Chapter Sixteen
Mari-Elle had to be buried at Mt. Holyoak.
The heat at early August was oppressive and the body had begun to deteriorate terribly.
Just after sunrise on the second day after Gaston’s departure, Lady de Russe was buried in the small grove of oaks where generations of Guy’s family had been buried.
Located on the edges near a large oak, it was a peaceful enough spot.
Remington, although still weak, attended the funeral. Dane, Trenton, Rory, Jasmine, Skye, and Charles stood silently as the priest from Boroughbridge performed the mass and lay to rest the woman’s evil soul.
Remington kept glancing at Trenton as he stood beside the casket, wondering if he still blamed her for his mother’s death.
She hoped not; she would certainly like to befriend the boy and did not want his hatred preventing it.
Moreover, she was to be his stepmother someday and she did not want to spend the rest of her life dealing with her bitter stepson.
Dane stood next to his friend as the priest threw symbolic dirt over the grave and intoned the words concluding the ceremony.
Sir Roald was one of the four knights Gaston had left behind in charge of Mt.
Holyoak, and he moved forward out of the shadows with a few others to lower the casket into the grave.
Remington watched the knight who almost died protecting her. His chest wound was recovering slowly, sapping his strength, and he moved sluggishly these days. He smiled pleasantly at Remington as he moved about his duties, yet she couldn’t help but feel guilty that she had caused his pain.
The funeral disbanded, two of the knights already barking orders to Mari-Elle’s household to prepare to depart.
Their wagons were packed and waiting for them in the outer bailey and Remington knew Gaston had left explicit orders to rid Mt.
Holyoak of his dead wife’s staff as soon as the funeral was concluded.
She watched the sobbing ladies and servants make their way back toward the keep under the watchful eye of Gaston’s knights.
Trenton was still standing over the grave, watching Sir Roald and the other men bury his mother. Dane was trying to lead his friend away, but the boy wasn’t listening. Taking a deep breath for courage, Remington stepped forward.
“Trenton,” she said gently. “The cook has made some wonderful berry tarts, just for you. Would you like to go inside and have one?”
He blinked at the grave before turning to look at her. Gaston’s eyes gazed back. “I am… I am not hungry. Mayhap later.”
She was greatly relieved that he did not lash out at her from the first. “I understand. But it is terribly warm already. Why do not you and Dane go swimming? You can play sea battles.”
Trenton was still looking at her and she could see the inner workings of his young mind. “Are you going to marry my father now?”
She choked on her tongue. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sir Roald paying attention to the conversation.
“Nay, Trenton, not now,” she said; it was, after all, the truth. She wasn’t going to marry him this very second. Quickly, she looked to her son. “Dane, take Trenton and have the cook pack you some food before you go swimming. Charles, why do not you go as well?”
Charles was lingering a few feet away. He moved forward, standing behind his young cousin. “I’d like that. It’s too hot in the tower anyway.”
Trenton turned to look at the young man. He’d seen him only twice and observed him openly. “Why do you stay in the tower? Are you being punished?”
Charles smiled. “Nay. ’Tis my laboratory where I perform experiments and feats of learning.”
Trenton’s eyes widened slightly; it was the first emotion he had shown. “What kind of experiments?”
“Great stuff,” Dane exclaimed. “We can make things explode.”
Life came back into Trenton’s face. “Really? Can I see?”
Charles glanced at Remington, who nodded thankfully. Motioning the boys with him, they headed back toward the keep.
Her sisters joined Remington on the walk back. Oleg and Eudora were several paces behind, walking Mary between them and Jasmine kept turning around to smile at her daughter.
“She’s so beautiful,” she gushed quietly.
Remington glanced at Mary, then to her mother.
She had never seen Jasmine so happy or radiant.
They all knew of Antonius’ unconditional acceptance of the child and his intent to marry Jasmine.
It was only rumor, though, for he had yet to formally ask for her hand.
That was most likely because he would have to ask Gaston, and Gaston had already promised to be hard on his knight.
He was jesting, of course, but Antonius still had yet to work up the nerve.
The same went for the other two knights who had formed a fondness for the remaining Halsey sisters. Patrick and Rory were inseparable, and Skye worshipped Nicolas. Gaston felt the talk of marriage between the younger sisters and his knights was premature, but Remington disagreed.
