Chapter Ten #3
Jasmine made the suggestion that a swim was quite in order and everyone agreed except Remington.
She looked to Patrick, knowing Gaston’s orders had been quite firm, but Rory began to pester him until he relented and promised to ask.
He quit the room in search of Gaston, but not before depositing a kiss on Rory’s hand.
Rory tried to slap him but he was too quick for her.
Gaston was in the outer bailey; one hundred new recruits had arrived two weeks early from London and he was highly irritated.
Could no one do as they were supposed to?
Mari-Elle was supposed to stay at Clearwell, and these raw soldiers were not supposed to be here for another ten to twelve days.
His mood darkened as Arik, perturbed as his lord, directed the settling loudly.
Patrick came upon them, giving the new men the once-over before turning to his cousin. “Gaston, I come with a request?”
Gaston’s face was taut with irritation. “From who? If it is Mari-Elle, tell her to go to the Devil.”
“Nay, not from your wife,” Patrick replied with a smirk. “I come from the masses. They want to go swimming, with your permission.”
“Swimming?” he tore his attention away from the problem at hand and looked down at his cousin. “The ladies?”
Patrick crossed his arms, smiling. “It is terribly hot. Besides, there is no danger of them running into your wife outside of the keep.”
Gaston rubbed his chin. “You have a point,” he let out a sigh of pure exasperation, his mood irritable.
“Assign a few knights to go with them; I want you here with me right now.” He slugged Arik in the arm, suddenly, pointing to something that had just caught his attention in the ranks.
Arik was off and shouting at the novice soldiers.
Sir Roald and two other knights appeared at Remington’s door not a half hour later. “I have come to take the fish to the pond, ladies,” he announced with a wide grin.
Amid all shrieks and sighs of thanks, the sisters practically crashed into one another as they hastened to gather linen towels and other supplies. Two large wicker baskets were thrust at Sir Roald and another older knight as the ladies, along with Dane and Charles, preceded them from the room.
They had to pass the baileys on their way to the lake, baileys filled with fresh recruits. One look at the four women and the whistles and wolf-calls abounded. As much as the knights tried to shield them and they tried to hurry through, it wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid their attention.
Gaston heard the whistles and hoots and knew what had happened.
Taking the ladder to the inner wall two rungs at a time, he mounted the wall in time to catch a glimpse of Remington scurrying from the outer bailey with Sir Roald’s arm grasping her protectively.
He did not blame the men; they were only human and knew a beautiful woman when they saw one.
But he would have to explain things to them rapidly or there would be more than one dead soldier.
The heavy trees were thick with moisture and everyone was sweating rivers, including the knights in armor.
Rory and Jasmine broke through the trees first and took off on a dead run for the relief of the lake, while Skye and Dane bounded after them.
Charles stayed with Remington and the three knights as they made their way to the huge oak tree, their usual spot.
Sir Roald spread a large woolen blanket to protect the ladies from the ground and sent one knight into the trees to patrol. He smiled at Remington chivalrously, backing away to a discreet distance to keep watch.
Remington noticed Charles seemed to be infatuated with the knights. The lad had never shown any interest in warring arts and for him to show interest was unusual. Remington suspected it had something to do with Gaston’s mock battle that morning.
“Did you enjoy your time with Sir Gaston this morning?” she asked.
Charles nodded. “Aye. He’s an intelligent man. For a knight.”
“Then you are not afraid of him anymore?” she said, arranging her skirts.
“Nay,” Charles insisted. “He’s not like I expected after all.”
“What did you expect?”
“To be honest, I do not know,” Charles toyed with a piece of grass.
“I was scared of his reputation, I suppose. The knights that told me of his coming told horrible stories about his fierceness and ruthlessness. When I heard about the soldier he killed in the bailey, and the fight at the faire, I was all the more frightened of him.”
“And that is why you have been holed up in the tower?” she asked gently.
He nodded, embarrassed. “When he came into Dane’s room this morn, I thought I was going to throw up from fright. But he’s…different. He’s….”
“He’s a mortal man with intelligence and compassion,” Remington finished, giving him a little shove in the arm. “He’s not your hated Dark One; Devil’s Spawn, or whatever else he is called.”
