His room was dark; even the coals in the hearth were black. A quick glance about the room told him there was nothing there except emptiness and he was in the process of closing the door when his eyes came to rest on a foot.
A small foot, which in turn was attached to a small body, lying in the folds of his coverlet. Sighing with relief, he moved back into the room and peered down at Dane, sound asleep, clutching the small sword Arik had given him.
Gaston’s mouth twitched with a smile at the small boy snoring so contentedly, having no idea of the uproar he nearly caused. Gaston realized he was a good deal more relieved than he thought possible at the sight of the lad, gratified that he had not come to any harm. He rather liked the little fellow.
He debated about waking him but thought against it. He would, however, return him to his own bed. Carefully, he leaned over and gathered the child against his mighty chest and Dane stirred.
“What…what…?” he sputtered.
“Hush, Dane,” Gaston’s voice was low. “I am taking you back to your bed, lad.”
Dane blinked, suddenly remembering where he was. His wide eyes focused on Gaston. “I was waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me? Why?” Gaston asked.
“To show you the sword Sir Arik gave me,” he said, hugging the sword to his body. “He said I could have it.”
Gaston pretended to study the sword intensely. “Aye, a fine weapon indeed. Perfect for a young man to begin his training with.”
Dane yawned, holding the sword as if he were in possession of the Holy Grail. He mumbled something sleepily as Gaston carried him out into the hall and back to his room.
Remington heard a faint sound in her son’s room and was instantly awake. She tossed the coverlet off, not even stopping to think how she became wrapped in it, and dashed across the bedchamber through the adjoining door to Dane’s room.
Gaston was laying him down upon the sheets when she burst in and he shushed her sternly.
“He’s just gone back to sleep,” he whispered, pulling the covers over the boy.
She gazed down at his sandy head a moment, blinking sleep from her eyes. Gaston stepped back, watching the boy snuggle down into the thick mattress. Groggily, Remington also moved away from the bed and stumbled over her own feet.
Gaston caught her as she tripped, holding her against his hard body to steady her. She grabbed onto him, although she did not realize what she was doing. Holding her to him felt to bethe most natural, pleasant thing in the world and his arm went around her shoulders of its own choosing.
“Where was he?” she whispered. “What is he holding?”
“I found him in my bed,” Gaston said quietly. “He was waiting for me to return so he could show me the sword Arik gave him and fell asleep.”
“Arik gave him a sword?” Remington looked doubtfully at her son.
His arm squeezed her lightly. “Do not worry so. It is quite dull, as it was Arik’s when he was a lad. ’Twill be perfect when he begins his training.”
She looked up at him, startled. “You would still send him away from me to foster?” she asked, her voice growing louder. “You told him that you would consider allowing him to remain here.”
He shushed her again and moved her into her own room, quietly closing the door. When he turned around to face her, she was sitting on the edge of her bed surrounded by the voluminous skirt of her robe. The picture was breathtaking and he did, indeed, take a breath.
“And I am considering it,” he said patiently. “But all young men are sent away to foster when they reach seven or eight years of age. You are aware of this Remi. You want your son to grow up to be a strong, fine man, do not you?”
“He must be sent away to foster in order to attain those qualities?” she shot back softly. “Gaston…he is all I have. I do not want him to be sent away.”
He put his hand on his hips, not answering her for a moment. “We shall talk about it later. Go back to sleep now.”
She continued to sit there and look at him, sadness in her face. He gave her a brief flash of a smile and moved for the door. He had a company of men waiting for him in the bailey that he was anxious to attend to.
“Gaston?” she said softly.
He paused, his hand on the latch. She offered him a timid smile. “Thank you for finding him, truly. You did not have to go through so much trouble.”
“He is my vassal and his welfare concerns me,” he replied. “Goodnight.”
She stood to show him from her chamber as a proper lady would, assuming he would move out of her way when he saw her approach. But he did not, however, and she nearly walked into him. Startled, she craned her neck back sharply to look at him and was met by eyes of molten steel, shrouded in smoke.
