Chapter Twenty-Five
Gaston carried her from the third floor of the White Tower, all the way to his quarters near the Martin Tower.
She was so upset that she was having difficulty walking and fury seized him as he held her tightly in his arms. He was terrified to know what Stoneley had said to her, and furthermore terrified that he would no longer be able to maintain his slimly held control.
If Stoneley had threatened or harmed her, then he would truly kill him this day.
She pushed herself from his arms when they reached the small, but comfortable room he had occupied the previous night. As she sat, he poured her a strong drink and bade her drink the entire glass.
It was strong and she choked it down. As the warmth of it seeped into her veins, she felt herself calming. She calmed even more when Gaston pulled her out of the chair, took it himself, and then seated her on his lap.
His strength filled her. Free of Guy’s piercing stare, she was able to rationalize herself somewhat. Gaston waited for her to speak first.
“Bloody hell,” she mumbled, laying her head on his massive shoulder as he sat back in the chair.
“What did he say, angel?” he asked gently.
She thought a moment. Guy had told her to keep silent, but she would be damned if she was going to keep secrets from Gaston. Besides, there had been nothing much said.
“He told me not to tell you anything,” she began.
Gaston was torn between forcing the truth out of her and leaving her alone. She did not give him the chance to make a decision.
“But I did not promise him anything, so I would not be breaking my word,” she continued, snuggling against him and relishing the feel of his body. “But promise me that you will not become irate, no matter what. I cannot take any more strong emotion this day, Gaston. I will surely swoon.”
“I promise you, angel, I shall remain calm,” he assured her, but he wondered if he meant it. “What did he say?”
She sighed. “I get the impression that he believes I have been brainwashed by Henry somehow; he asked me why I was allowing myself to be the king’s pawn.
Then…,” she paused, still disgusted by what had happened.
“Then he told me to kiss him. I had to, Gaston, or else he said he would not speak to me anymore. After that, he had me sit in a chair for the rest of the hour. He told me to return to him on the morrow and he would relay his terms for his cooperation. He promised he would have terms, and he furthermore promised that it would cost me dearly. I wonder what he could mean? I have nothing of value.”
Gaston fought down his rage, concentrating on stroking her lovingly.
“He’s a clever bastard,” he muttered. “He was told he would only be able to see you one time, and now he has managed to stretch it into two visits. Do not be surprised if he does not have his terms readied by tomorrow. He might drag this out as long as he can.”
“But why?” she sat up and looked at him. “What can he possibly gain by my repeated visits?”
He smiled ironically. “He knows that you have my ear, angel. And I, in turn, hold Henry’s ear. He is not a fool, and I fully believe he realizes what his possibilities are.”
She sank back against him, silent and thoughtful. “I want this to be over with so badly when, in fact, it has only begun.”
He lifted an eyebrow in agreement, continuing to caress her gently as the heat of the afternoon seeped into the walls.
“At least he promised me that he would have terms,” she said after a moment. “That, I think, is something.”
He let out a long sigh. “I am curious as to what those terms are. I fear for what he will demand.”
“Mt. Holyoak?” she asked.
“I care not about the keep; as much as I have grown fond of it, I will not hesitate to return it. However, it will leave me one less bribe for the church. I am afraid I shall have to rely on Henry for donations to our cause.”
“He will do this for you,” she murmured.
“Fortunately, Henry would do most anything for me,” Gaston replied, thinking about Warminster and suddenly wishing he had accepted the dukedom.
If it was his, then he could donate it to the church and Henry would have virtually no say in the matter.
He regretted that he had asked Henry to donate it on his behalf.
“Will I like living at Clearwell?”
She broke into his thoughts and he shifted her in his arms. “It is rugged terrain, not the sweetly rolling hills of Yorkshire,” he replied, thinking of the home he had not seen in a long time. “But I find it peaceful and lovely. The Welsh border is not far.”
“If the church takes Clearwell, then we can live with Uncle Martin, can’t we?”
“I thought you did not like him.”
She grinned. “I have changed my mind. I like him a great deal, although he talks too much.”
He smiled, too. “He does everything in excess; drinks, eats, wenc… everything indeed.”
