Chapter Eleven #3
“I know,” she said quickly. “And I understand your reservations. But after being poisoned upon my arrival in addition to my ailment, I am truly too weak to travel home. Mayhap you will be gracious and allow me to stay for a short period of time. And, also, mayhap I can prove to you in that time that I am sincere in my desire to strengthen our marriage. Please, Gaston?”
He was furious and frustrated, and thoroughly tired of her lying and pleading. He suddenly swung to face her, his face dark. “I will allow you one week to recover and after that you are gone. I will hear nothing of reconciliation, and I will have my annulment. Do you comprehend me, madam?”
“You cannot mean that,” she whispered.
“Aye, I can, and I do,” he returned snappishly. “I want your acknowledgement that you understand what I am telling you.”
She closed her eyes against his loathing stare. “I understand, my lord.”
“Excellent,” he stood back from her. “Return to your room, now. And if you are so weak, I do not expect to see you out and about until the day of your departure.”
She fully understood the order and indicated such with an obedient nod. Silently, she quit the room, yet she knew the battle was not over. She had only just begun.
*
Remington couldn’t sleep that night to save her life.
She tossed and turned and twisted, angry with Gaston for having loved someone else.
He had never told her that he loved her, so she had no reason to think he was anything more than extremely fond of her.
Sure, he wanted to marry her, but he mentioned two specific reasons why; children and wanting a lovely woman to come home to. He never said anything about love.
She sat up in bed, beating at the pillows before throwing herself down on them again. They still did not feel right and she jumped out of bed altogether, pacing to the window.
The night was cool and the moon was bright, casting silver light on the scene below. She could see the sentries on the walls, torches moving about as they went on their rounds. Somewhere, a night bird gave song.
There were suddenly very heavy boot falls in the corridor outside and she knew it was Gaston returning to his chamber.
Her first reaction was to run to her door and open it, but she reined herself.
She was too angry with him, too confused for her own good.
Certainly she had no right to be angry that he had loved another woman, but she was hurt and enraged just the same.
The boot falls passed her room and went down the hall. She heard a door slam and knew he had retired for the night.
Remington sank onto her silk chair, hot tears springing to her eyes.
Irate or no, she had hoped he would at least say good night to her, but apparently he had forgotten about her.
Damn him. She sat back in the chair and wiped her tears away angrily, having no idea why she was feeling so confused.
At least with Guy, she had known what to expect.
With Gaston, she felt as if her brain was mush.
She heard a distant door creak open and again there were boot falls in the corridor.
Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized it was Gaston once more, hoping he would knock on her door but knowing he was most likely going about his business.
Even in the middle of the night the man seemed to have duties. She wondered if he ever slept.
She startled sharply when she heard soft raps at her door.
Fighting the urge to run and throw it open, she took her leisure crossing the room, purely to make him wait.
Slowly, she undid the latch, hoping it would show him that she was not at all eager to see him.
The door creaked open and she peered up at him.
“What is it, my lord?” she asked calmly.
His face lacked any humor whatsoever. “Let me in.”
Silently, she complied. He entered her room dressed in snug leather breeches and a black linen shirt, the sleeves rolled above the elbow. Remington had to draw in a sharp breath; he looked absolutely magnificent.
He went directly to her wine decanter and poured himself a full cup of wine. Draining it, he poured himself another. Remington began to forget about her own insecurities when she saw how upset he was.
“What’s the matter?” she asked softly.
He drained the cup and still poured himself more. Turning, he let his eyes rove over her from her feet to the top of her chestnut-auburn hair. “Come here.”
She obeyed, wrapping her arms around his narrow waist and hugging him tightly.
He held her with one arm, the cup in his other hand.
They stood there for several long moments, simply content with the feel of each other.
He drank only half of his third goblet of wine before setting it down, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her aimlessly toward the window.
She clung to his neck, feeling his warmth and strength course through her. So what if he did not love her; she could live with his great affection and attentions. Mayhap in time she could make him love her a little.
“Mari-Elle is being most uncooperative,” he said after a moment, cradling her in his arms and rocking her softly like a babe. “She says she wants to reconcile our marriage.”
