Chapter Eight #7
“I am afraid we must be going,” Gaston finally said, hating to spoil Dane’s fun. “But we shall be riding in the dark and I would like to get on our way.”
Remington agreed silently, pulling Dane along behind her. The boy did everything but kick and scream; he begged, pleaded, and drug his feet as his mother led him out of the lists.
“Dane,” Gaston said sternly. “Knights do not act like spoiled children. They do what they are told without question. You do not want me to think that you cannot follow orders, do you?”
Dane stood straight. “Nay, my lord.”
Gaston nodded curtly, pleased that the child was reasonable.
The group left the tournament arena and met with the wagon where they had left it.
Rory, Dane and Skye piled into the front of the wagon while Antonius helped Jasmine mount her little palfrey.
Remington was moving for her own bay mare when she noticed the animal favoring its right foreleg. Concerned, she called to Gaston.
“See here,” she pointed to the leg. “I think she’s lame.”
Gaston ran a trained hand up the horses’ fetlock, feeling the telltale bump in the tendon. He checked the hoof for any other outward sign before straightening.
“Indeed she is,” he said. “You will have to ride in the wagon.”
The wagon bench was already full with her son and her sisters, and the small bed was filled with bolts of material. Gaston and Patrick shifted the bolts around but there was barely enough room for her to perch her bottom on the end of the wagon bed. It would be uncomfortable at best.
Remington hopped up on the end of the wagon and tried to get comfortable when Gaston reached out and pulled her off.
“You shall ride with me,” he said.
A bit reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her over to Taran and she stood next to the horse while he adjusted the saddle. Taran, smelling Remington, nudged her with his great nose. She put her hands on the huge head.
“Hello, Taran,” she crooned. “I have missed you, too.”
Gaston watched the two out of the corner of his eye. “You are going to spoil my horse if you keep on and he shall be no good to me.”
“Keep on what?” she asked. “I am doing nothing but showing him affection.”
“He is a warhorse, not a kitten,” Gaston put his hands around her waist; they completely encircled her and then some.
Gently, he lifted her onto his saddle. Putting his foot firmly in the stirrup, he mounted heavily behind her.
Settling Remington into a comfortable position, he made sure everyone was ready to leave and spurred the horse forward.
Darkness fell quickly and so did the chill.
Dressed in rose silk, Remington was quickly cold and Gaston retrieved her cloak from the wagon.
Wrapped in the thick woolen garment, she was soon warmed by the hard iciness of his chest armor biting into her.
Making the best of it, she settled back against him for the long ride home.
Gaston rode broodingly, feeling Remington’s softness before him and it made him miserable.
What in the hell was he thinking? How could he tell Remington those things?
True nonetheless, but he couldn’t believe he had told her his innermost feelings.
Yet she had responded in kind and he knew she felt the same way, no matter how confused they both were.
He was elated and forlorn at the same time.
They had been on the road a couple of hours when Dane began to wail. Concerned, Gaston reined in Taran to a halt.
“I can’t sleep when the wagon is moving,” he cried. “My stomach hurts.”
“He is prone to motion sickness,” Remington told Gaston softly. “Especially when he is tired.”
“Can he make it to Mt. Holyoak?” Gaston asked. “We have another two hours at the most.”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. He shall be vomiting the rest of the way if we continue. Unless he walks, of course.”
“It will take all night if he walks,” Gaston said flatly. “I suppose we had better stop for the night, then.”
Remington nodded quickly. “We can use the bed of the wagon to sleep in, and the material for shelter.”
Gaston was already in motion, ordering the soldiers to take the wagon from the road and set up a makeshift camp. Dane and his aunts were delighted with the prospective adventure.
Patrick and Jasmine gathered pieces of wood and soon there was a roaring fire illuminating the campsite.
Gaston’s men had succeeded in turning the bed of the wagon into a delightful cozy hovel, using a few other bolts of material for shelters.
Breaking out the bread and wine they brought with them, the hastily erected camp was a happy little place.
Dane was dancing around and being generally loud, not at all like the young boy who had declared his illness not an hour before.
Gaston eyed him suspiciously; not at all sure that this wasn’t part of a greater scheme to prolong his trip to the faire.
