Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I can’t stand this squalling,” Nicolas put his hands to his ears to block out the wailing babies.
“Then go away,” Skye snapped.
Remington laughed at the young father. “It is your son doing most of the yelling, Nicolas. Notice that the girls are quiet.”
Nicolas scowled. “Naturally, my son is the loudest and strongest. Isn’t he, sweetling?”
Skye thrust her chin up and looked away; they had been quarreling since the morning about something nonsensical.
Remington and Jasmine smiled at each other as they tended their respective broods in the large nursery.
Gaston had had the massive bedchamber redone to accommodate the babies and their nurses, although the nurses were rarely alone with the children.
As was uncommon in noble houses, the mothers wished to do most of the work.
Remington sat with Adeliza in her lap while Arica slept soundly in her crib.
Mary went back and forth between her new sister and her two new cousins, trying to be helpful by retrieving a toy or making faces at the babies.
Her own new sister, Sophia, responded readily to her, as did Adeliza and Arica, but grumpy little Robert wanted nothing to do with her.
He screamed every time she came near him.
“When is Gaston due to return from London?” Jasmine asked as Nicolas tried to make his son smile.
“Soon, hopefully,” Remington replied while a colicky Adeliza suckled her finger. “The annulment board must take time for the testimonies presented, and then I will have to go to London to testify. But I wish he would hurry; I have been here three weeks and have only seen him two of those days.”
“But he was with you while you convalesced at Wells,” Jasmine said. “He was with you for nearly two months. How can you complain over a few short weeks?”
Remington dropped her head and Jasmine bit her tongue; she knew what had happened, about the fight, the separation. It nearly killed Remington when Gaston brought her back to Deverill Castle with two new babies, only to abruptly leave her again.
“I am sorry, Remi,” she said softly. “I did not mean to sound callous.”
Remington shook her head. “You are right, of course,” she raised her head again, brightly. “He sent Trenton and Dane to foster in Oxford with de Vere. Did I tell you that?”
“Oxford isn’t far,” Skye put in. “You can still see them on occasion.”
Remington shrugged. “Neither boy has seen their new sisters yet. I was hoping Gaston would bring the boys home around Easter, but he did not want to leave me.”
“I do not blame him,” Nicolas said, triumphant that his son had smiled at him. “I would not have left you either after you nearly bled to death. How could he….”
Skye slugged Nicolas in the gut and he grunted loudly. “Shut your mouth. Have you no tact?”
Remington smiled weakly at the interplay. “It’s all right, Skye. It does not upset me to talk about it.”
“Well, it upsets me to hear it,” Skye insisted. “When I think that you could have… oh, my. I am starting to sound like my husband.”
Old Eudora bustled in, a snack for Mary on a tray.
Remington watched the old woman; the fear out of her eyes, walking with hardly a limp.
With the addition of Mary and the babes, Eudora was in heaven.
She had a new sense of purpose, raising this new crop of children, just as she had practically raised Remington and her sisters.
She paused a moment in her hustle to coo at Robert on his mother’s lap, and to plant a kiss on Sophia’s sleeping face.
Remington stood up, setting Adeliza down to nap.
In the next crib slept Arica, as big as her sister easily.
They both had their father’s smoky gray eyes, but their dark hair had a distinct hint of auburn to it, like Remington’s.
And they were so identical that even Remington had difficulty telling them apart at times.
To listen to Gaston speak about the twins, one would think he had fathered the Virgin Mary. She had never seen him so proud.
God, she missed him so. She left the nursery and wandered the wide, cool hall to the main stairs.
Downstairs, a massive common room opened wide before her, Gaston’s boar head banner hanging above the hearth.
It was a receiving room mostly; the standard fully intended to intimidate all who entered the castle, reminding them of who was lord and master, Henry’s Dark One, the mighty Duke of Warminster.
She passed by the cavernous dining hall, flying the same colors, as well as Henry’s rose standard.
The room could house hundreds. She had grown very fond of Deverill Castle, but she still had difficulty believing how very large it was.
Even with her sisters, their children, and their husbands, she felt as if they were all rattling about the enormous structure.
The entire village of Warminster could probably live most comfortably within the old walls.
