She tore her eyes away from the scene and looked at her son. “What is it?”
“Arik has a sword he says I can have.” Dane was twitching with excitement. “Can I see it? Please?”
She was torn. He looked completely delighted and she found it difficult to refuse him. God only knew the boy had had so little excitement out of life.
Jasmine’s blue dress swung by and caught her attention, for a second, until Dane tugged on her again.
“Very well, very well,” she agreed, looking to Arik. “Take good care of him, my lord. He’s just a boy.”
“Mummy,” Dane protested weakly.
Arik smiled and put his hand on Dane’s shoulder. “Beg your pardon, my lady, but he is nearly a man grown. However, for your peace of mind, I shall watch him like a hawk.”
Remington watched the two of them retreat from the hall, leaving her alone with Gaston. They had yet to say one word to each other.
The dance suddenly livened and the delighted shrieks of the women filled the hall as they were swung about by their partners. Remington could see Jasmine laughing happily into Antonius’ arms and she felt her protectiveness turning into confusion. Was Gaston right? Was she too overprotective?
Nay. She told herself sharply. She had to protect her sisters from those who would do them harm, supposedly chivalrous knights included.
And Jasmine, somehow, most of all. She was the most vulnerable; the most bitter. And she was the only sister to bear a bastard from her sister’s husband. The child was nearly two years old now and living with a family in Boroughbridge. It had almost killed her sister to give up the blond-haired girl and Remington was sick every time she thought of little Mary.
She had to protect Jasmine.
She suddenly stood up. “’Tis time we retire for the night, my lord. Thank you for permitting my son and I to dine with you.”
He reached out and put a hand on her arm. “Sit down, Remi.”
She turned to him sharply. “I…we have had a full day, my lord. My sisters are tired.”
“Nay, they are not,” he tugged on her arm and she plopped back into the chair. “They are enjoying themselves as you should be.”
She stumbled a bit, glancing nervously at the dancers. He sat forward in his chair, his great head by her shoulders. “You do not know how to enjoy yourself, do you?”
She peered at him over her shoulder. “You are the one without a sense of humor, my lord. Not I.”
“Eggs in a knight’s helm is not humorous,” he said flatly.
Her lips twitched. “I disagree.”
His gaze raked over her. “You were most calculating this afternoon, madam. I had no idea you were so sly.”
She turned her attention back to the dancers. “I know not what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” he studied her profile, her flawless skin. “I should punish you as well as your sister for going against me.”
She raised an eyebrow and looked at him impatiently. “Lock us both in the tower?”
It was a saucy statement and he raised his eyebrows in response. “I was thinking more of locking you both in the vault for thirty days.”
“What?” she gasped, turning her full attention to him. Gone was her flippant attitude.
“Unless,” he held up a finger quickly. “Unless you are prepared to do penitence of my choosing.”
“Penitence of your choosing?” she repeated, puzzled. “What in the world would that be?”
His eyes twinkled and she was greatly confused. “A dance, my lady,” he said softly. “One dance will spare you and your sister my wrath.”
Her mouth opened, dumbfounded. Then she was frightened. “Adance?” she repeated. It wasn’t that she did not like to dance, but that meant that he would have to…hold her.
