She watched him from her perch in the corner, studying his profile. If she were forced to admit it, she would have confessed the man to be incredibly handsome. There was a tremendous sensuality to him, as well, something that made her go weak every time he looked at her, but she had no idea that it was his sex appeal that made her limp. She thought it was her healthy fear of the man and his reputation.
But she did not think of men in terms of handsome. They were simply men, a necessary evil.
The minstrels were a lively group of six older men, very accomplished at their art. They were traveling to Raby Castle, just east of Durham, for the Earl of Hamsterley’s birthday celebration at the earl’s request. As the meal progressed, they sang and performed several bawdy skits, much to the delight of the knights.
Remington ignored the ribald jokes as she perused the room, making sure all was running smoothly. At one point, however, she drew the attention of the loudest minstrel of all and he made a dash for her.
“Ah,” he exclaimed loudly. “The most beautiful serving wench in all the land.”
Remington saw him coming and tried to escape him, but he happily captured her arm and pulled her towards the center of the room.
“Look what I have captured,” he crowed with delight. “The goddess Aphrodite in the flesh.”
The knights were well into their wine and began chanting “flesh, flesh,” and banging their tankards against the table.
The minstrel wasn’t trying to be deliberately cruel or embarrassing, merely lively. But Remington was mortified at the attention.
“She is lovely, is she not?” he asked gaily and was greeted by a roar of approval. He then turned to Remington. “Can you dance, lass? Dance with me.”
Remington was having a terrible attack of nerves. She shook her head firmly and tried to pull away from him, but he held her tight. Yet her mortification was of a good-humored sort; she wasn’t truly panicked. But she wished terribly that the man would let her go.
“Aye, you can,” the minstrel encouraged her loudly, supported by the cheers from the knights. “Dance with me.”
She was a bright shade of red, even more so when the minstrel handed his mandolin to his comrade and took her in his arms. She stiffened; her panic was quickly becoming real at the closeness of his body.
“I do not want to dance,” she begged in a whisper. “Please let me go.”
Again, the man was not trying to be cruel. He smiled encouragingly at her. “Just once around the floor, lass, and I shall leave you be. I promise.”
She did not want to do it; she did not want to be held close to him. Visions of drunken Guy popped into her head, demanding the same thing of her.Dance with me,he would slur.But take your surcoat off first so that I might feel your nakedness.
She was on the verge of panic, the verge of tears as the minstrel tried to pull her stiff body into a comfortable position. But suddenly there was a massive body next to them, as tall as he was wide, and the minstrel’s arms were removed.
Gaston was between them, facing the musician. “Lady Stoneley does not wish to dance, artisan. Choose another.”
The minstrel shrugged good-naturedly and spied another woman who would do just as well. Gaston took Remington by the arm and quickly escorted her to the edges of the room.
He could feel her shaking terribly in his grip as he leaned her against the wall. His eyes were gentle.
“He meant no harm,” he said quietly. “Are you very well?”
She nodded, trying desperately to get a grip on herself. “Fine, my lord. Thank you for intervening.”
“My pleasure,” he said softly.
He moved back to his men, resuming his seat and leaving Remington alone to calm her breathing. She was so embarrassed and shaken that all she wanted to do was throw up and cry, in that order. But she would not allow her emotions to grip her socompletely, and she forced herself to re-focus on her duties in the hall.
The rest of the evening was pleasant and uneventful. She knew how badly Dane and Charles wanted to attend the meal with the knights, but she would not allow them to mingle with the warriors. She was terrified that the young boys would be in danger around the drinking, hardened men and she had no desire to see them hurt. As much as they hated it, she confined them to their rooms but she was convinced it was for the best. Besides, as male relatives to a prisoner of the crown, she felt them to be particularly vulnerable in the presence of the Dark Knight and his men.
She was fully aware of Gaston’s vows to protect her and her son, yet she did not trust him. It wasn’t him personally, but simply more her nature. She did not trust any man’s word, no matter who it was. Besides; the Dark Knight had betrayed his king to fight with the usurper. Mayhap the man’s word was as rotten as a corpse.
He confused her tremendously. His reputation was sinister, yet the man she had grown to know over the past few days was anything but. True, he could strike fear into the heart of men with a mere look, but he had been nothing but gentle and chivalrous to her. The paradox was enough to keep her awake nights.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next daydawned bright and hot as expected. The stonemasons were at work early on the troop house and Remington awoke to sounds of labor in the bailey.
She lay in bed a moment, slowly awakening, realizing that she had slept well and her mood was already light. It had been a long time since she had woken up thinking forward to the day ahead with pleasure.