“He’s not, Remi, I will admit it,” Charles said. “He seems to like you an awful lot, though. Aren’t you afraid his wife will be jealous of you and send you away?”
“Nay,” she replied simply, looking out to the lake. “I am not afraid of her.”
Charles let it go, turning his attention to the lake, too. “I think I shall go in, too. Can’t let them have all the fun.”
Remington was left alone under the oak tree.
With a sigh of contentment, she settled back against the trunk and watched the faint breeze trickle through the leaves.
Sunlight danced on the woolen blanket and she found her thoughts turning toward Gaston again.
It seemed that all she ever did now was think of him.
Somewhere in the midst of her daydreaming she dozed off.
Drifting in and out, she heard screams of delight and Rory’s loud voice.
In her dreams she saw Gaston, his incredible sensual face, the curtain of hair that fell down over his eyes.
She dreamt something about the faire, although she couldn’t quite grasp the thought.
Peace was finally hers on this lazy, muggy day.
Somebody was shaking her gently, calling her name. She rolled her eyes open to find Sir Roald looking back at her.
“My lady, we must return now,” he said. He sounded tense.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, glancing down to the lake. Like waterfowl, her family was still romping about and throwing water on each other.
“Why, Sir Roald? What’s the matter?” she asked.
His jaw was rigid as he glanced about uneasily. “If you do not mind, my lady, I will collect the baskets and we will be gone. If you would kindly retrieve your family from the water.”
He was awfully tight and almost forceful. She rose unsteadily, wondering what had the man so spooked. She glanced around as he quickly gathered their things but saw nothing unusual. Puzzled, she began to walk to the lake to do as she had been asked.
And then it struck her. Sir Roald was the only knight present. There had been three. What had happened to the other two? Uneasy, although she knew not why, she hastened to the water’s edge.
Sir Roald had gathered everything into a pile at his feet, although he had not picked anything up.
His hand rested on the hilt of his broadsword as he scanned the trees.
Something was terribly wrong, although he did not know just what.
His knights were missing, not responding to his calls, and he was eager to return to the safety of Mt.
Holyoak. Sir Gaston would have his head if anything happened to the lady.
Remington was hustling her son out of the lake when they all heard a high-pitched whine. It was brief, going from barely audible to a loud scream within a mere second, and suddenly Sir Roald went hurtling to the ground in a crash of mail and flesh.
Everyone started violently; Skye and Jasmine screamed loudly. All eyes were riveted to Sir Roald, lying on the ground with an arrow sticking out of his chest and Remington bolted into action.
“Run!” she yelled. “Run for the fortress!”
They tore off as if the devil himself had just burst through the trees.
But the moment they started to run, charges broke through the underbrush and hurtled themselves across the green grass, on a direct course for the fleeing family.
Remington was terrified; she knew they couldn’t outrun them.
But they could lose them in the bramble, if only to slow them down.
“The bushes. Head for the bushes,” she urged everyone, especially Dane. She was panicked for her son’s safety.
They were almost to the dense foliage when the destriers were upon them. Jasmine was grabbed first, followed by Skye. Remington tried to duck away from a large roan horse but she wasn’t swift enough; a huge mailed hand had her by the dress and she was hooked.
She twisted and thrashed as she was hoisted up onto the saddle, punching and kicking with every bit of strength.
She lost sight of Dane and Rory; she had not even seen where Charles had gone.
Mayhap he was a prisoner, too. She could hear Jasmine screaming and she increased her efforts to free herself.
“Remington!” A voice hissed in her ear. “Stop it. Remington, do you hear me? Stop!”
She recognized the voice but it did not ease her terror. For the moment, she stopped fighting and turned to the helmeted knight.
“Who…who is it?” she gasped.
“Derek,” the knight said. “I came to rescue you.”
She was puzzled now as well as terrified. “Rescue me from what?”
“From de Russe,” he insisted, trying to help her sit straight on the destrier.
“Remington, I know you said all those things at the faire because you had to. I told my father what happened and he ordered us to rescue you from Mt. Holyoak. We have been waiting here for a day, waiting for you to come to the lake. I remember how much you loved the lake.”