Chapter Twenty-Two
The Tower of London sat right on the river Thames.
From where Remington sat, it looked almost as if it rose out of the water like a mythical legend.
To think she was actually looking upon the structure, which housed her husband, made her feel faint.
Had it not been for morbid fascination, she would have turned her attention elsewhere.
The Tower was still in the distance when the procession called a halt. Gaston appeared at the carriage, opening the door for her. Silently, she disembarked; noticing that Nicolas and several soldiers had unloaded her belongings from the wagon and were awaiting orders.
In front of her was a huge manor house, a giant vine of spider fern covering nearly one entire wall and completely obliterating one of the chimneys. She observed the house curiously, noticing two soldiers standing at the front door, conversing with a servant.
“This,” Gaston followed her gaze, “is Braidwood, my family’s home. I will take de Tormo’s advice and keep you here until it is safe.”
“How safe can I be with your obnoxious uncle?” she quipped softly, trying to ignore the pain that was tearing at her heart.
He smiled, taking her arm. “As safe as if I myself were guarding you. Uncle Martin was a great knight, once. He’s just…”
He was cut off by a booming laugh, so great that Remington jumped where she stood.
Nicolas, his arms laden with Remington’s belongings, was suddenly scooped up from the ground by a bear of a man.
As big as Nicolas was, it was no easy feat, but the man was absolutely huge.
He slapped Nicolas on the side of the head, his voice loud and his actions rough. Remington’s eyes widened.
“Oh, please…do not tell me that he is your uncle,” she half-begged.
Gaston clutched her arm tighter. “Aye, that is my Uncle Martin. Do not worry love. He is only rough with the males in the family.”
Martin de Russe moved around his son, allowing the burdened knight to pass into the manse. He was a massive man, almost as big as his nephew, and possessed the de Russe dark hair. As he drew closer, she could see that he was handsome indeed, but she felt herself shrinking back from him.
Fortunately for her, Martin was focused on Gaston. “Gaston! You stupid little whelp, let me kiss you!”
Gaston stood his ground, but he suddenly felt as if he were five years old again. The urge to run and hide was overwhelming. “Kiss me and I shall skin your hide, Uncle. A handshake will suffice.”
“You take away an old man’s joy, lad,” Martin sniffed, but indeed shook Gaston’s hand with a meaty fist. His gaze was very warm on his nephew.
“Holy Mary, if you do not look more like your father. Brant would be in heaven to see you now,” he suddenly focused on Remington.
“And what have you brought me? My God, she’s beautiful! ”
Gaston pulled Remington against him protectively, fighting off a smirk at his uncle’s manners. “My most prized possession. We will speak of it inside.”
Martin nodded eagerly. “As you wish,” he said. “Besides, I have a surprise for you.”
Martin lumbered back inside with Gaston and Remington in tow. He led them into a comfortable reception room, richly appointed and smelling of fresh rushes. It was cool inside, away from the humidity of the river, and Remington sank gratefully into the embroidered chair indicated by Gaston.
Gaston removed his gauntlets and helm, shaking his wet hair and raking his finger back over his scalp.
Martin, meanwhile, had bellowed for refreshments and now stood eagerly, eyeing Remington like a Christmas goose.
But Gaston let him wait until he had removed some of his things and taken position beside Remington.
“Uncle Martin, this is Lady Remington Stoneley,” he introduced them quietly. “My future wife.”
Martin looked at Gaston sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“Mari-Elle is dead,” Gaston replied. “I intend to marry Lady Remington and have brought her here to London while I obtain the necessary annulments.”
Martin’s jovial expression faded, being replaced by confusion. “Annulments? I do not understand, lad.”
“What madness are you spouting, Gaston?”
The voice came from behind, from a doorway that led to another section of the manse. Gaston’s head snapped to the sound of the voice, recognizing it, and there was a smile on his lips even as he turned. He knew that voice; it was very much a part of his fabric as a knight, and as a man.
An enormous blond man came through the doorway, his big blue eyes glimmering and a huge smile on his face. He was dressed in mail and pieces of armor, well used, and held an air of power about him. His very presence filled up the room.
“Matt,” Gaston said with satisfaction, holding out a gloved hand. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Matthew Wellesbourne took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. In fact, he and Gaston seemed to stare at each other for a few moments, studying one another, reaffirming ties and unbreakable bonds. Gaston was as pleased as Remington had ever seen him.