“What?” she pulled her face from the crook of his neck, a shocked expression.
“Exactly my reaction,” he said drily. Even shocked, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “She claims she is dying, if you can believe that, and she seems to be intent on patching the ruins of our marriage before she passes on.”
Remington scowled in outrage. “That’s ridiculous. She does not look as if she is dying, Gaston. She’s as healthy as I am.”
“I agree and I told her so, but she claims that Rory’s little gag with the crushed apricot seeds has left her quite weak and has only served to aggravate her life-threatening condition,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers.
“I told her she had one week to recover and get the hell out of my keep. I shall seek an annulment with or without her consent.”
“Oh, my love, I am so sorry,” she whispered.
“As am I,” he said. “But ’tis no matter. She shall not stand in our way, I promise you.”
She kissed his cheek softly, burying her face in his neck once again. She did not know what to say to him. An annulment was along the lines of an act of God, and she did not believe in miracles. In fact, she seriously doubted there was a God who could create men as terrible as her husband.
Yet; Gaston believed it possible, and she clung to his belief. He was her god now.
He held her, caressed her, his mind moving ahead to London and Henry.
The king was already creating quite a bit of trouble within the church for his demands that ecclesiastical immunities be dissolved, that priests and clergy be held accountable to the laws of government as normal men were.
For Henry to go to the papal legate on Gaston’s behalf and demand an annulment might add more fuel to the strained fire.
He was well aware of the problems of Henry’s relationship with the church, but he would do what he had to do to achieve his ends. It was either that or murder both Mari-Elle and Guy Stoneley.
He shook his head at the thought, disgusted that he had even considered it. Mayhap he had learned lessons in politics from Richard after all.
Remington lifted her head to smile at him and he brushed his lips on hers, suddenly very fatigued. He had her back and all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms the rest of the night, to forget about the most eventful day for a while.
The adjoining door suddenly creaked open and Dane was in the archway, sobbing softly. Both Remington and Gaston looked to the little boy.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked her son, sliding from Gaston’s arms.
“I….had a….dream,” he sobbed, rubbing his eyes.
She took her son in her arms and brought him to sit with her on the bed. Gaston sank down beside them.
“What dream? What was so awful?” she cooed gently.
“Father,” he blurted. “I saw father, and I saw you, and he was trying to kill you.”
Remington kissed the top of his crying head. “Battles and lords and sieges,” she admonished Gaston softly. “Now he’s having nightmares of death.”
He raised his eyebrows and put his hand out to the boy. To his surprise, Dane left his mother and cuddled up in Gaston’s arms.
“You shall protect her, won’t you?” Dane sniffled.
“Of course,” Gaston said gently. “But it was only a dream, Dane. Dreams can’t hurt us.”
“But sometimes my dreams come true,” he insisted. “This one will, too, and you have to save my mother.”
Gaston gave Remington a disbelieving look and was puzzled to see that she looked entirely calm and agreeable, even. She met Gaston’s stare and gave a reluctant shrug.
“He has on occasion, dreamt of things that have come to pass,” she said softly. “Ever since he was old enough to tell us of his dreams.”
Gaston lifted an eyebrow to tell her exactly what he thought of that nonsense. She looked away.
“Dane, your father is not going to kill your mother, I promise,” he said. “Do you think you can go back to sleep now?”
The little boy shook his head. “I want to sleep in here with you.”
Gaston and Remington looked at each other. “This is my bedchamber, Dane, not Sir Gaston’s.”
“I know that, but he sleeps in here with you, and I want to sleep with the both of you,” he squirmed from Gaston’s arms and dove under the coverlet of the bed, tossing about.
Gaston and Remington watched him with astonishment for a moment. So the boy was intuitive as well as having prophetic dreams, Gaston thought wryly. He reached down and tugged off a huge boot, and Remington looked at him with surprise.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He yanked off another boot. “I am going to sleep in here with you and Dane,” he stood up, bare-footed, and swept his arm in the direction of the dozing boy. “After you, my lady.”