Chapter Twenty-One #3
Nicolas was standing back by the coach, his gaze guarded as she approached. He fully expected a slap in the face and was surprised when she greeted him with a radiant smile.
“Good morn, Nicolas,” she said gaily. “It promises to be a hot one today.”
“Good morning, my lady,” he opened the carriage door, placing her personal satchel inside.
De Tormo climbed into the rig, but Remington stood next to Nicolas, observing her surroundings in the daylight. In truth, she was waiting for Gaston to greet her and she scanned the column eagerly.
“Did you sleep well?” Nicolas asked.
She nodded. “I sleep much better on a bed than on the ground. Rory was the one who loved sleeping under the stars, although we did not get many chances for it.”
Nicolas’ gaze lingered on her a moment longer before looking away. He was vastly relieved that she obviously had not heard of his tryst, but not because he feared Gaston’s wrath. He just did not want the lady hating him.
As they stood together, Gaston rounded a group of soldiers and headed straight for them. Remington’s eyes lit up at the sight of him, and his gaze devoured her in return.
“My lady looks bright and lovely this morn,” he said with a soft smile on his lips.
She dipped her head coyly. “My thanks.”
Gaston’s smile faded as he glanced at his cousin, who took the hint and left them. Alone, he moved closer to her.
“Madam, if I had any less self-control, I would kiss you in full view of the church and my men.”
She giggled. “Coward.”
“Must you berate me so? ’Tis not cowardice, but rigid discipline I employ,” he looked over at de Tormo, seated in the carriage. “What do you plan to do today to occupy your time?”
She shrugged, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “More cards, I suppose. When will we be arriving in London?”
“If we leave now, by early afternoon,” he tapped her gently under the chin. “Let us depart, then. And no gambling with the priest.”
“We do not gamble,” she insisted as he took her elbow.
“Playing for money would be gambling. We played for apples.”
He smirked faintly, helping her into the carriage. His gaze lingered on her tenderly as she seated herself, turning to snap orders at his men the moment the door was closed.
The humidity was already stifling as they traveled south. The outskirts of the megalopolis of London came into view, towns that ran into one another until the main body of the city was reached. Remington forgot about de Tormo as she absorbed the sights and sounds and smells around her.
She was entranced with her first visit to the heart of the Christian empire.
She couldn’t believe there were so many people, all of them moving about their business before the day got too hot.
They would stare at her in the carriage just as she stared at them, the peasants wondering who the beautiful woman was in the papal coach.
The morning progressed and they drew closer to Windsor.
The Thames ran a quarter mile to the south and Remington could see the activity on the great river.
She wished her sisters could see the sights she was experiencing and would have enjoyed herself completely had not the lingering horror been cloying her mind.
Guy was coming closer. ’Twas of no matter that her sworn protector and lover was the most powerful knight in the realm.
The fact remained that Guy was still legally her husband, and she was almost faint with terror every time she thought of seeing him again.
Even though she knew Gaston would do everything in his power to prevent Remington from meeting with Guy, somehow she knew she would see him anyway.
Gaston reined Taran next to the coach. Remington perked up at the sight of him. “How far are we from Windsor?”
“Not far,” he said. “But my messenger has returned and informed me that Henry is at the Tower of London. I shall leave you off at Windsor and then proceed on to the Tower.”
She ran cold and her smile faded. He saw her reaction, knowing exactly why the color had drained from her face. Guy was at the Tower. But more than that, she was terrified that he was going to leave her in a strange castle, surrounded by strange people.
He reined Taran closer to her, his thick legs in armor brushing up against the carriage. “Do not worry, angel. I won’t be long; just long enough to see Henry and inform him of the purpose of my visit.”
Tears were welling in her big eyes and she tried to blink them away. “Do not leave me at Windsor. Please take me with you.”
“I believe it would be better if I went to see Henry alone,” he said gently. “I shall leave Nicolas with you to keep you company.”
De Tormo had been listening to the conversation; it was hard not to. “De Russe, you would be wise not to take her to the Tower. The further she stays away from her husband, for now, the better. And if I were you, I would not even tell Henry where she is. Yet.”
Gaston looked at the priest. “He will surely find out, considering she will be staying in his residence.”