“I was in London on business,” Matthew said, still holding on to Gaston’s hand. “I happened to see Uncle Martin earlier today and we dined together. In fact, I was just preparing to leave when your messenger arrived announcing your approach. I thought I would stay around until you got here.”
Gaston squeezed the man’s hand and let it go. “I am glad you did,” he said. “You are looking fat and happy. How is your new daughter?”
Matthew grinned; he had an easy smile on his handsome face. “Already ruling the house,” he said. “My father swears she looks just like my mother, but I think she looks like Alixandrea. She has her mother’s face, I swear it.”
“At least she does not have yours.”
“My feelings exactly.”
As Matthew chuckled and Gaston grinned, Gaston turned to Remington and extended a hand. As he pulled her up from the seat, he introduced her.
“Matt,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “I would like you to meet Lady Remington Stoneley. Remi, this is Matthew Wellesbourne.”
Remington had heard the name. Everyone in England knew that Matthew Wellesbourne turned tides against King Richard at Bosworth and, along with Gaston, cost the man his crown and his life.
Matthew was called The White Lord for his benevolent and fair character, something in sharp contrast to Gaston’s reputation.
In fact, many people already forgave Matthew for his treachery at Bosworth whereas Gaston was still looked upon as vile and feared.
As Remington studied the enormous man with an oddly kind face, she tried not to feel any resentment towards him for that very reason.
“My lord,” she said, dipping into a practiced curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you. Everyone knows of The White Lord of Wellesbourne.”
Matthew couldn’t help himself from looking the woman up and down; he was very puzzled by her very presence. To see Gaston with a woman, any woman, was something of a shock, and having heard discussion of annulment, he was doubly confused.
“The honor is mine, my lady, I assure you,” he said pleasantly, looking between Gaston and Remington. “Did I hear you speak of an annulment?”
Gaston nodded and relayed the entire story, including a repeat of the details of Mari-Elle’s death.
When he was finished with his most complicated explanation, Matthew’s expression was almost calm whereas Martin looked somewhat distressed.
A serving wench came with some refreshments, leaving the room without the customary spank from the master. Martin was too preoccupied.
“Well,” he finally sighed. “You have set yourself up for a hell of a fight, lad. You are the last person I would have expected this from.”
Gaston held Remington’s hand. “Trust me when I tell you that I am as surprised as you are. I have learned late in life that there are some things we simply have no control over, and to fall in love was the last thing on my mind. But it is done, and I intend to have what I want. But I will leave Remington here, in your safekeeping.”
“Absolutely,” Martin agreed emphatically. “’Twould not do to house her at Windsor or the Tower. It would only make her accessible to those sympathetic to Guy Stoneley.”
“I agree,” Matthew said softly. “Keep her well out of sight. Better still, will you let me take her back to Wellesbourne Castle? No one can get to her there.”
Gaston shook his head. “As much as I appreciate the offer, Matt, I must decline,” he said.
Then he looked between his uncle and Matthew.
“I am under no delusion that her stay here will be long. They will figure out where she is, eventually, and in that event, she will go to St. Catherine’s convent.
But for now, I want her close to me and under my protection. ”
“Under my protection,” Martin corrected. “Have no fear, Gaston, that your ladylove will be safe with me. No one will get past me.”
“I know,” Gaston replied softly, gazing on Remington’s dark head. “One more thing, uncle. She carries the next de Russe heir. That makes her protection all the more important.”
Martin grinned, the first time in the entire conversation, while Matthew just shook his head and laughed.
“You are a lusty devil, lad,” Martin said. “Just like your father. Why, I would say there were no less than six de Russe bastards roaming the country.”
Gaston’s friendly demeanor was gone in a flash, his irritation full-blown. “I only know of two, and I would appreciate it if you did not bring up my father’s indiscretions in my presence.”
Remington was shocked but held her expression. Gaston had brothers? Or sisters? She wanted to look at him, but dare not. He sounded angry.
Martin held up a soothing hand. “Do not get agitated, lad, and do not act so pious. You are nothing like your father in that respect, though your reputation is less than desirable in other areas.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Remington saw Gaston stiffen. “And just what does that mean?”