Chapter Eleven #7
Remington held up a finger. “Ah, they would eventually. But first, they waited while the elders of the Tuatha de Danann protested and petitioned the king, trying their best to resolve the problems by peaceful means. When their pleas did not work, a poet by the name of Coirpre wrote a song about the king, a song so insulting and slanderous that the entire population of Ireland began to doubt their king’s wisdom.
As dissension spread, Bres turned to his fearsome Fomoiri brethren to help him keep his throne by force.
Meanwhile, the chief physician of the Tuatha de Danann had made an arm for Nuada from pure silver, and as a whole man, he could now make his bid to regain his throne. ”
“A silver arm,” Trenton scoffed. “It would not work like a normal arm.”
Remington smiled at the boy and held up a finger.
“But remember, Trenton, the Tuatha de Danann are a fairy race. With a little magic, anything is possible. As I was saying, Nuada prepared to regain his throne. However, he needed help. The help of the most powerful warrior in the kingdom.” Her eyes widened as she embellished her story with a great deal of animation.
“A great feast was held at Tara, the palace of the kings, and the very greatest warriors in the land were present; Ogma, In Dagda, men who had conquered Ireland long ago. But the mightiest warrior of all had yet to arrive; Lug.”
“Lug?” Trenton repeated. “Who is he?”
“The best warrior in the whole world!” Dane told him eagerly; he loved this story with a passion and knew every twist and turn.
His mother smiled at him as Trenton piped up. “My father is the best warrior in the whole world.”
Gaston pushed himself off the tree trunk and sat behind Remington, leaning back on an elbow. “But this was hundreds of years ago, Trenton. For their time, they were the greatest.”
Remington feeling him, turned to look into his gentle face. Discreetly, she snuggled back against him. His hand inconspicuously rested on her thigh, under the folds of her surcoat.
“Lug was the son of Ethne and the chief physician’s son, Cian.
He was perfect in every way, handsome and strong, brave and powerful,” she glanced at Gaston with a grin.
“Just like Sir Gaston! Nuada demanded that Lug lead the battle against the Fomoiri and Lug agreed with a specific plan; everyone had duties that would, together, bring down the terrible Fomoiri. Goinbniu, the smith, made all of the fearsome weapons; Coirpre, the poet would humiliate the enemy through his songs, and Ogma, the champion of the gods, would supply the armies. In Dagda, the all-mighty protector of the Tuatha de Danann, would strike down hundreds with his massive war club, and the chief physician Dian Cecht would bring the slain Tuatha warriors back to life by casting them into a magic well. Lug himself stayed out of the battle until he caught sight of his grandfather, Balar of the Evil Eye.”
The boys let out a collective groan at the mention of the hated enemy. Rory made a terrible fuss and pretended to swoon, to which Jasmine swatted her on the behind. Remington shook her head at her sisters’ theatrics, preparing to finish her story with great flourish.
“Balar obtained his nickname because those who were unfortunate enough to look upon it were guaranteed destruction. Lug could see that Balar’s soldiers were preparing to open their lord’s eye by use of a great handle attached to the lid and he knew he must act swiftly or all was lost.” She paused and snickered when the boys made a terrible fuss over an eyelid with a handle, making terrible faces.
“Quickly, Lug took his slingshot and sailed a stone into Balar’s eye, driving it clear through his skull so that it came out the other side and gazed upon his own troops.
With the defeat of the enemy guaranteed, the Tuatha de Danann warriors beat the Fomoiri back into the sea and never saw them again.
From that day on, the Tuatha de Danann ruled Ireland. ”
Trenton and Dane were still caught up in the great tale, their innocent eyes wide with excitement. “Is that all?” Trenton asked, waiting for still more.
“I am afraid so,” Remington replied, feeling Gaston’s hand caressing her leg. “My mother said that she was a direct descendent of Nuada, the Tuatha de Danann king.”
Dane actually took a deep breath; he had been holding it nearly the entire time. “I like that story. Tell us some more. Tell us about Perseus.”
Remington begged off. “Mayhap later. I think you boys have heard enough glory for one day.”
“You can never hear enough glory,” Gaston murmured behind her.
“You are not helping,” she whispered back.
He smiled broadly and sat up, tossing away the piece of grass he had been fiddling with.
“Do not bother Lady Remington anymore, lads. She has been gracious enough to tell you one magnificent story this day and you should be grateful for it,” he pointed to the lake.
