The sun began to hang low in the sky and Gaston sent a couple of soldiers to retain supper for the ladies. The men returned with roast chicken and sweetened carrots that were quickly devoured by Dane and his aunts. Remington did not have an appetite and politely watched the jousting bouts in front of her.
“I am afraid we must be going,” Gaston finally said, hating to spoil Dane’s fun. “But we shall be riding in the dark and I would like to get on our way.”
Remington agreed silently, pulling Dane along behind her. The boy did everything but kick and scream; he begged, pleaded, and drug his feet as his mother led him out of the lists.
“Dane,” Gaston said sternly. “Knights do not act like spoiled children. They do what they are told without question. You do not want me to think that you cannot follow orders, do you?”
Dane stood straight. “Nay, my lord.”
Gaston nodded curtly, pleased that the child was reasonable. The group left the tournament arena and met with the wagon where they had left it. Rory, Dane and Skye piled into the frontof the wagon while Antonius helped Jasmine mount her little palfrey. Remington was moving for her own bay mare when she noticed the animal favoring its right foreleg. Concerned, she called to Gaston.
“See here,” she pointed to the leg. “I think she’s lame.”
Gaston ran a trained hand up the horses’ fetlock, feeling the telltale bump in the tendon. He checked the hoof for any other outward sign before straightening.
“Indeed she is,” he said. “You will have to ride in the wagon.”
The wagon bench was already full with her son and her sisters, and the small bed was filled with bolts of material. Gaston and Patrick shifted the bolts around but there was barely enough room for her to perch her bottom on the end of the wagon bed. It would be uncomfortable at best.
Remington hopped up on the end of the wagon and tried to get comfortable when Gaston reached out and pulled her off.
“You shall ride with me,” he said.
A bit reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her over to Taran and she stood next to the horse while he adjusted the saddle. Taran, smelling Remington, nudged her with his great nose. She put her hands on the huge head.
“Hello, Taran,” she crooned. “I have missed you, too.”
Gaston watched the two out of the corner of his eye. “You are going to spoil my horse if you keep on and he shall be no good to me.”
“Keep on what?” she asked. “I am doing nothing but showing him affection.”
“He is a warhorse, not a kitten,” Gaston put his hands around her waist; they completely encircled her and then some. Gently, he lifted her onto his saddle. Putting his foot firmly in the stirrup, he mounted heavily behind her. Settling Remington into a comfortable position, he made sure everyone was ready to leave and spurred the horse forward.
Darkness fell quickly and so did the chill. Dressed in rose silk, Remington was quickly cold and Gaston retrieved her cloak from the wagon. Wrapped in the thick woolen garment, she was soon warmed by the hard iciness of his chest armor biting into her. Making the best of it, she settled back against him for the long ride home.
Gaston rode broodingly, feeling Remington’s softness before him and it made him miserable. What in the hell was he thinking? How could he tell Remington those things? True nonetheless, but he couldn’t believe he had told her his innermost feelings. Yet she had responded in kind and he knew she felt the same way, no matter how confused they both were. He was elated and forlorn at the same time.
They had been on the road a couple of hours when Dane began to wail. Concerned, Gaston reined in Taran to a halt.
“I can’t sleep when the wagon is moving,” he cried. “My stomach hurts.”
“He is prone to motion sickness,” Remington told Gaston softly. “Especially when he is tired.”
“Can he make it to Mt. Holyoak?” Gaston asked. “We have another two hours at the most.”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. He shall be vomiting the rest of the way if we continue. Unless he walks, of course.”
“It will take all night if he walks,” Gaston said flatly. “I suppose we had better stop for the night, then.”
Remington nodded quickly. “We can use the bed of the wagon to sleep in, and the material for shelter.”
Gaston was already in motion, ordering the soldiers to take the wagon from the road and set up a makeshift camp. Dane and his aunts were delighted with the prospective adventure.
Patrick and Jasmine gathered pieces of wood and soon there was a roaring fire illuminating the campsite. Gaston’s men had succeeded in turning the bed of the wagon into a delightful cozyhovel, using a few other bolts of material for shelters. Breaking out the bread and wine they brought with them, the hastily erected camp was a happy little place.
Dane was dancing around and being generally loud, not at all like the young boy who had declared his illness not an hour before. Gaston eyed him suspiciously; not at all sure that this wasn’t part of a greater scheme to prolong his trip to the faire. As he set up a hasty perimeter for the night, the ladies and Dane warmed themselves by the fire and threw bits of bread at each other. It was a fun sense of adventure that they all felt, spending the night under the stars. To the men, it was nothing special nor unusual.
Fortunately, Dane wore himself down after his busy day and passed out cold in the back of the wagon. One by one his aunts joined him until the wagon bed was full. Remington did not think much of it until she made her way to the wagon to go to sleep and discovered there was no room left.
