Chapter Eleven #4
Hesitantly, she stood up and removed her robe, revealing a thin white nightshift, as fine as a spider’s web. She heard Gaston groan. “By God’s Bloody Rood, madam, how am I expected to sleep with you wearing such a provocative garment?”
She looked down at her shift. “It covers everything, my lord.”
“Covers, aye, but you can see right through the damn thing,” he pointed out.
She looked up at him, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Shall I put the robe back on?”
“Hell no,” he moved around her and pulled back a corner of the coverlets. “Now get in there before I do something drastic.”
“Pray what?” she teased innocently.
He gave her a stern look and bent close to her ear. “I will show you later after Dane has been placed in his own bed.”
With a smile, she climbed into the bed next to her son. Half asleep, Dane snuggled close to her as Gaston eased himself onto the mattress on the boy’s other side. Remington held Dane, and Gaston held them both.
Morning announced itself sharp and clean.
*
The next few days were strange at best. Mari-Elle kept to her rooms, as she had been ordered, but her servants were all over the keep, drilling soldiers for gossip and planting rumors of their own.
In no time, the quiet solitude of Mt. Holyoak was darkly tinged with enough idle talk and hearsay to fill a moat.
The rumors centered around Remington and her sisters, of course, harmless tales that were more bothersome than anything else.
It was obvious Mari-Elle was trying to turn the tide of favor against the Yorkist wife in hopes that she would vacate the keep.
Mari-Elle wasn’t truly suspicious or jealous of Remington, but she was threatened by her presence.
It never occurred to her that she was her husband’s mistress; Gaston did not have that sort of reputation.
Her husband, however, would have nothing to do with her.
She would send for him, seek him out, and when she did manage to find him he was barely civil.
It was frustrating, especially since the child in her womb was growing larger and her time at Mt.
Holyoak was drawing to a close. The time was coming for more drastic measures.
July was a brutal, humid month and more and more time was being spent at the lake.
After the morning meal, Remington packed up Dane and made her way to the inner bailey to seek Gaston out; she no longer asked permission to swim, only to let him know where she was going. More often than not he accompanied her.
She found him in the outer bailey reviewing the new recruits. She and Dane stood patiently by the gates as Arik drilled and Gaston observed carefully. Four hundred more men were expected within a few days and he wanted to have the first class out of basic training.
She watched him underneath the rapidly warming sky; his glossy hair slicked back as usual, giving him a hawk-like appearance.
Rarely, if ever, did he give orders directly to the troops, but when he spoke it was as if God himself had issued commandments.
They tripped over one another in their haste to carry out his commands.
It was impressive and overwhelming, and Dane soaked it up like a sponge.
He couldn’t wait to start his training, but Gaston had already warned Remington that contact between them would be severely limited, and the boy would be housed with the other squires near the stables.
As his mother, she was not so anxious for him to begin his fostering.
A boy sat several feet away on the edge of a hay cart, watching the proceedings intently.
Remington studied the boy for a moment until she realized it was Trenton.
It was not a difficult discovery, for he looked exactly like his father.
He sat as still as stone, never wavering his gaze and Remington could see the hero worship in his eyes, just as in Dane’s.
Dane, however, was growing tired of simply waiting and dug his inflated pig’s bladder ball out of the basket.
He began to toss it about as Remington admonished him to be still.
He would obey for a moment or two, then start tossing the ball all over again.
Inevitably, he lost control and it went rolling over to the hay cart.
He dashed over to the wagon just as Trenton picked the ball up. He extended it to the owner.
“Here,” he said.
Dane took the ball, studying the lad. He was a good deal taller than himself, but his face was still babyish. “Thank you,” he said. “I have not seen you around here before.”
“’Tis my father’s keep,” Trenton said. “I will be staying here now.”
Dane blinked, puzzled. “Your father?”
Trenton pointed to Gaston. “That’s my father. He’s lord of the keep. Are you a servant?”
Dane shook his head. “My mother is lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Trenton frowned. “My mother is lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Dane scowled fiercely. “Is not. My mother is Lady Remington Stoneley.”
Trenton scowled back. “And my mother is Sir Gaston’s wife. That makes her the lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Dane threw down the ball at the challenge. In spite of the fact that Trenton was a good head taller than he was, he shoved him anyway. “Sir Gaston loves my mother and she is still lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Trenton was back in his face and shoved him so hard he fell to his bottom. “You are a liar.”
