Remington felt as if she had been slapped. Her calm nerves and confident posture were rapidly fading in lieu of darker, angrier emotions.
“You mean Lady Mari-Elle?” she asked evenly. “Oleg, inform the lady that we are not allowed from our rooms under direct orders from Sir Gaston. If she wants us to attend the meal, then she will have to speak to the master.”
Oleg nodded wearily. “Aye, my lady.”
Remington sat her sewing down, again, and stood up. “What’s the matter with you?”
Oleg threw up his hands. “What isn’t the matter? The Lady Mari-Elle has brought her entire household with her, including her own stewards, a cook, and a physician. They are taking over Mt. Holyoak and I have been reduced to a common house servant.”
Remington was outraged. She clenched her jaw angrily, pacing the length of the floor to the elderly servant. “Oleg, I want you to gather all of our servants and tell them to take to their rooms until this situation with Lady Mari-Elle can be solved. I do not want them serving her, or her household. Do you understand?”
“Aye, my lady,” Oleg said briskly, somewhat relieved.
“Sir Gaston has promised to send his wife home this day and I fully intend that the residents of Mt. Holyoak stay out of her way until such time as she leaves,” Remington continued. “We have had one abusive master and I shall now allow my vassals to be further abused by a spoiled, imperious woman.”
Oleg crinkled a smile. “As you say, my lady.”
He turned to leave but Remington grasped him gently to stay him a moment. “And if the Lady Mari-Elle has a problem with my orders, you tell her to come and speak to me directly. I shall tell her exactly what has happened and why.”
Oleg was vastly relieved, yet he expected no less from Lady Remington. The woman had the courage of ten men. He quit the room, full of his message for Lady Mari-Elle.
Remington turned to her sister, her face glazed with a cunning, sinister look. “That’s right, Oleg; send the bitch to me. I shall give her an earful.”
Rory’s face lit up like the high-noon sun. “Can I help you?”
Remington lifted an eyebrow, pursing her lips thoughtfully. There was no mistaking the devious aura about her. “Gaston wants her gone and so do I. Mayhap…mayhap we could make her miserable enough to leave,” she looked pointedly at Rory. “You, my lady, are a master of pranks. Any ideas?”
Rory was in her heaven. She rose from her chair, clasping her hands behind her back with mock thoughtfulness. “Quite a few, actually. I think we could make her life quite hellish.”
Remington smiled wickedly, knowing she shouldn’t be encouraging this action, but feeling her desperation. True, she trusted Gaston, but she wasn’t beyond giving him a little help. Their relationship was so new, promising such wonder and magnificence that she wanted this woman out of the way in order to pursue her happiness. Selfish on her part; absolutely. But for once in her life she felt like being selfish.
*
Lady Mari-Ellede Russe paced leisurely across the floor of the large foyer, her expert eyes studying every inch of the décor and wealth. Wealth that now belonged to her husband and, to her. She could see that Mt. Holyoak was wealthy indeed, not extravagant, but certainly self-supporting and then some. She was terribly pleased that King Henry had seen fit to grant her husband such a prime holding.
Money, station, and reputation; everything Gaston had that was hers. In spite of the fact that he had betrayed Richard, it mattered not since he was in good standing with Henry Tudor. And why not? His mother was a Tudor cousin and therefore, Mari-Elle found herself in the prestigious position of being related to the King of England.
Moreover, Gaston was her partner but she held no love for him; she never had. He gave her what she most wanted and stayed away to allow her to enjoy it; wealth. Money that kept her supplied with men, jewels, and clothes. Her life had been perfect until a few short weeks ago.
Her current lover, Count Luc-Pietre de Moulors, had been amusing enough to keep her occupied. He was suave, handsome, thinly built and witty. Exactly her type and she considered keeping him for an infinite amount of time until she discovered her pregnancy. Panicked, she banished him from Clearwell and set out to make rapid plans. She had not seen Gaston in nearly a year and everyone would know the child was not his. To bear him a bastard would give him reason to send her away, cut off her allowance, or mayhap even kill her.
Mari-Elle was clear. She wrote to Henry and discovered that Gaston had recently been sent north to Yorkshire, to a keep called Mt. Holyoak. Mari-Elle packed up her entire household and set out for Yorkshire, desperate to be with her husband. Shehad to convince him that she had missed him terribly and to beg his forgiveness, to lie with him and conceive another child.
Her plan would work perfectly if everything went according to her schedule. Much had happened between her and Gaston and she knew he hated her, and frankly she had not cared in the least until a few weeks ago. Now, she could only hope she was convincing when she pledged her undying love to the man. He knew her well;toowell, and she knew he would take a great deal of convincing.
Trenton walked beside her, his dark gray eyes observing his surroundings solemnly. He was extremely tall for his age, almost as tall as his mother, with his father’s dark features.
“Father returned hours ago,” the boy said. “Why hasn’t he come to see us?”
“Do not feel badly, dear,” Mari-Elle said. “You know your father has never liked children, and he certainly never wanted a son. But he will grow accustomed to you, I promise. That’s why I brought you here, isn’t it? For you to get to know your father.”
Trenton shrugged in the same gesture Gaston used sometimes. He knew his father did not like him, but he was proud of his father nonetheless. There was a great deal of prestige being the Dark Knight’s son. He was torn between hating his father terribly and loving him desperately, wondering what he had ever done to make his father stay away all the time.
He was a good boy, with a good heart, fortunately not damaged too badly by his mother’s devilish ways. More than anything, he was simply confused. His mother did not have time for him, his father was non-existent, and there was truly no one for him. He spent his days at Clearwell playing with his dogs or exploring in the neighboring woods when it wasn’t too cold, a lonely life for a lonely boy.
“I believe this keep will do quite nicely,” Mari-Elle said with approval. “Far different from Clearwell, is it not?”
“It is bigger,” Trenton said. “But not as well decorated.”