As he set up a hasty perimeter for the night, the ladies and Dane warmed themselves by the fire and threw bits of bread at each other.
It was a fun sense of adventure that they all felt, spending the night under the stars.
To the men, it was nothing special nor unusual.
Fortunately, Dane wore himself down after his busy day and passed out cold in the back of the wagon. One by one his aunts joined him until the wagon bed was full. Remington did not think much of it until she made her way to the wagon to go to sleep and discovered there was no room left.
Gaston came up behind her as she tried to figure out what she was going to do about sleeping arrangements. “It appears that you are left out,” he said softly. “But my men have made a couple of shelters that should prove satisfactory.”
In truth, she wasn’t at all concerned. She knew Gaston would look out for her. In fact, she wasn’t at all tired, either. The moon above was bright and she did not feel like sleeping. She felt like staying up all night next to Gaston, even if they did nothing more than sit in silence.
“Are you going to sleep or are you going to stand guard,” she asked him.
“I shall stand guard for a while,” he said. “That is why Patrick and Antonius are trying to get some rest, so that they can relieve me in a few hours.”
She glanced over at the two knights, lying down on the earth not far from the fire. “Where are Sir Roald and the other soldiers?”
“Around,” Gaston’s eyes grazed the dark forest. “Probably resting, too. Why do not you get some sleep as well?”
“I am not tired,” she moved away from the wagon and back to the fire. He followed.
“You have had a busy day,” he said, standing next to her as she warmed her hands.
“So have you,” she looked at him pointedly. “You killed two men.”
She had not said anything about those events all day and he wondered if it was because she was trying to forget the horror of it. He could see plainly that she had not forgotten.
“I had to,” he replied simply.
“For me?” she asked.
“In a sense. ’Twas your honor I was defending both times,” he crossed his arms, staring into the fire.
“I have never had anyone defend my honor,” she said faintly.
He did not know what to say. Silently, she went back over to the wagon and fumbled about.
He continued to remain by the fire, staring at the flames as he listened acutely to everything around him.
He had learned a long time ago that his sense of hearing was nearly as valuable as his sense of sight when it came to guard duty.
Remington appeared beside him, her cloak open. “Can you smell it?”
He sniffed the air. “Smell what?”
“The perfume.” she insisted, opening her cloak wide and lifting her chin to reveal her neck. “Can you smell it now?”
He eyed her a moment before slowly lowering his head. He buried his face in the soft white crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. Roses, lavender, and lily of the valley filled his nostrils. And the scent of Remington.
“Aye, Remi,” he whispered against her skin. “I smell it.”
She closed her eyes at the feel of his face against her; this is what she wanted, what she had planned.
It was as close as she could come to seducing him, for she knew nothing of the art of seduction.
She could only go with her natural instincts, and her instincts told her to put on the perfume he had bought her.
She was suddenly shameless. She was confused, aye, but she knew how badly she wanted to feel his touch. Her fear of men, of being close, was evaporating by the second. She had never in her life wanted to be held until this very moment.
Her arms went around his neck and she threw her head back, pressing his face into her skin. All armor and cold steel, he responded with a fierce passion and clutched her tightly enough to crush her.
“Remi, Remi, my angel,” he whispered. “By God, I want you.”
She felt his lips roving over her neck, the swell of her breasts, and hot shivers rippled down her spine, kindling a fire in her loins the likes of which she had never felt before. Coupling, however, still frightened her a great deal and she suddenly pulled back from him as their heat intensified.
His gaze was inquisitive, lusty. “What’s the matter?”
She was hesitant to answer him, not sure of where to begin. He saw her reluctance and read something else into it.
“I am sorry, angel,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have done that here in the open, for anyone to see,” he glanced over his shoulder and took her hand. “Come with me.”
She opened her mouth to protest but the words refused to come forth. She wanted to tell him of her fear, her reserve, as he led her into a darkened thicket, but she choked out of pure bewilderment. Where on earth to begin?
They were well secluded from the rest of the camp when Gaston suddenly went down on his knees, running his hands down her thighs. Already, his attentions had her hot but she fought to maintain her calm.
“Gaston…,” she murmured.
“What is it?” his hands were on her ankles, snaking under her dress.