“Look at what you are doing,” she screeched. “Stop this instant!”
Remington dropped the rag in mock horror at what she had done. “My lady, a thousand apologies. Please.”
Mari-Elle was fully preparing to swat the unfortunate serving girl but she caught Gaston’s critical look over the top of the wench’s head and reconsidered. Though it was far more difficult this time around, she forced down her anger.
“I am sure it will wash,” she said through clenched teeth.
Remington bowed and scraped herself away from the table, backing up several feet until she was well clear of them. Then, as Gaston watched, she straightened regally and smiled the most devious smile he could ever remember seeing. He was torn between wanting to take her over his knee and wanting to applaud her bravado. In spite of his conflict, he was growing increasingly curious about Mari-Elle’s behavior. The woman he had married would have been whipping the hide from the servants by now.
As he was dwelling on Mari-Elle’s change of character, Rory barged forward, a full trencher in her hands. Carefully, she sat it down in front of Mari-Elle.
“There you are, chicklet,” she said happily. “Enjoy!”
Gaston looked at the food on the trencher and just knew there was something wrong with it. He passed a glance at Arik and the two of them quickly looked back to their food. Whatever the woman got, she deserved worse and they were not about to put a stop to it. Yet. The show was far too amusing.
Mari-Elle began to eat and they held their breath. But nothing happened and she continued eating, smiling at Gaston now and again. He ignored her, acutely aware of Remington replenishing wine at the next table and stealing a glance at her here and there. At the far end of the table, Rory was laughing loudly with several of the knights and then suddenly cuffed one on the side of the head.
“That wench is….unusual,” Mari-Elle commented. “Are all of the servants here as cheeky as she is?”
Gaston did not answer; Arik replied when he saw that he wasn’t going to. “For the most part, they are a loyal lot, my lady.”
Mari-Elle turned her nose up and resumed her meal. “Thank God I brought my own people with me. We shall soon have Mt. Holyoak running smoothly.”
Gaston looked at her, then. “Your conclusion is based upon the assumption that I will allow you to remain at Holyoak and is, therefore, faulty. As it is, the fortress and its house run quite sufficiently for my taste and your interference is neither needed nor wanted.”
Remington was at the next table and listening to the conversation closely. A knight held up his tankard and she obliged with her pitcher of wine.
Mari-Elle blanched. “I am not welcome in my husband’s fortress?”
Gaston had sincerely hoped to avoid this until later when they were in private, but he had spoken rashly in reaction to her suggestion that Mt. Holyoak wastheirfortress. It was his, and Remington’s.
“We will discuss this later, madam,” he said coldly.
Trenton bowed his head over his food, his appetite gone. So his father was a cold bastard just like his mother said, only…today they had spent over an hour together and his father had been very kind to him. He wanted his father’s love so much, but he was deeply confused. Why did his father hate his mother so?
Stung, Mari-Elle returned to her food, knowing her task ahead would not be an easy one. She would have to be more clever than Gaston, a monumental chore.
Remington moved to Gaston’s table once more, topping Arik’s and Patrick’s cups. She moved around to Mari-Elle.
“More wine, my lady?” she asked pleasantly.
Mari-Elle nodded shortly and watched the wine fill her cup. Then, much to Gaston’s concern, she turned to Remington and scrutinized her closely.
“You are rather pretty for a common serving wench,” she said cattily. “Are you, mayhap of a higher station?”
Remington blinked at the question, the statement. “Nay, my lady. I am what you see.”
Mari-Elle raised an eyebrow. “I am sure you have not gone unnoticed by the knights,” she said. “Tell me then, girl. You served the former lord, did you not?”
“Aye, my lady,” she had in more ways than one.
“And is the climate of the household still attuned to Richard?”
Remington actually found that her dander was rising with the woman’s haughty tone. She had been quite docile until this moment. “We are loyal to Sir Gaston, my lady.”
Mari-Elle gave Remington one last arrogant look and returned to her wine. “We shall see. Where is your mistress, then? I ordered her to attend this meal.”
Gaston raised a black brow. “You do not give orders here, madam. You receive them. I specifically ordered Lady Remington to remain in her rooms until your departure. You will not, nor do you need to, see her.”
