Chapter Twenty-Nine #3
Gaston moved away from the wall. “You are telling me, in essence, that the testimony of five reputable barons, all stating to the effect that Guy Stoneley was an evil, cruel barbarian, is insufficient? My God, what kind of evidence is it that you require? Irreversible damage to Lady Stoneley, or her family?”
“Gaston,” Henry admonished quietly, turning back to the archbishop.
“I suspected that this would be the church’s reaction from the beginning, and I am not surprised.
If sworn testimony will not bring Lady Stoneley her annulment, then you may name your price.
I am willing to pay what you ask on Gaston’s behalf. ”
Bourchier’s eyes widened briefly. “An annulment cannot be bought, my lord.”
“Ha,” Henry snorted softly. “Anything can be bought within the church, Thomas, and you cannot pretend otherwise. What is it that you will demand? Well?”
John of Imola stepped forward, his almost-babyish face concerned. “Annulments are not to be bought and sold as a commodity. You are speaking of dissolving what God has created.”
“God did not create this marriage,” Gaston rumbled. “This is the devil’s doing, and he continues to delight in the torment of an innocent woman and her sisters.”
“That is your opinion, my lord,” the legate responded pointedly. “You see what you will, considering you are in love with the woman. Even as it stands, you are breaking the tenth commandment with your lust for her, and I suspect you have already broken the fourth.”
Gaston did not flinch, but the vein in his temple throbbed faintly. “We are not here to speak of what I have or have not done. We are speaking of Lady Stoneley.”
“Will she be able to enlighten us further on this matter?” Bourchier asked, drawing Gaston’s hostile attention away from the legate. “Or will it be a waste of time for all concerned?”
Gaston looked at the archbishop, feeling a lie coming forth, demanding to be released.
A lie Remington started, a lie that de Tormo threatened to use when all else failed.
Gaston could see that Remington’s annulment was slipping through his fingers, and he prayed that God would forgive him for lying to a man of the cloth, and furthermore not punish him by having his story backfire in his face.
“It will not be a waste of time, for she will testify to a distasteful fact that not even the barons knew of,” he said quietly.
“Guy Stoneley worships the devil. I have seen his sanctuary for myself; a pentagram decorates the wall, and skin-bound books line the shelves. His worship of Satan explains his deviant actions and bloodlust towards his family.”
Bourchier and John looked at each other, then back to Gaston. “Do you have proof of this?”
“Father de Tormo saw the sanctuary himself. He will testify to that fact.”
Peter Courtenay moved from his spot along the wall. “Are you sure, Gaston?”
“Aye,” Gaston nodded, having difficulty looking his friend in the eye. “Pentagrams, potions and other strange medicaments. He is a student of Satan.”
Everyone was looking at Gaston. “Why did you not bring this up before?” Henry wanted to know.
“Because I was trying to spare at least some of Lady Remington’s dignity,” he replied, somewhat honestly.
“My God, her life is already displayed for scrutiny by the church, her reputation, every horribly thing her husband has ever inflicted on her. The beatings, the rapes, impregnating her sister… I thought to spare at least some of her feelings. I care not for myself, of course; there is nothing about me and my personal life that all of you do not already know, but this woman has been laid open to strangers.”
“My lord, if what you say is true, then it changes things considerably,” Bourchier said seriously. “If he is a disciple of Lucifer, then we cannot allow the lady to be exposed to the dark forces. John and I must return to the board with this information.”
Gaston felt a surge of hope, and a bit of guilt. “I shall return to Wells Abbey and return the lady to London for her testimony. Father de Tormo, too.”
Bourchier stood up, nodding. “By all means. I would hear more of this shocking revelation.”
Gaston watched the men a moment. “You realize that Stoneley will deny this.”
“Of course he will,” Bourchier said strongly. “To admit to it would mean instant death. However, if it is determined that he does indeed worship Satan, I will recommend that he be burned at the stake.”
Gaston wasn’t sorry to hear that. He watched the three holy men exit the room, the soft hum of conversation following them. When the room was deserted, Henry rose from his silk chair.
“Bravo, Gaston,” he said softly. “A brilliant story. But can you truly prove it?”
“Without a doubt,” Gaston looked at his king. “And it was not a story. I really did witness the tower room with evil paraphernalia.” Aye, paraphernalia of a curious young boy!