She laughed softly and sat up, rising from his lap. Her silk dress was becoming damp in the heat and she did not wish to muss it before supper. In fact, she wanted to strip down to her skin and take a soothing nap, far from the horrors of the day. She wanted to forget about Guy for a short while.
“Gaston, help me from this dress,” she motioned the stays. “I shall stain it in this heat.”
He obediently released her from the garment, throwing it over the chair when she stepped from it. She sat on the bed and kicked off her slippers, unrolling her stockings and shaking them out. Clad only in her thin shift, she lay heavily on his cool linen coverlet.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You intend to sleep, do you?”
“I do,” she sighed, hugging the pillow. “I am exhausted. This child of yours makes me weak.”
He snickered, his gaze licking over her luscious form underneath the nearly transparent shift. He put his hands on his hips.
“I have a better idea.”
She smiled, her eyes closed and pretending to ignore him. She heard his armor coming off, hitting the floor with resounding clangs. When she finally heard his boots hit the ground and the rustle of his clothing, she pulled the coverlet over her protectively.
“Leave me alone, Gaston. I have no desire to satisfy your lusty urges.”
He ripped the coverlet off her so hard that he tore it completely free of the bed. She giggled as he plopped into bed beside her, and then squealed loudly when the feather mattress nearly swallowed her whole because of his weight. He pulled her against him, smiling into her hair.
“I did not believe we would be together so soon,” he purred. “But I see that the opportunity has presented itself. No de Tormo, no Uncle Martin, no king to interfere.”
She was facing away from him, her giggles turning into moans of pleasure as he ran his hands under the shift and latched onto her rounded breasts. His breathing was hot and heavy on her neck.
“God, Remi, you are so sweet,” he whispered.
She smiled, her eyes still closed as his huge hands massaged her sensually. “I missed you last night. ’Twas the first night we have spent apart in many weeks.”
“I do not think I slept but an hour or two,” he confessed, teasing her nipples into taut buds. “I found myself on the battlements before the sun rose, gazing across the river at Braidwood.”
She was rapidly losing her control with his attentions.
His hot hands were working her into a frenzy.
With a grunt of pleasure and frustration, she sat up quickly and tore off the shift.
In a flash, she was supine again, her back to his taut chest. He buried his face in her neck as his hands roamed freely.
He wanted to go slow with her, gentle, but his passion overwhelmed him and grasped her knees and pulled her into a fetal position.
Knees almost into her chest, he thrust into her from behind and she cried out, clutching at the bedclothes as he drove in his long, hard length.
Withdrawing, he lurched into her again deeply.
Remington pulled the sheets into her mouth to keep from screaming with passion. In the small quarters, she was positive someone would hear her.
He held her tightly as he thrust into her, again and again, building the heavenly friction. She whimpered over and over, her mouth stuffed with sheets, feeling his hot breath rapid on the back of her head.
She felt herself approaching the familiar, exquisite release and she silently urged him onward, her entire body aching with want of pleasure.
One arm unwound itself from her and he reached between her legs, closing in on her wet heat and feeling the junction where their bodies were joining in passion.
It was too much; he released himself with a violent eruption and she joined him as his fingers found her taut nub.
He had manipulated her into a stupor. When their convulsions died down, Remington was limp. Eyes closed, she could only lie there and feel his body still within her, hearing his soft laughter.
They lay together, sweating in the humidity of the afternoon, dozing occasionally. Truth was, neither one had slept well the night before and they were tired. Now that things were as they should be, as they were together once again, the comfort was overwhelming.
They fell asleep in the huge bed, the lazy afternoon waning away in a haze of heat and thickness.
Just before sunset, Gaston awoke and found himself staring at the back of Remington’s head, studying the curls in her hair leisurely and his mind wandering to silly, unimportant things.
It was in moments such as this that he felt they had all of the time in the world.
A loud rap echoed on the heavy oak door and Gaston’s head shot up, looking at the panel as if he could see through it. “Who comes?”
“Me!” de Tormo called out sharply. “Let me in.”
Remington woke, rolling onto her back and she and Gaston passed wry glances. He was the first one to climb from the bed, reaching for his trews. “Hold a moment, priest.”