“Or a galley slave,” Nicolas snorted, drawing soft laughter.
“Centurion,” Arik scoffed. “Good Christ, you have lofty dreams. You are nothing more than a commoner.”
Antonius thrust his chin up. “I would have married well, then.”
Remington was playing with a piece of grass, chuckling at Antonius’ expense. Arik focused on her.
“And what of our Celt beauty? Do you swim?” he asked.
Gaston looked at her, noticing she was flushing with the attention. “You are Celt?”
“My mother was born in Ireland,” she told him softly. “She claimed to be descended from the Tuatha de Danann.”
“The fairy race?” Gaston remarked. “Aye, you could pass for a fairy princess.”
Remington was still uncomfortable with his references to her looks. She gazed up at Arik. “I am afraid I must embarrass you gentleman, Sir Arik. I can swim like a fish and I love the water.”
“Celt, eh?” Nicolas repeated. “That must be where the wild woman gets her red hair.”
Remington smiled at his remark, fiddling with the grass. Silence filled the air for a few moments, though not uncomfortable. Skye held up her flower wreath, pleased with her handiwork, and put it on her head.
“Lovely,” Nicolas said. “You look like a wood nymph.”
Skye blushed sweetly, displaying dimples like her older sister. “Thank you, my lord.”
Nicolas lay back on the grass, lazily, smiling at the young girl. “How old are you, Lady Skye?”
“Fourteen, my lord,” she replied, blushing redder by the moment. “I shall be fifteen come Christmas.”
Remington put the grass down and leaned back against the tree. “Where is Sir Patrick?”
“Trying to convince your sister to join us,” Gaston replied. “She is a stubborn wench.”
“She shall not come,” Remington said. “The more he pleads, the more resistant she shall be.”
Skye stood up and brushed herself off, passing Nicolas a coy glance as she walked away toward the water. Remington was concerned when the young knight rose to follow. Jasmine, too, stood up, followed closely by Antonius. Together, they wandered aimlessly in the general direction of the lake.
With a loud sigh of satisfaction, Arik stretched out on the vacated blanket and closed his eyes with contentment. “Thank God they’ve gone. Now I can get some sleep.”
Gaston eyed his second, his gaze moving to Remington. He was puzzled to see her face awash with distress as she anxiously followed her sister’s movements.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
Remington tore her gaze away and glanced down at him. “Nothing, my lord,” she looked back to Jasmine and Skye.
Gaston accepted her answer and dug into the basket next to her, drawing forth a large green apple. He bit into it with gusto, chewing loudly as his gaze drifted out over the green countryside. He was about to comment on it when he looked up at Remington and saw that she was in the same stiff position as she had been moments earlier. He took another large bite of the apple and tossed it aside, rising to his feet.
“Walk with me,” he said to Remington.
She jerked her head up to him. “I…uh, where?”
He reached down and pulled her to her feet. When she tried to disengage her hands from his, he firmly took one and tuckedit into the crook of his arm. Silently, he began to walk the edges of the lake, away from the others.
“Why are you looking at my men like that?” he asked.
“Like what?” she asked innocently, though she was looking back over her shoulder.
“Like they are going to ravish your sisters,” he said. “Honestly, Remi, they’re perfectly safe with my knights.”