Oleg met her as he bustled about his duties.
As steward to the new duke, he had his hands full with Deverill Castle and Remington could see how much he was enjoying his new duties.
He had actually put on a bit of weight with his new life, away from a master who beat him to serve a man who respected his abilities.
“Busy, I see?” she remarked with a smile.
He nodded vigorously. “Much, much to do. Cook says that three barrels of grain went bad with the rot and we must take immediate stock of all of our stores. It could be a blight.”
“Goodness, I hope not.”
Oleg shook his head again, mumbling rapidly about something or another and Remington fought off an amused smile at his state. As he brushed past her, she reached out her hand.
“Oleg, about Gaston,” she said. “Do you remember the conversation we had before he came to Mt. Holyoak? Do you remember how apprehensive you were?”
He paused, looked puzzled, and then nodded. “Unfounded, my lady.”
She smiled broadly. “I am glad you have come to realize it. And, by the way, he does not have a tail nor does he sprout wings come nightfall.”
Oleg returned her smile, looking somewhat sheepish. “He’s not an incubus, then? Thank God. I was wondering how I was going to explain to God why I had willingly worked for the devil.”
Remington snickered as he scuffled away.
She moved on toward the carved front doors of the castle, so heavy they individually weighed as much as the war horses.
They were polished to a high sheen by the servants, servants Gaston had brought from Mt.
Holyoak. In fact, except for the skeleton guard he kept there, the castle was empty of every last servant.
They had all been quite happy to come south to serve the new duke.
She smiled to herself, feeling the warm wind caress her face.
Beyond the walls of the structure was the village of Warminster.
South of that on the horizon, she could see the green line indicating the edge of Warminster Forest, a dense, huge growth that covered most of Gaston’s providence, spilling into Essex.
Warminster wasn’t as populated as some providences, but it was lush and rich. She liked it a great deal.
There were times when she missed Yorkshire, the sheep, and the people she had grown up with. But she would not have traded what she had now to return to what she left, not ever. Her new life with Gaston, wife or no, was far more precious than faded memories.
She did miss Dane terribly, however, but she knew Gaston had done what he felt was best for him.
Sending he and Trenton to foster with the earl of Oxford had been a brilliant maneuver, a place where Guy could not have physically retrieved Dane if he tried.
The earl’s keep was too fortified, and Dane was surrounded by soldiers who knew who he was and would protect him.
She gloated at Guy’s expense; he could spend his entire life trying to regain his son to no avail. Dane was safe. She was safe. Annulment or no annulment, she was home to stay.
There was a good deal of activity on the walls and she shielded her eyes from the bright sun to see what was going on.
Deverill Castle had a massive outer wall that was nearly eight feet thick.
The bailey had been a massive, oblong-shaped yard that he had divided and even now men were working on an inner, protective wall.
Portions of the castle were actually built into the wall, but the rise upon which the castle sat afforded it a great deal of protection.
But it had not been enough protection for Gaston; he had fallen in love with the design of Mt. Holyoak and set teams of men to shearing off the sides of the rise and tunneling out a deep moat, making the fortress extremely inaccessible to invading armies.
A small party of riders entered through the outer gates and Remington recognized Father de Tormo. Happily, she moved out to greet him.
“Father!” she called.
De Tormo brushed the dust on his brown woolen robes, the familiar stench greeting Remington’s nostrils as she closed in on him. He actually smiled. “My lady! How wonderful you look. Why, when I last saw you, you were as round as a cow after birthing the babes. All of the weight has left you.”
She looked down at herself, wearing a lightweight linen surcoat that emphasized her newly small waist, yet her breasts were plump with milk and enticingly large.
“Most of it,” she said, thinking his comment to be undiplomatic, but letting it slide. “Where’s Gaston?”
“Still in London.” De Tormo took her arm and together they walked for the castle. “He sent me to relay his messages to you.”
“Does the church still believe I am at Wells Abbey?” she asked.
He nodded. “Still. Mary Margaret is a party to our lie; Henry’s men visited the abbey two weeks ago and she told them that you were still recovering after your most difficult birth, in isolation. They left and reported back to Henry and Courtenay.”