His gaze lingered on the desk and the furnishings a moment, before he finally turned to face her. She kept her gaze lowered but she could nonetheless feel his eyes on her.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty and six, my lord,” she replied.
He moved around a very large desk, inspecting it slowly. “And how long have you been married to Sir Guy?”
Remington’s head snapped up. “You…you know of my husband?”
“Answer my question.”
“Nine years, my lord,” she said quickly, hoping she had not offended him.
His hands caressed the fine hide chair behind the desk. “How loyal are you to Richard?”
She blinked. “I…I do not understand, my lord. Henry is our king now.”
“I am well aware of who is king, madam. Answer me. How loyal are you to Richard?”
Remington looked at him. Obviously this man was not loyal to Richard at all. Especially if the rumors she had heard were true. Of course he expectedherto be loyal to the dead king because her husband had fought for him and because they werein the heart of Yorkshire. She wasn’t sure how he wanted her to answer and decided to be completely honest.
“I am not loyal to Richard, my lord,” she said. “I pledge my loyalty and my household to King Henry as my savior.”
He actually looked surprised. It was the first emotion she had yet to see from him. “Savior?” he repeated. “Why would you say that?”
Her breathing quickened as her emotions coursed through her veins. The thought of her husband in prison stirred her up tremendously and she spoke words from her very heart.
“Because my husband is in jail and will be there for the rest of his natural life, God willing,” she said, her voice shaking. “Henry has done this for me and I willingly turn over all that I have to him. You need not worry about loyalty to the crown here, my lord. Everyone in this keep will gladly give it.”
His surprise was gone and he was back to his original cool demeanor. “You will forgive me if I do not take your word for it,” he said coldly. “How many peasants populate the surrounding villages of Boroughbridge and Easlinghope?”
The rapid jump from one subject to the next left her momentarily confused. “Boroughbridge provides for three or four hundred people, while Easlinghope sustains close to a thousand. Baron Brimley of Crayke Castle is lord of Easlinghope.”
Gaston nodded slowly. He knew most of this information already, simply from what Henry and his clerks had told him, but he wanted the information confirmed by someone close to the source. He would have preferred to hear it from the steward of the keep and had no idea why he had asked the lady to inform him. Much to his surprise, she seemed to have half-a-wit. Besides, she was most pleasing to look at and she smelled pleasant, too. He could smell her from where he stood.
“Tell me of Mt. Holyoak,” he said. “What are her crops and sundry functions?”
“The vale is very fertile, my lord, and we are an extremely rich fortress in terms of crops and livestock,” Remington replied, feeling less nervous with him now that they were on a subject she knew something about. “Sheep is our primary source of income. Half of the village of Boroughbridge is employed by our sheep works in one fashion or another. In addition to wool, mutton and lanolin, we grow wheat, millet and oats in great quantities and ship a good deal of it to London merchants. Harvest is approaching in August and we will be besieged with dealers come the time.”
“Do you have a mill?” he inquired.
“Aye, milord, a large one,” she said. “The peasants use it as well for their crops and we do not charge them a fee. Instead, they put a small portion of their harvest into a grain store which is then kept in reserves for years that are not so prosperous.”
He absorbed the information, growing more impressed by the minute. It would seem that his mighty fortress had more to it than met the eye, although he was not surprised.
Satisfaction filled him. Not only was Mt. Holyoak strategically important, but she was rich as well. Guy Stoneley deserved none of this magnificence and he was not the least bit regretful that he had just confiscated another man’s lands by order of the king.
“What do you plan to do with Mt. Holyoak, my lord?” Remington asked softly, breaking into his thoughts.
He looked to her. “Do with it? I plan to live here.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “And you plan to keep my family here, as well? Or do you intend to send us away?”
“I do not know yet,” he replied. “Have you somewhere else to go?”
“Nay, my lord,” she answered. “My father died a few years ago and my sisters and I have no one else.”
His eyes roved over her as if he were contemplating what in the hell to do with her. Remington felt like unwanted baggage.