Henry shook his head. “Disgusting. I pity Lady Stoneley more than ever, and I wonder if I should not send a priest to bless the entire White Tower. Stoneley has probably cursed it.”
Gaston’s lips flickered with a smile as he followed his monarch and the dean of York from the room.
*
Nearly a week later, Gaston made an appearance. Riding alone in front of fifty men-at-arms and six knights, Remington caught sight of him from their bedchamber window.
With a shriek of delight, she raced to her polished silver mirror and took quick stock of her looks, her hair and surcoat. She was so excited that she was making happy little grunts as she smoothed everything, combed and finally perfumed. He was finally here.
She made a mad dash for the door to the chamber, only to stop abruptly. Hand on the latch, her gaze wandered back to the massive oak bed against the wall. A thought crossed her mind and she smiled wickedly. Her hand left the latch, and the door remained closed.
Gaston rode into the newly created outer bailey, fairly broiling in his armor in the early July weather. Nicolas and Antonius were there to greet him, but he ignored their salutations as he dismounted.
“Where’s Remi?”
“I do not know,” Nicolas replied, weaving out of the way as Taran tried to take a bite out of his arm. “She was up in the nursery last I saw her.”
Gaston stripped off his gauntlets absently, searching the compound for the familiar figure. He was disappointed and surprised that she had not come out to greet him.
Antonius was attempting to relay something of importance to Gaston, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he strolled across the outer bailey, through the opening of his nearly completed inner wall, and on to the castle.
De Tormo almost crashed into him at the door leading into the castle. The fat man reeled back, his hand over his chest.
“Good Lord, Gaston. You nearly killed me.”
Gaston raised an eyebrow. “With all of that blubber to soften the blow, I doubt it. Where’s Remi?”
“I have no idea. What happened after I left you in London?”
“Later,” Gaston rumbled, moving past the priest.
His disappointment was turning into anger as he made his way up the massive stone staircase to the second floor landing. He took a step toward their bedchamber when a noise from the other direction caught his attention, a baby crying.
Gaston pushed open the nursery door, fully expecting to see Remington seated with one of the twins. The only adult face that greeted him was Skye, and she hopped up from her seat in surprise.
“Gaston,” she gasped. “I did not know you were….”
“Where’s Remi?” he interrupted.
“I… I do not know, in your rooms, mayhap,” Skye stammered. Gaston still made her nervous, even though she knew in her heart that he was completely harmless to the female sex.
In a chorus, Adeliza and Arica suddenly began to wail. Having heard two words from Gaston’s lips was all it took to wake them. Indeed, they knew their father.
His anger abated and he went to their cribs, cooing like all new fathers. Skye watched him, amazed at the speed with which his expression went from hard to soft. He picked Arica up; the baby’s face a mirror of his own as they smiled at each other.
He held the baby around her torso; the only thing visible was her head and arms, and her legs. She kicked her legs vigorously in response to his smiles and whispered words, drooling all over his wrists.
“God help them, they are looking more like me,” he bemoaned lightly.
Skye smiled, picking up Adeliza so she would not scream herself ill. “Remington was saying that this morning. They have your eyes.”
He turned to Adeliza, bending over to nibble on her fingers. “Poor little things. Not to have their mother’s magnificent color.”
Adeliza grinned. “But they have her smile already; broad and magnificent,” he announced with satisfaction, looking back at Arica.
“Oh, lord, Skye. I swear that I cannot tell them apart. How horrible of me; I am their father, after all. Shouldn’t I be able to distinguish my daughters from each other? ”
Skye shrugged. “They are as two peas in a pod. But there is a trick Remington uses; look at Arica when she smiles. See? She has a tiny dimple in her left cheek.”
He looked closely. “Ah. She does indeed.”
He kissed the babe once more before laying her back down. Briefly turning his attention to Adeliza, his mind began to return to the whereabouts of the girls’ errant mother.
“I must find Remi,” he said, moving for the door. Arica began to scream again and he shrugged helplessly at Skye, who waved him on.
Once again, he set out for their bedchamber at the end of the corridor. If Remington was not there, then he would tear apart the whole bloody castle until he found her.
His anger had returned by the time he reached the door. Slamming it open, he stomped into the spacious bedchamber.
“Remi!” he bellowed.