“There’s mother,” he pointed eagerly. “She’s waving to you.”
Gaston clenched his jaw as he focused on his wife. Tall, thin, and cold, exactly as he had remembered, except…except she was smiling. Instantly he went even more on his guard than he usually was. Trenton ran on ahead and Arik approached casually.
“Ah, the spider calling to the fly,” he mumbled in the direction of his lord’s ear.
Gaston’s jaw flexed dangerously. “Except this fly is about to quash the spider. Have you checked on Remington and the rest of the family?”
“I sent a couple of knights upstairs to make sure they were taken care of,” Arik replied. “I did not want to miss the entertainment.”
Patrick and Nicolas joined the small group, suddenly very conspicuous in the archway to the great hall.
“She’s turned this meal into a goddamn courtly affair,” Patrick murmured. He had always been the most mild-tempered of Gaston’s knights, but even he had little love for Mari-Elle.
“Get in there,” Gaston snapped softly. “Eat and be done. We shall not turn this into a social occasion.”
They wandered into the hall to their usual places. Mari-Elle had taken the extreme liberty of setting herself next to her husband and greeted Patrick with overbearing affection. She began to seat the men around her, her thin face flushed with pleasure. Gaston stood a few feet away, his hands on his massive hips as he watched his wife with great disapproval.
Mari-Elle’s eyes met with his and her expression grew very soft, loving even. “My lord husband,” she said in a husky voice. “I am so glad to finally see you.”
He did not reply for a moment. His displeasure was obvious, like a slap in the face. “And I am surprised to see you. We have much to discuss, wife.”
She smiled prettily and lowered her lashes. “As my lord pleases. I am at your disposal. Would you take your seat now, my lord, and be served?”
He moved past her briskly, ignoring her soundly as he took his seat. Mari-Elle sat next to him, making sure to brush his leg with her knee. He did not react, instead, drinking deeply from his tankard. He always drank too much when he was around her.
Servants began flowing from the kitchens, bringing out trenchers for the men. There were suddenly several serving wenches at the head of the table where Gaston sat, all setting food in front of the knights. The wench serving Gaston set hisplate down carefully and fully brushed her breasts against his arm as she pulled back. Annoyed, he shot her an icy look and was shocked to see Remington wink back at him.
His eyes rapidly went to every serving wench at the table; Skye and Jasmine, dressed as servants, were assisting the knights. Rory smiled boldly at him. It took him a second to realize his mouth had popped open and he quickly shut it.
Arik met his eyes questioningly but he ignored the look; he was trying to figure out what the devil the women of Mt. Holyoak were doing dressed in coarse linen serving clothes, wooden clogs and leather girdles.
He was so stunned he almost forgot about his food. Mechanically, he dug into his plate, eyeing Remington and her sisters as they served his men.
“Where is my food?” Mari-Elle demanded imperiously; she was the only one that had not been served. “You– wench!”
Rory was closest. She swung around so fast she hit Mari-Elle on the side of the head with the pitcher of wine she was holding. The woman teetered, her wimple knocked askew.
“You stupid…!” She suddenly remembered Gaston sitting next to her. If she were going to convince the man that she was a changed woman, then she would have to start acting like it. She calmed herself and straightened her wimple. “You seem to have forgotten my food.”
Rory lifted her eyebrows in feigned horror. “My heavens! Sorry, chicklet, I shall get it right away.”
She skittered away and Gaston found himself biting off huge guffaws that promised to fill the room. Across the table, Patrick’s red face was staring into his lap and Nicolas had his napkin over his mouth, chewing slowly but laughing silently like a fool. Antonius coughed heavily and pretended to drop his knife to the floor.
Gaston was shocked at what was apparently going on. Shocked and angered that Remington and her sisters had disobeyed him, but mightily amused at what promised to take place. He knew he should stop it, but he was frankly curious at Mari-Elle’s reaction to Rory’s brassiness. He decided to allow Remington and her sisters to continue their charade, if for nothing more than to be fortunate enough to gaze at Remington. He missed her already.
Gaston’s knights recognized her but no one said a word. Whatever she was doing was her own business, yet a few wondered if Lady de Russe had ordered her to serve as a common servant. Obviously Sir Gaston wasn’t upset in the least, so wise men that they were, they made no comment.
Remington came up on Gaston’s arm. “More wine, my lord?”
He gazed up at her, trying desperately not to show any emotion. “Aye.”
He raised his goblet and she lowered the pitcher and they bumped. The collision wasn’t hard, but suddenly the pitcher was flying backwards and nearly the entire contents spilled itself on Mari-Elle’s lap.
Mari-Elle jumped to her feet with shock and Remington let the pitcher fall.
“Oh, my lady, I am so sorry,” she gasped with a good deal of overacting. “I am ever so clumsy, my lady, please forgive me.”
Gaston watched, baffled, as Remington grabbed the rag on her dress and began wiping the wine off his wife’s fine surcoat. He could see that every swipe of the rag left a black streak and Mari-Elle looked down at herself, horrified.
