Chapter Twenty-Nine #5
“Of course,” he replied, watching her dress with pleasure. “I’d wager that de Tormo’s handprints are all over his manroot.”
She gasped and he laughed. “Oh, Remi, do not look so shocked. He’s a mortal man, no matter how hard he tries to pretend otherwise.”
She frowned, the mental picture of an aroused de Tormo disgusting. “How unpleasant.”
Gaston sat up, throwing his massive legs over the side of the bed and scratching his scalp. “I have got to find Antonius and have him cut my hair. It is getting far too long.”
She pulled her surcoat over her head, a clingy bit of pale green satin that molded to her breasts and torso and hung gracefully off her hips. “It looks fine.”
He ran his hand up the back of his head. “Too long,” he repeated, moving for his thin leather breeches that were almost like hose.
She looked closely at his head as she fastened a silver link belt around her hips. The front was long as it usually was, almost hanging to his mouth. The back was shorn, nearly to the top of his skull and she shook her head. “If Antonius cuts your hair any closer to your scalp, you shall be bald.”
He grunted as he pulled on his breeches, giving her a vague shrug. She sat on the bed, pulling on cream-colored hose and he groaned softly, turning away so he would not have to watch as she ran her hands up her legs. She grinned knowingly, pulling on soft leather slippers.
“There, you coward, I am dressed,” she said. “You can turn around now.”
“How many times must I tell you that I am not cowardly,” he insisted, pulling on his boots and moving to don his armor. “I am simply exceedingly wise in my judgment. Were I to watch you any longer, all of your efforts at dressing would be lain to waste. The surcoat would come off.”
She held her grin, kneeling before him to help him with his leg armor. The stuff was heavy; Gaston would position it and she would latch it. She found it little wonder that he had two squires to assist him.
“Off your knees, love,” he pulled her to her feet. “I have a few things to attend to outside, and then we will sup. I trust our meal will be fit for a returned duke?”
She put her arms out exaggeratedly, bowing worshipfully. “By your command, Oh Great Duke. The great Dark Duke of Warminster.”
“Dark Duke, am I?” he muttered, swatting her playfully on the exposed rear. “Mind your manners, wench.”
She yelped weakly and grabbed her behind, but she was smiling. Gaston grinned at her as he pulled on his gauntlets, and then indicated the door. “After you, madam.”
She thrust up her chin. “I like a man who knows his place. A proper distance behind a woman.”
He smirked, moving to open the door for her. “That will change after we are married. For now, I plan to lull you into a false sense of security into believing I am a true gentleman.”
“I believe no such thing,” she insisted.
He shook his head, watching her luscious backside as she sashayed through the open door.
*
Supper that night was nearly like the first few days when Gaston had arrived at Mt.
Holyoak, except for the obvious vacancies of Arik, Rory and Patrick.
Remington had ordered mutton, reminiscent of Yorkshire, and had it prepared several different ways.
Gaston was digging into his third helping of herbed mutton, listening to Skye and Jasmine argue with Nicolas over something silly, smiling every so often when Remington would jump in and deliver a scathing blow to his cousin.
De Tormo sat on the opposite side of Antonius, far gone into his food and ale.
The priest was not as pious as he liked to believe; in addition to turning a blind eye to Gaston and Remington’s adultery, he was also guilty of gluttony.
Not only that, but after the conversation Gaston had had with Remington that afternoon, he swore he saw the priest give one of the serving wenches a second glance.
It was strange, he reflected, how his life had changed within the past year.
For a man who was alone most of his life, he suddenly found himself surrounded by his family and wondering why he had ever chosen to be a loner.
There was so much more to be gained by allowing himself to feel, to love, to laugh.
A pity Arik wasn’t alive so he could tell him just that.
Arik had spent the better part of twenty-four years trying to tell him so.
“Remi, did Gaston tell you he is to have a birthday soon?” Nicolas said, snapping Gaston out of his train of thought.
Remington turned accusing eyes to Gaston. “He did not. When, Gaston?”
“The twentieth day of June,” Gaston mumbled into his cup.
“In two days?” she gasped. “How dare you not tell me? There is no time to plan a fitting celebration.”
“How old do you think he is going to be?” Nicolas asked his wife mischievously.
Skye looked at Gaston openly. “Oh…twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”
Nicolas snorted loudly. “He’s older than that. Try again.”
Gaston met Skye’s gaze and she blushed terribly. “I do not know, Nicolas. I am a horrible guesser. Do you know, Remi?”
Remington smiled. “I do indeed. Gaston remembers the fall of the Roman Empire.”
Antonius and Nicolas roared loudly at Gaston’s expense. “How old?” Jasmine demanded.
“Thirty-eight,” Gaston told her, smiling faintly while his knights whooped. “I shall be thirty years and eight.”
Jasmine nodded, her eyebrows raised in surprise; she did not think he was that old. “What about you, Remi. Are we celebrating your birthday?” Skye asked.
Remington looked surprised, hoping Gaston did not hear what Skye had said. But he turned to her. “Pray, when is your birthday, madam?”
Remington shot Skye a deadly look. “Uh… soon.”
He gathered her hand in his own, still smiling. “When?”
She rolled her eyes, knowing there was no way out of his question. “The day after yours. The twenty-first day of June.”
He raised his eyebrows in feigned outrage. “And you thought not to tell me? How dare you.”
“Honestly, I had not thought about it,” she said truthfully. “With so much going on, I’d almost forgotten.”
“She shall be twenty-seven,” Skye announced, turning to her husband. “She does not look it, does she?”
Gaston kissed her hand. “She’s ageless. And what is it you would like for your birthday gift?”
She shrugged. “I have everything I could possibly want. Except….”
Her voice trailed off and he knew what she was going to say, except an annulment and a proper marriage.