“Am not!” Dane scrambled to his knees and took Trenton down by the legs.
Remington rushed over to the two scuffling boys, yelling at them to cease their fighting. Gaston heard the beginnings of the dispute and was already on his way over. He reached down and pulled the boys apart by the neck, holding each of them at arm’s length.
They were still shouting at each other and Trenton had a cut on his lip. Gaston gave him a good shake.
“Good men, you will cease this fighting,” he said severely.
The boys listened somewhat, but they were still huffing and glaring at one another. When their struggles slowed, Gaston let them go and crossed his arms critically.
“May I ask, then, what that display was all about?” he asked reprovingly.
“He started it,” Dane yelled.
“Did not,” Trenton responded.
“Dane. Trenton,” Gaston snapped. “If you cannot tell me what has caused this argument, then you will both retreat to your rooms for the remainder of the day. Is that understood?”
Dane opened his mouth but thought better of it. Gaston eyed his son, silently ordering him quiet. Trenton obeyed, reluctantly.
“Now,” Gaston started again. “Dane, why do not you tell me why you were scuffling with my son?”
Dane tore his eyes away from Trenton and stared at Gaston as if he had just announced he was Jesus Christ. “He’s…. he’s your son?”
“Aye, he is,” Gaston answered. “Did not your mother tell you he was here?”
“Well….no,” Dane admitted, feeling terribly hurt for some reason.
It wasn’t the fact that his mother had not directly told him; he knew something was up by the way they had been kept to their rooms, and he knew Lady de Russe had arrived.
But he had not known Gaston’s son had arrived, too.
He was quite enjoying being Gaston’s sole son.
“Then allow me to introduce you to my son, Trenton de Russe,” Gaston indicated the larger boy. “Trenton, this is Lady Stoneley’s son, Dane. You two will be fostering together.”
The boys looked at each other in a new light; however, it only added to the hostilities. Dane finally lowered his gaze, kicking at the ground.
“Dane, aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Gaston prodded gently.
Dane looked at Trenton and looked at the dirt again, fidgeting. “It was nothing, my lord. We were just fighting, that’s all”
“I know you were fighting, I saw you,” Gaston said, and then turned to his son. “Trenton? What happened?”
Trenton looked a bit sheepish and shrugged. “He said his mother was lady of the keep, and I said my mother was lady of the keep. And we fought.”
“I see,” Gaston stroked his stubbly chin. “Trenton, Lady Stoneley is chatelaine here. Do you understand that?”
Trenton nodded. “But what about mother? She is your wife.”
“And she is chatelaine at Clearwell,” Gaston replied evenly. “It would be far too much work for her to be chatelaine of two keeps.”
Trenton looked at Dane doubtfully. “He said you loved his mother. How can you if you are married to my mother?”
Gaston felt as if he had been struck. He did not dare look at Remington; if he had, he would have seen she had gone completely white. He found himself swallowing hard.
“Lady Remington is a valuable asset to Mt. Holyoak, Trenton,” he said, hoping he could bombard the boy with a lot of clever words and avoid the real question. “I appreciate the work she does for me here at the fortress.”
“But you sleep in her bedchamber,” Dane insisted, trying desperately to prove his point to his new enemy. “And I have seen you….”
“Dane.” Remington reached out and grabbed her unruly son, embarrassed and horrified. “We will be at the lake, my lord. Good day to you. Good day to you, Trenton.”
He watched her scuffle off, holding Dane by the ear. The boy’s whimpers and grunts faded as they crossed the outer bailey. Gaston motioned to one of the knights on the outer wall and two soldiers were following Lady Remington from the keep.
He turned to his son, wondering how in the hell he was going to control the damage.
Trenton was looking at him, quite confused, and he could see that this was going to take some time.
He put his hand on his son and steered him over to the hay wagon, and bade the lad to sit.
He lowered himself next to him, eyeing his son and groping for the correct words.
“Trenton,” he began softly. “You know that your mother and I do not exactly get along at times.”
“She hates you,” Trenton said with quiet bluntness. “I have heard her tell her friends that.”
Gaston clasped his hands in front of him. “I am sorry you have heard such things, but whatever she thinks of me, please know that we both love you a great deal.”