She turned to look at him. “It is of no fun to eat sweets that have not been thrown at you, my lord. Surely you know that.”
His helmet was on, his visor down, and she couldn’t see his face. “Indeed I do. But the larger children are getting all of the goods. See?”
Dane stood up, two pieces of candy in his hands and a frown on his face. The puppet show was ended when the treats were thrown and the crowd of children disbanded.
“I only got two pieces of candy,” he wailed when he came upon his mother. “Those bigger boys took the rest.”
“We can buy you more,” Remington made amends. “Come now, let’s go inside and see what else there is.”
They made their way inside the small gates that opened up onto a wide street. Ripon was a bustling city and the faire was a large one. Remington felt her tension leave her as her eyes grazed the hustle and bustle; she liked crowds and people. There would be much to see and do here.
“Where to, my lady?” Gaston asked behind her. Taran followed like a trained dog once again, his great head butting against Gaston as he tried to move closer to Remington.
She glanced about. “I am not sure. Let’s just start walking and see where we end up.”
They proceeded onward. Roald walked casually beside Gaston, leaning toward his lord.
“There is a jousting exhibit and competition, my lord,” he murmured.
“How do you know that?” Gaston asked.
“There is a sign posted at the gate,” Roald replied.
Gaston snorted. “I wonder what idiots we will see here today, then. An open competition will bring them from all over.”
“Idiots that hate us,” Roald mumbled. “They might make a competition to see who can kill us first.”
Gaston grinned. Roald was always the doomsayer of his corps and he was amused by him. “Bring them on. It has been a while since I have competed for sport.”
Remington was several paces ahead and stopped at a booth boasting fine leather purses and shoes. While Dane danced impatiently beside her, she carefully inspected a lovely pair of white doeskin boots. The merchant was intent on showing her a purse to match and she studied the pouch with equal care.
Gaston watched Dane wriggle and complain and finally took pity on him. He walked up and took the boy by the shoulder.
“Look over there, Dane,” he pointed with his huge mailed hand. “There is a man with trained dogs.”
Dane’s eyes lit up. Gaston walked him across the avenue and together they watched five trained dogs jump through hoops and dance on their hind legs. Dane was enthralled, clapping loudly with every accomplishment and Gaston had to smile at the boy’s enthusiasm. He was growing quite attached to the lad in lieu ofhis own absent son, and watching Dane made him long for his own boy.
He had not seen Trenton in almost a year. He had spent so much of his time fighting for Henry and avoiding Mari-Elle that Trenton had suffered in the process. He so desperately wanted to have his son with him, but he could not offer the boy a proper life. At least at Clearwater, he was in a stable environment. Even if he had grown up thinking his father wanted nothing to do with him.
Yet Gaston saw his chance for knowing his son was nearly passed, for the boy was soon to foster at Northwood Castle in Northumberland. He had made arrangements with Lord Longley, an old soldier and friend of Gaston’s father, after Trenton was born.
But as he watched Dane, he realized that there was no reason for Trenton to go to Kent. After all, Dane was staying at Mt. Holyoak to foster; why shouldn’t Trenton come as well? Gaston planned to make Mt. Holyoak his seat, his haven for the rest of his life, and he wanted his son with him. Who better to train the boy than he and Arik?
He crossed his arms with a grunt of satisfaction at his conclusion. Aye, his son would come to live with him and he himself would oversee the boy’s development. He only hoped he could undo everything Mari-Elle had undoubtedly instilled into the lad.
The little dog show was over and Dane took great delight in petting one of the friendly animals, a wiry little mutt with short white hair. The dog waged his tail furiously and licked Dane’s hand.
“He likes me,” Dane said proudly, beaming at Gaston.
“Aye, he does,” Gaston agreed. “A smart animal.”
Dane continued to pet the dog and Gaston turned his head in the direction of approaching horses; destriers, no doubt, fromthe sound of the thunder. He briefly wondered what fools would be riding chargers in the midst of civilians.
Remington picked that moment to cross the street toward them. He caught her out of the corner of his eye and whirled around, preparing to yell at her to halt. His heart went racing into his throat, visions of her plastered all over the dirt filling his mind. Gaston had never come close to panic in his life; the distinct taste of it on his tongue brought him to a new level of awareness.
But the chargers were already coming to a stop, and so did Remington. She took a few steps back as the great warhorses danced in front of her, four of them in all. Astride them sat four well-seasoned, over-dressed knights.
Gaston went from the verge of panic to the brink of extreme protectiveness. He could see Roald taking hold of Remington’s arm and pulling her back, away from the men, but Remington did not appear the least bit concerned. One of the knights threw up his visor.