The priest shrugged. “If you were truly wise, my lord, you would not leave her at Windsor at all. You would keep her with you at all times or you would harbor her somewhere else for the time being.”
“Why?”
“Think on it, if you were to leave her alone, even with a knightly escort, Henry could send his men to take her to her husband behind your back. He is not beyond that, you know. Not for the purpose of betraying you, but if I cannot convince the papal legate that she should be given sanctuary until this matter is resolved, Henry will have no choice. If he does not know where she is, then he cannot send anyone for her, now, can he?”
Gaston looked at Remington. “Agreed,” he looked back at de Tormo. “St. Catherine’s?”
De Tormo shifted his fat body in the seat. “I may have spoken hastily on that matter. Henry would find her at St. Catherine’s. Surely you have a manse in London, or at least know men who do? Men who are willing to do you a favor?”
“I have my family’s manse along the Thames, but you can observe the home from the Tower,” Gaston replied. “’Tis too close.”
“Nay,” de Tormo shook his head. “Keep her there, and keep her out of sight.”
Gaston glanced at Remington again, who wasn’t looking quite as fearful as she had been. He was pleased that the priest was looking out for her welfare, and not merely following the rigid moral code of the church.
“I…I appreciate your foresight, de Tormo,” he said after a moment. Thanks, as well as apologies, came difficult for him. “We thank you.”
De Tormo looked at Remington as well, a saucy smile on his lips. “My loyalties are not to you, de Russe, but to the lady. I have a fondness for a woman who gambles for apples.”
She smiled back. Gaston interrupted the warm moment. “This conversation never took place, then.”
“Never. I have had no knowledge where the lady is,” de Tormo agreed.
“I did not know you had a manse in London, Gaston,” Remington said.
“It belonged to my father. My uncle, Nicolas’ father, lives there,” he suddenly groaned softly. “By God, I cannot believe I am leaving you in Uncle Martin’s care. If the man does not drive you daft within a day, I shall be surprised.”
“I’d rather be with your uncle than in a castle full of strangers,” Remington said, eyeing him warily. “Why would your uncle drive me daft?”
He let out a sound somewhere in between a choke and a laugh. “He’s, well, he’s a flavorful man. A character. Full of…personality.”
“He is an obnoxious boor,” de Tormo put in casually, picking at his teeth.
“You have met my uncle?” Gaston asked curiously.
Remington giggled as the priest shook his head. “Nay, but I can piece your clues together well enough.”
Gaston raised an eyebrow. “I have used the same words to describe you.”
De Tormo looked at him and prepared a sharp retort, but snorted humorously instead. “Then your uncle must be a saint as well.”
Gaston grinned and passed a wink at Remington before reining Taran away from the carriage and thundering to the head of the column once more.
Windsor Castle came into view not a half hour later. Remington caught sight of the great tower flying its huge blue, gray and white standards and her heart lurched into her throat. It was a massive place of soaring towers and grim gray walls. She was awestruck at finally seeing the mighty fortress.
Gaston brought the party in from the north, passing through the Great Park to the mighty double portcullis opening of the King’s Gate.
His standard bearers, six of them, rode in front of him as they rode the length of the Great Park, plenty of time for him to be recognized by the sentries on the walls.
He flicked his eyes upward, glancing at his standards.
They were unmistakable; a black shield with silver lining, and in the middle was a huge boar’s head with exaggerated tusks that thrust upward to needle-sharp points.
A crown encircled the neck of the beast, and its eyes were silver with a spot of blood red.
’Twas a most fearsome, impressive banner, and surely the most recognizable in England.
The bailey of Windsor was a vast, open thing.
Gaston brought the party around to the front entrance and Remington’s mouth hung open at the sheer size of the castle.
Three stories in some parts, sometimes more, it spread forever, larger than anything she had ever seen.
Three Mt. Holyoak’s could fit into one Windsor.
There were several household troops assembled, waiting to greet the great Dark One. Gaston turned to Matts, ordering half of his army housed. The other half, plus Nicolas and Matts, he would take to London.
He dismounted Taran, leaving his two squires to deal with the excited animal as he made his way back to the carriage.
Remington’s eyes were wide. “I have never seen such a huge place,” she declared before he could even speak.