then,” Gaston said, his hand on the latch. “But there is naught I could do against our king.”
She cocked her head at him. “Can I call you the Devil, then? Or Satan’s Spawn? Or Fruit of Lucifer’s Loins?”
He raised a black eyebrow. “Call me those things and I shall take you over my knee. I am none of them.”
“But I am an angel?” she was smirking playfully at him and he found himself swept up by her light, jesting manner.
“Aye, you are that,” he said with a vague tug of the corner of his lips. “A saucy wench, but an angel just the same.”
He quit the room, leaving Remington feeling as if the weight of the entire realm was lifting from her shoulders.
*
“You told him, Remi?” Jasmine asked with disbelief. “Everything?”
Remington, Jasmine, Skye, Charles and Dane were gathered at the small lake near Mt. Holyoak. Charles and Dane were swimming and frolicking in the cool water to stave off the heat while the ladies were lounging underneath the trees several feet away.
Remington fanned herself slowly, her lightweight blue surcoat hiked up around her knees. “I did not tell him everything,” she said. “I did not tell him about your babe, Jasmine. He does not need to know that.”
“But why did you tell him anything at all?” Jasmine lamented. “He’s a stranger.”
“He’s lord of Mt. Holyoak now and our master,” Remington replied, sighing. “But to answer you, I do not know why I told him all that I did. He made me feel comfortable and safe, and I told him. He had promised to protect us, and I suppose I wanted him to know what he was protecting us against.”
Jasmine lay back on the grass, her arm resting on her forehead as she gazed up into the old oak tree.
“He was certainly staring at you last night during supper,” Jasmine said softly. “Do you suppose he likes you?”
Remington shrugged. “He told me I looked like an angel,” she said. “He’s not as fearsome as I once thought him to be.”
Jasmine sat up. “You did not answer me. Do you think he likes you?”
“It does not matter if he does or not,” Remington said firmly. “He has a wife and I have a husband. Besides, I do not want a man. I do not even want the one I have.”
Skye looked up from the flower wreath she was weaving. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”
Her sisters looked over their shoulders in the direction of Mt. Holyoak and were not surprised to see four destriers crossing the field towards them, most recognizably the Dark Knight’s charcoal-gray charger.
“Now, I wonder what they are doing here?” Remington said, shading her eyes from the sun. “I thought they were busy building a team house.”
Jasmine’s eyes riveted to Antonius. “Mayhap it was too hot for them.”
The chargers were halted several feet from the ladies and the knights dismounted.
The women were surprised to see they wore no armor, merely shirts, breeches and heavy boots.
They seemed to shun the tunics and hose so favored by the court men, preferring more sturdy clothing instead.
Except for Antonius; he looked like a god in hose and a loose-fitting shirt.
Jasmine felt her heart flutter wildly at the sight of him.
Gaston was so large he nearly blotted out the sun as he came upon them. “Good day, ladies.”
Remington smiled at him, fanning herself more forcefully. He always seemed to make her hot. “Good day, Sir Gaston. How is your building coming along?”
“Too damn hot,” he said, moving underneath the shade. “The men are seeking shelter for the afternoon. May I?”
Remington indicated for him to sit beside her and he did, his big body lowering itself gracefully. Nicolas and Arik crouched near Skye, while Antonius smiled at Jasmine. Remington was amused to see her sister flush madly, yet wary at the same time of the knight’s attention.
“I had two men faint on me this morning with this cursed weather, so we decided to call a halt,” Gaston said, his gaze moving out to Charles and Dane in the water. “By God, I have not been swimming since I was a lad.”
“The water is wonderfully cool,” Remington said. “You should refresh yourselves.”
Gaston leaned back on his elbow, lying on his side. “I think not for me. But my men are welcome to.”
“You are too kind,” Arik said drolly. “I am allergic to water.”
“How is that possible since your ancestors were Vikings?” Antonius wanted to know. “You should be a natural to water.”
“What about you? You come from Rome, for God’s sake,” Arik returned. “Yet you so much as look at water and you become seasick. You are a pathetic excuse for a Roman.”
Antonius smiled. “I would have done fine as a centurion or legionnaire. Just not as a sailor.”
“Or a galley slave,” Nicolas snorted, drawing soft laughter.
“Centurion,” Arik scoffed. “Good Christ, you have lofty dreams. You are nothing more than a commoner.”
Antonius thrust his chin up. “I would have married well, then.”
Remington was playing with a piece of grass, chuckling at Antonius’ expense. Arik focused on her.
“And what of our Celt beauty? Do you swim?” he asked.
Gaston looked at her, noticing she was flushing with the attention. “You are Celt?”
“My mother was born in Ireland,” she told him softly. “She claimed to be descended from the Tuatha de Danann.”
“The fairy race?” Gaston remarked. “Aye, you could pass for a fairy princess.”
Remington was still uncomfortable with his references to her looks. She gazed up at Arik. “I am afraid I must embarrass you gentleman, Sir Arik. I can swim like a fish and I love the water.”
“Celt, eh?” Nicolas repeated. “That must be where the wild woman gets her red hair.”
Remington smiled at his remark, fiddling with the grass. Silence filled the air for a few moments, though not uncomfortable. Skye held up her flower wreath, pleased with her handiwork, and put it on her head.
“Lovely,” Nicolas said. “You look like a wood nymph.”
Skye blushed sweetly, displaying dimples like her older sister. “Thank you, my lord.”
Nicolas lay back on the grass, lazily, smiling at the young girl. “How old are you, Lady Skye?”
“Fourteen, my lord,” she replied, blushing redder by the moment. “I shall be fifteen come Christmas.”
Remington put the grass down and leaned back against the tree. “Where is Sir Patrick?”
“Trying to convince your sister to join us,” Gaston replied. “She is a stubborn wench.”
“She shall not come,” Remington said. “The more he pleads, the more resistant she shall be.”
Skye stood up and brushed herself off, passing Nicolas a coy glance as she walked away toward the water. Remington was concerned when the young knight rose to follow. Jasmine, too, stood up, followed closely by Antonius. Together, they wandered aimlessly in the general direction of the lake.