Chapter Eight #9
He heard her swift panting and knew she was close to her release.
He shifted himself slightly and put his hand where their bodies were joined, probing her taut little bud of pleasure.
Pinching the nub between his fingers, he squeezed gently and Remington peeled off a loud scream.
His mouth descended swiftly on hers to block out the remainder of the cry as he felt her honeyed walls throb and suck at him as she found her release.
From the intensity of the scream, he knew she had never before experienced her pleasure and he was surprised and pleased; it was almost as if she were a virgin, in a sense.
Remington wasn’t sure what had happened.
All that she knew was that she had felt such rapturous pleasure as she had never had before sampled and she was dazed.
What black magic had he done to make her feel like a boneless, warm lump of flesh?
The man had brought her loins to a roaring blaze and then doused the fire with the most amazing sorcery.
He cradled her tightly and she clung to him, trying to slow her breathing.
Her body was relaxed, warm, and comforted; she had never felt so wonderful in her entire life.
If there was any doubt, any reserve about loving this man, they were gone.
She wanted to talk to him, demand to know what he did to her, but her eyes closed against his amazing warmth and before she realized it, she was dead asleep. And so was he.
*
She rode in the wagon on the trip back to Mt. Holyoak. Dane rode with Antonius, clearing a space for her on the wagon between Skye and Rory. Gaston rode up ahead of them astride Taran, quite alone, as his knights and soldiers lingered behind.
It was a warm July morning. The sky was bluer than Remington had ever seen it and the birds somehow more musical.
Her heart was light, her mood gay, and she couldn’t ever remember being happier.
It was the most glorious morning ever. Even though Gaston had barely spoken to her since dawn, she did not care.
He had kissed her awake and that had been enough.
“You are quiet,” Rory nudged her. “What’s on your mind?”
Remington shrugged. “Not a thing,” she said casually. “I am simply concerned about the material we used for tents last night; one of the bolts has a large grass stain on it.”
“We shall wash them out,” Rory said, her eyes falling on Patrick’s back.
Remington saw her sister’s look and couldn’t resist teasing her. “So you think him magnificent, do you? I must say, I agree.”
Rory made a face at her and clucked to the horses. “No one asked you.”
Remington and Skye giggled. “Do not be so defensive, Rory,” Skye said. “We like him, too.”
“Men are a bother,” Rory said lamely. “He’s…. he’s too old, anyhow.”
“He’s twenty-nine years,” Remington said. “And you are sixteen. The ages are perfect.”
Rory thrust her chin up and looked away, to Remington and Skye’s delight. They goaded and teased her the entire way back to Mt. Holyoak.
The drawbridge was already down as the fortress came into sight.
Inside, the outer bailey was a far sight cleaner than it had been the day they left, due to the fact that the troop house was nearly complete.
All of the stones and sand were gone, the clutter vanished.
The small party rode into the lower inner bailey and dozens of soldiers were swarming about, taking care of the horses and charge of the wagon.
Gaston dismounted and went to the wagon, lifting Skye down and then turning to Remington. She smiled faintly at him as his hands closed around her waist and he had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his whole life. He settled for a wink.
Arik was at Gaston’s side, his fair face grave and Gaston was instantly on his guard. He knew Arik as well as he knew himself and was well aware that Arik did not get worked up for no reason.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Remington was still standing next to him, her beautiful face upturned to the knights.
Arik did not even look at her. “In private, my lord.”
Gaston snapped orders to Antonius and Patrick to see the women safely inside and followed Arik into the castle.
The solar was cool and dim, a refreshing change from the heat of the summer day. Gaston tore off his sweaty gauntlets.
“What’s so damn impor…?” he started, but Arik cut him off.
“Mari-Elle is here,” he said lowly.
Gaston looked at him, thinking he had not heard right. He froze in mid-motion as he prepared to remove his helmet, thinking he misunderstood him. By God’s Bloody Rood, he had to have misunderstood him.
“What?” was all he could manage to say.
“She and Trenton arrived yesterday, late,” Arik went on. “It would seem that she has missed you terribly in the year you have been gone and wrote Henry as to your whereabouts. Henry was obliged to tell her, of course, and as nearly as I can guess, she was on the road even before we arrived here.”
His chest felt as if it were in a vise, squeezing and squeezing until he could hardly breathe. He stared back at Arik until the knight was uncomfortable under the disbelieving stare. Mari-Elle was here? At Mt. Holyoak? He could barely comprehend what he was hearing.
“By all that is holy,” he mumbled, in a hoarse whisper. “That bitch is here? Within these walls?”
“I have put her and Trenton in the northern wing, away from you and away from the rest of Stoneley’s family,” Arik replied, eyeing his lord.
“Gaston, I know how badly you hate her and I know she is not welcome here, but I thought you should be the one to tell her. There is naught I could do but make her comfortable and wait for your return.”
Gaston stared back at him, his mind spinning with shock. “Remington,” he murmured, and then spoke louder. “By God, I have got to find her!”
“By all means,” Arik agreed whole-heartedly, having no idea the true meaning of Gaston’s words.
“Tell her to lock herself in her room and stay the hell away from your wife. Mari-Elle knows the former chatelaine resides within these walls and is already sharpening her fangs. She plans to act the conquering hero’s wife to the hilt. ”
“To the Devil with her,” Gaston snapped, his helmet sailing into the wall.
“I shall kill her before I allow her to shame Remington.” He swung around unsteadily, moving for the door.
“That goddamn bitch isn’t going to invade my sanctuary and ruin my life any more than she already has. I shall kill her first.”
“Gaston,” Arik grabbed his liege. “Get hold of yourself, man. Remember Trenton.”
Gaston stopped suddenly, his mind working furiously. “My son,” he murmured. “She brought the boy and I will thank her for that, but she leaves this day. I do not want her here any longer than necessary.”
He charged out of the solar and ran headlong into Remington and her sisters as they directed the soldiers carrying the material in from the wagon.
His heart lurched painfully at the sight of her but he reined himself sharply; his first instinct had been to reach out and grab her. Instead, he called to her politely.
“My lady,” he said steadily. “Might I have a word, please?”
Remington eagerly went to him and he swept his arm in the direction of the solar. Following her into the room, he closed the door softly behind him.
Remington turned expectantly to him, her angelic face alive with happiness. He couldn’t help but smile back and took her in his arms.
She never thought she would like to be held, but she craved his arms around her. It was as if a whole new world had been opened for her, a world where Gaston was the center of her life.
He continued to hold her for several long moments, smelling the perfume he had given her and remembering last night as the most powerful emotional event of his life.
He was greatly shaken by the news of his wife’s arrival and simply needed to hold Remington to orient himself.
Strange, he found he could think with incredible clearness embracing her softness.
“I have received some news, angel,” he said softly, relaxing his grip enough to look in her face.
She was concerned. “What news? Has something terrible happened?”
His jaw ticked. “Terrible to you and I, indeed,” he said. “Arik has informed me that my wife and son arrived here at Mt. Holyoak yesterday while we were at the faire.”