Chapter Twenty-Nine #5
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.