“When do you think they’ll return?” Skye asked as they mounted the hill.
“Gaston seemed to think it would not be long,” Remington said. “Mayhap today or tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” Skye said wistfully.
Remington and Jasmine smiled at each other, hearing the longing in their sister’s voice. Only Rory kept her mouth shut.
“What about you, Rory?” Remington asked with a teasing smile. “Do not you miss Patrick?”
Rory turned her face away. “No.”
The other three sisters burst out giggling. “There is no harm in admitting you miss him,” Jasmine insisted. “He’s a fine, gentle knight. Not to mention that he is most beautiful with black hair and green eyes.”
Rory’s head snapped around to her giggling sisters, her green eyes narrowing. “He is certainly the most handsome of all of the knights. Gaston is far too big, Antonius is too small, and Nicolas is… well, I’d better not say what he is.”
A quarrel naturally ensued, though not particularly hostile.
Each lady was trying to prove to the other that her knight was the strongest, the bravest, and the most handsome.
Remington thought she had the best argument by far and actually had Jasmine agreeing with her as they crossed the drawbridge and under the raised portcullis.
As they were enveloped by the shadowed coolness passing through the archway and into the outer bailey, they heard the sentries on the wall announcing incoming riders. There were soldiers moving to protect them as they passed through the bailey, still other soldiers rushing to the open portcullis.
The iron grate lowered with a resounding bang and shouts on the wall initiated the raising of the drawbridge.
The ladies paused at the entrance to the inner bailey, curious to see if the approaching men were indeed the army returning.
Sir Roald was up on the wall, conversing with the sentries and other soldiers and straining to look for himself.
“Do you think it’s them?” Skye asked hopefully. Remington shook her head, watching Sir Roald descend a wooden ladder and head directly for her. “We shall soon find out.”
He came to an abrupt halt in front of them. “We have riders approaching, my lady. They are flying the banners of the holy church.”
Remington looked puzzled. “The church? Will you let them in?”
“I have little choice if they are flying the papal cloak,” he said, but she could tell he was not pleased. “I would ask that you and your sisters retreat to the safety of the castle.”
Remington glanced at her sisters. “I agree that my sisters should return, but I would like to remain if I may. After all, I am lady of Mt. Holyoak and would know their business.”
Roald wasn’t pleased with her statement, either, but he agreed. He escorted Remington to the top of the inner wall where she could watch the scene unfurl, yet remain in relative safety.
Leaving her in the company of several seasoned soldiers, he resumed his post on the outer wall.
Remington waited with the soldiers, slightly uncomfortable with them but trusting they would not accost her in any way. Ever since Gaston had killed the soldier who had grabbed her, the men had kept a respectful distance.
It seemed like an eternity before she heard the distant shouts of the riders outside the wall. Sir Roald called down to them, waited for a reply, and then responded. The conversation was most one-sided, but from what Remington could gather, the party had come to see her.
Her.
She was surprised to say the least. What would the church want with her? She watched with anticipation as Sir Roald reluctantly ordered the bridge lowered and the portcullis raised. He turned to look at her then and she could see even at a distance that he was not pleased in the least.
She descended the wall without being told to do so. Passing through the inner gate, she nearly collided with Sir Roald.
“What do they want with me?” she asked urgently.
His jaw ticked as he watched the portcullis go up. “They say they carry a message from the king,” he looked at her then. “And your husband.”
Remington’s eyes widened. She swayed back from the knight, almost falling backward had she not quickly caught herself. Her shock, her fear, her natural terror of the man called her husband suddenly swallowed her up and she took a step away from Sir Roald, shaking her head slowly.
“Nay,” she rasped. “I shall not read it. I shall not read it.”
Sir Roald was no fool; he knew that the lady and his liege were lovers. But he also knew it was more than a purely physical relationship, for he could tell by the way Gaston gazed upon her. The man was in love.
He had furthermore heard the rumors of Lord Stoneley’s cruelty and could read the horror in her face. Quickly, he sought to protect her, at least until Gaston could return.
“You do not have to, my lady,” he assured her. “Retreat to the castle and I will deal with the church as best I can.”