Chapter Nine
Remington and her sisters sat in her spacious bedchamber as they began sewing on their new material they had purchased at the faire. Confined to their rooms, it was the perfect time to work on the tedious task.
Skye set out the patterns and did the cutting; she was very precise and careful.
Jasmine would do the basic basting while Remington and Rory did the more difficult stitching.
In spite of her tomboy nature, Rory was an excellent seamstress.
Bored, Dane played by the hearth with his new cart and horse toy.
“Why does not he want his wife here?” Jasmine asked her eldest sister.
Remington shrugged, trying not to appear too involved. “He does not speak of her, and I did not press him. I have no idea why he hates his wife.”
Rory watched her sister a moment. “Are you upset with this? I mean, the woman suddenly showing up?”
Remington focused on the material in front of her. “It matters not to me.”
Rory snorted. “Remi, we know you and the Dark Knight have eyes for each other. It’s no secret.”
Remington’s head came up and she looked at her sisters in surprise. “What…what are you talking about? He’s married, and so am I.”
“Aye, you are both married – so what?” Rory said. “You hate Guy, and he hates his wife, too. Isn’t it natural for you two to come together since each finds the other attractive?”
Remington did not know what to say. She lowered her head to her sewing. To her surprise, Rory reached out and gently touched her hand. “We do not blame you, Remi, nor do we think you are wrong. God knows you deserve some happiness.”
Remington kept her head lowered and tears sprang to her eyes.
Her emotions were running so wild that she was having difficulty controlling them of late.
Rarely, if ever, had she cried in front of her sisters simply because she always forced herself to be the strong one.
If the entire world was coming down around them, she wanted her sisters to look up to her and see just how unaffected she was by everything.
Skye crept forward on her knees and put her hands on her sister’s legs. “You are crying,” she accused softly. “Why, Remi? What’s wrong?”
Remington’s sewing plopped into her lap. “Nothing is wrong. It’s just that….oh, nothing is wrong. Go back to work.”
“It’s that bitch, isn’t it?” Rory bristled. “She’s upsetting you simply by being here.”
“It’s not her,” Remington retorted, sniffing loudly. “It’s everything.”
“What everything?” Jasmine asked softly. “Do you love him, Remi?”
Remington looked stumped. She gazed back at her blue-eyed sister a moment, thinking of a thousand denials but not one would come forth. “Aye.”
She could hear the collective sighs. Even Dane sat up from where he was playing on the stone hearth, his eyes wide at his mother.
“Truly? You love him?” Skye gasped.
Remington almost contradicted her statement simply to protect herself. She did not know why she had even confessed, but she had. Her shoulders slumped in resignation of what she had done, of what was yet to come.
“He’s the most wonderful, caring, sensitive man I have ever known and I cannot help but love him,” she said softly. “He’s the man dreams are made of.”
“But…he’s so big. And frightening,” Skye protested. “God, Remi, he’s the Dark Knight. All of England fears the man.”
“Not me,” she said simply. “He calls me his angel.”
They were all silent a moment, realizing Remington’s admission began to open the way for a whole new world.
If she wasn’t afraid to allow herself feelings after what she had been through, then mayhap they should not be afraid, either.
Each one of the sisters had her eye on a prospective knight, but they had been hesitant to move beyond simple looks and casual words.
“But what of his wife?” Rory wanted to know.
“He promised me he would send her away,” Remington said, picking up her sewing. “I am not worried.”
The sisters looked at each other doubtfully, but Remington seemed confident enough. Since the subject was apparently closed for the moment, they resumed their sewing.
Dane approached his mother solicitously, leaning against her arm. “Is Sir Gaston going to be my new father?”
Remington gazed into her son’s eyes. “Nay, Dane, I am afraid not. I realize it is difficult for you to understand, but he will never be your father. Yet he will always care for you a great deal.”
Dane looked puzzled and thoughtful. He turned away from Remington and went back to his toys.
Remington sighed heavily and picked up her sewing again. She was glad he had not asked any more questions because, truthfully, she wasn’t sure how to answer him. How could she explain it to him when she herself did not understand it?
Someone rapped heavily on the door and Skye opened it to find Oleg standing in the archway. His old face was lined and haggard as he eyed the four women.