“If you intend to swim anymore, you had better do it now before the sun sets further.”
Trenton and Dane jumped up, their quarrel completely forgotten as they hustled themselves back to the water.
“My father is greater than Lug,” Trenton ran saying.
Remington smiled and turned to Gaston as her sisters moved away noisily, pulling off their slippers and heading for the water.
“I think his father is greater than Lug, too,” she said softly.
“And I think Lady Remington is a gifted storyteller,” he responded softly, his gaze licking over her. “How is it that you know that story so well?”
“My mother used to tell us that story all of the time,” she said. “She told us a great many stories that I will pass down to Dane.”
He rose on his massive legs. “Now that you have their attention, I have a feeling they are going to make you tell them every story you know until they bleed you dry,” he pulled at his simple mail tunic, the only piece of armor he wore this day.
“As much as I have enjoyed this, I must return before they send out a search party. And do not you be out here overlong, either.”
“I won’t,” she promised, smiling at him as he started to walk away.
“I mean it, Remi,” he pointed a finger at her. “I shall keep watch from the battlements. If I do not see you returning within the hour, I shall come looking for you.”
“No need, my lord,” she said softly, her eyes twinkling. “’Tis my sworn duty to obey your orders, large or small.”
“I give no small orders,” he rumbled, but his eyes were smiling.
*
The evening meal had been ordered by Oleg and prepared by Remington’s regular cook.
Mari-Elle’s servants had been cleared out of the house and were confined to the second floor wing with their mistress.
Mari-Elle was distraught and outraged that her husband’s soldiers were treating her as if she were in prison, but there was naught she could do at the moment.
That would come later, tonight. She may have been struck down, but she was certainly not out.
The smells of seasoned mutton filled the air of the grand hall and Remington resumed her customary place making sure Gaston and his knights were served and kept happy.
Even Dane and Trenton were eating at the head of the table with Gaston, seated across the table from one another, but at least there had been no more fighting.
Remington tried to pay special attention to both boys, hoping to ease the hostilities.
She brushed past Gaston on her way to topping Trenton’s goblet with a berry-punch concoction. He reached out and grabbed her arm gently, pulling her against his chair. Their eyes met and bolts of lightning flew between them, sharp and thrilling.
“You are paying more attention to these young men than to the master of the keep,” he said softly. “I am quite outraged.”
She smiled sweetly. “I shall make it up to you tonight, my lord. I promise.”
He released her arm slowly. “I will hold you to that promise,” his eyes suddenly moved beyond her to the doorway and she saw his face tighten. “Damn.”
She turned to see Lady Mari-Elle de Russe strolling into the dining hall, her thin face eyeing Gaston and Remington quite hostilely. Remington took a step away from Gaston and curtsied as Mari-Elle marched up.
“My lady,” she said. “We did not know to expect you for dinner.”
“Yet I am here,” she said coolly. “You may seat me. By my husband, preferably. Who is this little urchin?”
Dane looked up at the mean-looking lady, his eyes wide. He was sitting on Gaston’s right hand and did not want to relinquish his seat.
Remington’s hackles instantly went up but she forced herself to calm. “This is my son, Master Dane Stoneley. He and your son were enjoying their meal together.”
Mari-Elle looked at Gaston. “Since when do prisoners share the same table with the conqueror, my lord?”
“He was invited,” Gaston replied, his voice low. “You have not been. Return to your rooms and take your meal there.”
Trenton’s little face went pale; he could feel the tension and he hated it. It frightened him when his parents fought.
“I…I thought I might be able to enjoy my meal in the hall, since I have been confined to my rooms all day,” she put her hand protectively on Trenton. “And I have not seen my son at all.”
Gaston glanced at Trenton and saw the worry on his face. Not wanting to upset his son further, he waved at Mari-Elle. “Very well, then, be seated next to your son.”
Arik moved down to allow Mari-Elle to sit. Remington moved away from the table and returned moments later with a trencher of mutton, gravy and bread. She sat it heavily in front of Mari-Elle, testimony to her irritation.
Mari-Elle eyed the food. “What is this meat, madam?”
“Mutton,” Remington answered shortly. The woman had piqued her temper calling her son an urchin.
Mari-Elle turned her nose up. “Mutton. Have you no beef or fowl?”
Remington’s pretty jaw clenched and Gaston watched her reaction. “Nay, my lady, only mutton. If you want beef, then you will have to kill the cow yourself.”