The sun had set by the time Lord Brimley took his leave of Mt. Holyoak and Oleg ordered up the evening meal of, what else, pork. The cook spiced it up with cloves and nutmeg and baked apples to accompany it.
Smells of cooking drifted on the warm evening air, filling Gaston’s nose. He was hungry for he had missed the nooning meal and he found his attention focused on the fare ahead. And he fully remembered he had requested Remington’s company at dinner, wondering if she would be conspicuously absent to avoid his anger. Yet somehow, cowardice did not suit her. He could only imagine that she would face his wrath head-on.
He was not disappointed. The meal was already well in hand when Remington appeared, clutching her son’s hand. Gaston couldn’t help but straighten in his seat at the sight of her; she was dressed in a surcoat of wine satin, catching the light and making her rich hair appear richer. Dane was well groomed, as befitting a proper young man, his eyes alive at the sight of so many knights. It was the first time he had attended a formal meal and he was enraptured.
She headed directly for him, her head held high. He rose as she approached, greeting her with a courteous bow.
“My lady,” he said, and then looked at Dane. “Master Stoneley, a pleasure.”
“My mother said I could eat with you tonight,” he said eagerly.
“Indeed you shall,” Gaston indicated a chair for Remington. “Arik, seat our young friend.”
Arik moved down a seat, allowing Dane to sit next to him. He smiled at the lad’s enthusiasm.
Gaston helped Remington into her chair, smelling the floral scent until he was dizzy with it. Every time she moved, every time she tossed her hair, he was assaulted anew and thought it a most wonderful smell.
He seated himself and resumed eating. Remington was served by a wench, politely digging into her food under the intense gazes of her sisters. Even Rory had entered the room behind her and stood in the corner with the other two, whispering and staring.
Nicolas had not noticed Rory yet; his back was to her and he was buried in his meal. Remington wished Rory would go away until the storm blew over, but true to her nature, she would not hide. She was still angry at her sister for disobeying her wishes to go with Lord Brimley.
She was entirely silent; so was he. They ate in silence, neither one looking at the other for the duration. Dane, however, kept up a running conversation. He grilled Arik on the arts of war, the skill of the bow, anything he could think of, but he was so refreshing that the knight did not mind. He answered the young man’s questions politely.
Somehow the conversation turned to entertainment, singing and other skills well-bred nobles were supposed to be well versed in. Dane looked proudly at his mother.
“My mother can play the flute. Did you know that?” he announced.
Remington froze in mid-chew, choking down a large bite as attention turned to her. Dane smiled happily. “She plays like an angel. Do you want to hear her?”
Remington coughed. “I do not think so, Dane. Not tonight.”
“I think I would like to hear you,” Gaston said quietly.
Her eyes snapped to him. “I…I really do not want to, my lord. I have not played in some time.”
He studied her a moment. “Later, then. I will insist upon it.”
Her gaze was guarded, wary. The minstrels that had played the evening before were entertaining again, having stayed one additional night by request of some of the knights. They struck up their instruments again, much to the delight of the men.
Remington had eaten her fill and waved for her trencher to be taken away. Dane, next to her, continued to eat as much as the men and was being a delightful conversationalist. She thought it surprising that he was actually enjoying himself; usually he was fairly reserved. But these giant men brought an excitement out in him and she could see that he held absolutely no fear of them. His admiration won out over all.
Guy did not like conversation at meals, which explained Dane’s usual quietness. It was too easy to provoke his father and he ate his meals in fear of being slapped. But these knights, these men among men, wanted to hear what he had to say and he was in boy-heaven. He did so want to be like them, like Sir Gaston. Not his father.
The minstrels sang and told jokes like they did the night before and Remington sat back in her chair, listening to them yet acutely aware of Gaston next to her. She could see his massive hand out of the corner of her eyes, gripping his cup.
She stared at the back of his hand, remembering that it had grasped her this afternoon with such gentleness for all of its size. And lord, was it big. She was positive if he splayed his hand, it would outstretch the perimeter of a trencher. Gaston was by far the largest man that had ever lived, in her opinion. He was as wide as the doorframe and just as tall. It was difficult to comprehend such size, but for all of his mass, his face was entirely handsome.
Remington blinked; aye, he was handsome and it was about time she realized it. She had always known it, but she was not ready to admit it to herself. To think of him as handsome would open the gate for other emotions she had never experienced yet was terrified to know. She had spent so many years masking her emotions that she was unwilling to allow them to surface.
She turned her head slightly and found herself staring at his profile. He was far more than handsome; he was sensual, virile, and masculine. Beautiful. Could a man be beautiful? She wondered.
The minstrels struck up a slow ballad, traditional and lovely. A few of the more drunken knights grabbed the nearest serving wench and drug them out into the center of the floor, breaking into an elegant dance.
Antonius rose, smiling at Remington as he moved away from the table. She thought to herself that he looked much like a Roman god, sculpted and elegant. It took her a moment to see that he had gone directly to her sister and instantly the two of them were gliding across the floor.
Before Remington could react, Nicolas and Patrick had the same idea and soon Rory and Skye were traipsing the stone as well, swung giddy by their knights.
“Mummy.” Dane tugged on her arm. “Mummy.”