“The Mistress of Mt. Holyoak requests your presence at the nooning meal, ladies,” he said.
Remington felt as if she had been slapped. Her calm nerves and confident posture were rapidly fading in lieu of darker, angrier emotions.
“You mean Lady Mari-Elle?” she asked evenly. “Oleg, inform the lady that we are not allowed from our rooms under direct orders from Sir Gaston. If she wants us to attend the meal, then she will have to speak to the master.”
Oleg nodded wearily. “Aye, my lady.”
Remington sat her sewing down, again, and stood up. “What’s the matter with you?”
Oleg threw up his hands. “What isn’t the matter? The Lady Mari-Elle has brought her entire household with her, including her own stewards, a cook, and a physician. They are taking over Mt. Holyoak and I have been reduced to a common house servant.”
Remington was outraged. She clenched her jaw angrily, pacing the length of the floor to the elderly servant.
“Oleg, I want you to gather all of our servants and tell them to take to their rooms until this situation with Lady Mari-Elle can be solved. I do not want them serving her, or her household. Do you understand?”
“Aye, my lady,” Oleg said briskly, somewhat relieved.
“Sir Gaston has promised to send his wife home this day and I fully intend that the residents of Mt. Holyoak stay out of her way until such time as she leaves,” Remington continued. “We have had one abusive master and I shall now allow my vassals to be further abused by a spoiled, imperious woman.”
Oleg crinkled a smile. “As you say, my lady.”
He turned to leave but Remington grasped him gently to stay him a moment. “And if the Lady Mari-Elle has a problem with my orders, you tell her to come and speak to me directly. I shall tell her exactly what has happened and why.”
Oleg was vastly relieved, yet he expected no less from Lady Remington. The woman had the courage of ten men. He quit the room, full of his message for Lady Mari-Elle.
Remington turned to her sister, her face glazed with a cunning, sinister look. “That’s right, Oleg; send the bitch to me. I shall give her an earful.”
Rory’s face lit up like the high-noon sun. “Can I help you?”
Remington lifted an eyebrow, pursing her lips thoughtfully. There was no mistaking the devious aura about her. “Gaston wants her gone and so do I. Mayhap…mayhap we could make her miserable enough to leave,” she looked pointedly at Rory. “You, my lady, are a master of pranks. Any ideas?”
Rory was in her heaven. She rose from her chair, clasping her hands behind her back with mock thoughtfulness. “Quite a few, actually. I think we could make her life quite hellish.”
Remington smiled wickedly, knowing she shouldn’t be encouraging this action, but feeling her desperation.
True, she trusted Gaston, but she wasn’t beyond giving him a little help.
Their relationship was so new, promising such wonder and magnificence that she wanted this woman out of the way in order to pursue her happiness.
Selfish on her part; absolutely. But for once in her life she felt like being selfish.
*
Lady Mari-Elle de Russe paced leisurely across the floor of the large foyer, her expert eyes studying every inch of the décor and wealth.
Wealth that now belonged to her husband and, to her.
She could see that Mt. Holyoak was wealthy indeed, not extravagant, but certainly self-supporting and then some.
She was terribly pleased that King Henry had seen fit to grant her husband such a prime holding.
Money, station, and reputation; everything Gaston had that was hers.
In spite of the fact that he had betrayed Richard, it mattered not since he was in good standing with Henry Tudor.
And why not? His mother was a Tudor cousin and therefore, Mari-Elle found herself in the prestigious position of being related to the King of England.
Moreover, Gaston was her partner but she held no love for him; she never had. He gave her what she most wanted and stayed away to allow her to enjoy it; wealth. Money that kept her supplied with men, jewels, and clothes. Her life had been perfect until a few short weeks ago.
Her current lover, Count Luc-Pietre de Moulors, had been amusing enough to keep her occupied.
He was suave, handsome, thinly built and witty.
Exactly her type and she considered keeping him for an infinite amount of time until she discovered her pregnancy.
Panicked, she banished him from Clearwell and set out to make rapid plans.
She had not seen Gaston in nearly a year and everyone would know the child was not his.
To bear him a bastard would give him reason to send her away, cut off her allowance, or mayhap even kill her.