“And because we are so powerful, we are also infinitely merciful and we shall spare you any further drowning,” Remington said, sloshing into the shallow water. Her dress was clinging to her like the skin of a grape; drawing looks of distinct interest from Patrick and Arik.
Gaston saw the looks and was seized with a tremendous sense of possessiveness. The woman wasn’t his in the least but he was swept with the urge to cover her from lustful eyes, including his own. He absolutely agreed with his knights’ silent opinions.
He went back to the tree and snatched up the blanket that lay upon the ground. Remington had emerged from the lake like Venus, pulling at her wet surcoat and laughing with her sisters when he came up upon her and threw the blanket around her body.
“What…what are you doing?” she asked as he wrapped her tighter than a babe in swaddling.
“You shall catch a chill,” he mumbled.
“In this heat?” she shook her head.
He wasn’t listening to her. He turned to his men. “Mount up. We return.”
The gaiety of the mood was quickly dulled by his abrupt manner and sharp orders. Remington watched, puzzled, as his knights did as they were told. Patrick even took Rory with him, mounting her wet body behind his and smiling at her when she mumbled something in his ear.
Skye, Charles and Dane were already trekking up the small incline away from the lake, turning to the path that led back to Mt. Holyoak. Nicolas, on his huge charger, rode several paces behind them. Antonius did not mount his destrier as ordered; instead, he and Jasmine began to walk back to the keep at a leisurely pace. It would seem the party was over.
Remington was irritated. Why did he disband their picnic so abruptly? His manner was curt and harsh and she received a sharp impression that the Dark Knight had somehow returned, but she had no idea why.
He was fumbling with his destrier several feet away and she tossed the blanket off, folding it carefully. He did not acknowledge her in any way as she put the blanket over her arm and waited politely for him. After a minute or so, she began to feel distinctly ignored and she was shocked to realize she was actually hurt. What had she done to make his attitude change so quickly? Moreover, why should she care about his attitude toward her? Had the man lulled her into a false sense of security by being kind to her, kind enough so that she would reveal her darkest secrets, and now he was bored with her?
Hot humiliation shot through her. Damn him. Well, she would not be treated like the day’s entertainment, forgotten after the newness had passed. Quickly, she turned and began to walk back toward Mt. Holyoak alone.
She had just entered the trees when he rode up beside her.
“Do not you want to ride? It’s terribly hot to walk,” he commented.
“No, thank you, my lord,” she said stiffly, wishing he would go away.
The dress was drying but it still clung to her skin, and his eyes roved over the delicious curve of her delicate shoulders. With the horse still moving, he dismounted with the ease of a gymnast and resumed walking beside her. He felt her irritation but had no idea why she was annoyed.
They walked in silence the entire way back. Remington refused to look at him or even acknowledge his presence. They trekked up the road to the keep and were about to cross the bridge when he stopped her.
“Nay,” he said quietly. “Wait a moment.”
She looked up at him, annoyed all over again, when she saw he was looking into the outer bailey. The soldiers were lined up, waiting for the next wet woman to run the gauntlet. Between Rory and Skye, they had quite a show and they waited with anticipation for the grandest lady of all to see if she, too, was wet. It was the best entertainment they had seen in a long while.
Gaston’s jaw ticked as he took the blanket from Remington’s arm and wrapped her gently in it, his eyes never leaving the soldiers.
“Wait here a moment,” he said, his voice low.
Curious, Remington did as she was asked and watched him cross the drawbridge with loud, deliberate steps. By the time he was over the bridge and passing under the portcullis, the men saw him coming and were scrambling to disband.
Gaston stopped as soon as he passed under the archway, his hands on his great hips. Remington couldn’t see his face, but she could see the soldiers scattering as if the devil had just appeared and demanded their souls.
It was truly astonishing; he had not said a word yet hundreds of soldiers had leapt to do his bidding in a panicked rush. Remington was stunned at what had happened, watching him with wide-open eyes as he returned to her.
“What…what happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied, taking her arm underneath the blanket.
Perplexed, she allowed him to lead her across the drawbridge and into a now-vacated bailey.
*
Dinner was afestive occasion that night. A band of traveling minstrels had sought shelter for the night and began providing music and dancing at an early hour. The knights entered the hall listening to the music, pleased with the welcome addition to their meal.
Remington and her sisters did not eat with the men, as had become custom ever since their arrival. Instead they stood back in the shadows and made sure no man wanted for anything. The servants were very busy with the room full of knights and the roast pork was a huge success. Remington had specifically ordered two fat pigs killed because she thought Gaston might be sick of mutton.