He squeezed her hand. “I know. How would you like to see Dane?”
Her face brightened. “Oh, Gaston, I’d love it! When can we go?”
“When we leave for London,” he was pleased to see that she was so happy. “We shall travel due north to Oxford Castle. It shouldn’t take any more than a day.”
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I have not seen Dane in so long. I am sure he’s grown a mile,” her smile faded a bit. “Do you think… could we bring the girls?”
“I do not think it would be a good idea,” he said gently.
“They are too small to travel, angel. Moreover, I would not want them to go to London and I would not trust anyone to return them to Deverill but me, and I cannot take the additional time.”
She nodded in reluctant agreement, understanding his reasoning. But then it occurred to her that she would be separated from her girls for the duration in London, and that thought did not sit well with her at all. “We cannot take Adeliza and Arica to London? We must leave them behind?”
He nodded. “Sorry, love. No one knows of them but Henry and a few others, and it would not be a good thing to have them there.”
Her light mood was spoiled and she could feel tears stinging her eyes. She tried to drown her sorrow in a large gulp of wine, but it did not help. She took a couple of bites from her tart, but her mood did not improve. Instead, it sank lower. Hastily, she excused herself from the table.
He knew she was upset and followed her from the great hall. He caught up with her in the corridor outside and silently put his arm around her waist as they continued to walk down the hall.
The night was warm and he took her to the battlements looking north, facing Warminster and the Vale of White Horse. There were few soldiers on that portion of the wall and he stroked her hair as she gazed out over the moonlit land.
“I am sorry you cannot take the babes,” he said softly.
She shrugged. “I will miss them. How long do you think we will be in London?”
“As long as it takes,” he leaned on the ledge next to her, resting on his elbows as she was. They looked at each other a moment until she looked away sadly. He continued to look at her.
“I told de Tormo we would meet after sup. We should go and find him.”
“No need,” de Tormo came out of the shadows, strolling across the battlement. “I thought we could talk out here, enjoying the evening.”
The priest rested against the ledge, gazing up at the moon. Remington caught a whiff of his odor and edged closer to Gaston, who put his arm around her.
“You know of the basics, de Tormo, so I will not repeat them,” Gaston said, to the point.
“Little has changed since you left London, except for a particular meeting Henry and I had with Bourchier and the papal legate. Apparently, the council was leaning toward a rejection of the plea and I felt I had to resort to desperate measures. I told them that Stoneley worshipped the devil, and they are now eager to hear testimony from the both of you supporting my allegation.”
De Tormo nodded calmly. “I am prepared. Did you go into any specifics?”
“No. I was vague, mentioning the pentagram and the skin-covered books but naught else.”
The priest nodded again. “I see. As I will only be able to testify to those as well,” he looked at Remington. “It would seem the details would have to come from you, Remi, as his wife.”
Gaston stiffened and Remington put out a hand to calm him. De Tormo had inadvertently referred to her as Guy’s wife, which she was, but Gaston did not like to hear the term used in that context. He did not like to be reminded of it.
“What details?” she asked.
“Details of the room, I suppose,” de Tormo eyed Gaston with a silent apology for his slip. “Do you have any knowledge of devil worship?”
“No,” she insisted, slighted.
He put up his hand supplicatingly. “I did not mean to insinuate anything, as you know. I simply meant to know if you had ever read anything, or heard anything.”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
The priest thought a moment. “I could tell you several things, but I have a better idea,” he looked at the two of them.
“It will make your testimony far more compelling if your sisters were to testify to support your statements. Mayhap we should gather them together and prepare one story. One story that we will all memorize until we know it better than we know our own name.”
Remington looked to Gaston for his approval; he looked intrigued. “A simple story that will stand up under cross-examination?”
“Absolutely,” de Tormo said firmly. “Nothing terribly detailed, but enough to lead the council to their own conclusions.”
Remington was torn between hope and reluctance. “Must my sisters be pulled into this?”
De Tormo looked to Gaston. “We must do what is necessary, angel,” Gaston said quietly. “And we must trust the priest in this matter. He knows far more than we.”
She nodded faintly. “If you say so.”
Gaston enfolded her in both arms, fixing his gaze on the de Tormo. “Gather the flock then, priest. We shall meet you in the solar in an hour.”
Remington watched de Tormo walk down the battlement. “Guy will deny everything, Gaston. ’Twill be our word against his.”
“And he has already proven himself to be difficult and noncommittal, and the council is aware of his characteristics. Our story will work. It must, else there will be no annulment.”
She shuddered involuntarily. “And if it does work? What will happen to Guy, a proven devil-worshiper?”
“He will be executed, most likely.”
She thought a moment. “And what of Dane? Surely it will get around that his father was executed for devil-worship. It will reflect badly on him.”
“It will be forgotten,” Gaston assured her quietly. “Believe me, it will pass in time and people will see him for his great skill and forget about his long-dead father.”
She sighed. “I worry for him.”
“Do not,” Gaston turned her around to face him, a smile on his lips. “You worry overly for your children, angel. From what de Vere has told me, Dane will be promoted from page to squire come his birthday in August. John says Dane is the best page he has, next to Trenton, of course.”
“He is?” she asked, her mood lightening. “I am so glad to hear that.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and led her toward the narrow stairs leading to the courtyard. “John also says he had grown considerably. The other pages look to him as their leader.”
She bristled with pride. “Truly? But what of Trenton?”
Gaston shrugged, helping her take the top stair. “He acts at Dane’s side. Trenton was never much of a leader, really. More of a follower.”
She gathered her surcoat, taking the stairs carefully. He was directly behind her, taking her hand as they strolled back across the bailey. Above them, the moon was bright and somewhere in the still night air, a night bird sang sweetly.