“I hate my husband,” she whispered, drinking in her fill of his sensual face. “But I love you. I always will love you, wife or no.”
God, if it could only be. His lips descended on hers, sweetly, achingly, hungrily. He had to taste this woman until all he could taste was her. He’d never known he was capable of such powerful emotion as he clutched her to him, feeling her warmth in his hands and her fragrance in his nostrils.
He had not realized he was pushing her backward with the forcefulness of his actions until she bumped into the wall and he trapped her, ravishing her lips, her neck, the swell of her white breasts. Remington gasped, her hands bracing themselves against his wide shoulders, her heart pounding a thousand beats a minute. What the man couldn’t do to her!
“Mummy?” came a distinct yell on the other side of the adjoining door. “Mum-MY?”
Gaston’s head came up and he stepped away from her, adjusting his swollen groin. Dane burst into the room a split second later.
“Charles isn’t playing fair,” he accused. “He says knights always lead a siege, but it’s the men-at-arms. Isn’t it, Sir Gaston?”
Gaston gazed over the boy’s head into the room beyond; he could see small wooden figurines all over the floor and knew a battle when he saw it.
“That depends, Dane,” Gaston put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and walked with him through the adjoining door. The ever-elusive Charles stood nervously, his arms crossed, as Gaston entered.
“Depends on what?” Dane wanted to know.
“On who is leading the siege,” Gaston said, looking at the placement of the soldiers. The “castle,” a wooden box in the middle of the floor, was surrounded by rushes that acted as the moat. “Now see here; you have your troops placed incorrectly. If you are going to lay siege, then by all means lay one. Surround them, boy; do not simply walk up to the door and knock.”
Charles crouched down, observing the layout. “But is it not correct, my lord, to approach the weakest point in the fortress? The drawbridge?”
Remington stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, listening to the realm’s mightiest soldier discuss tactics with two young boys.
“Not always,” Gaston put his hands on his hips as if he were deep in a war conference. “Each situation is different and you must evaluate it accordingly. Tell me; how deep is the moat?”
“Deep?” Dane and Charles looked at each other. “Eight feet, my lord,” Charles replied with a shrug.
“Good,” Gaston said firmly. “Not much of a moat, the fools. How tall are the walls?”
“Uh…twenty feet?” Dane said timidly, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“An easy breech,” Gaston said confidently. “See here, you must surround this castle and delegate at least thirty men to build ladders, and begin commencement of flame arrows on the drawbridge. You will seize the fortress from all sides.”
Remington smiled, as Dane and Charles were terribly engrossed in his instructions, acting as if they were the real things. Gaston stood over them, issuing orders without being the least bit threatening and they ate it up. She watched as troops were repositioned and Charles broke up kindling for “ladders” to top the “walls”.
Gaston crouched down as he directed the boys. When everything was placed, Dane suggested that Gaston be the lord of the castle and defend the keep. Gaston grinned and sat on his bottom, picking up a wooden man and placing him on top of the box.
“Make your move, good knights,” he said.
It was vicious battle. Blood spurting, limbs hacked off, all incredibly graphic as Remington watched and listened with great amusement. Absently, she wandered up behind Gaston and put her hand on his shoulder. He put his huge hand over it.
“Not now, Remi,” he said, his eyes on the movements in front of him. “I am trying to defend my fortress.”
“Die. Die,” Dane cried, launching an effective projectile at Gaston’s lord.
She smiled at all three of them; scarcely believing he was actually playing their games. This man, the Dark Knight, who never played games but played to win; was by far, the mightiest knight in the realm.
She was deeply touched and warmed by the sight and decided to leave them to their battle. But not before she planted a kiss on Gaston’s head and tousled her son’s sandy hair. Theyboth ignored her, as did Charles. Gaston did not even think to scold her for being indiscreet in front of the boys.
Wandering back to her chamber, she left the door wide open so she could hear them as she sewed. Not strangely, she did not get much further on her needlework; her eyes were glued to the massive man with the soul of an angel.
*
By the timethe nooning meal had come around, it was unbearably sticky. Remington and her sisters ate in their room as ordered, fanning themselves in an attempt to seek some relief from the humidity.
Patrick joined them for the meal, sharing a chunk of bread with Rory. The tomboy sister was unused to feminine games and blushed furiously when he complimented her in the least. Remington watched the two of them, wondering where Gaston had gone. She did not want to ask his cousin, fearing that she would appear too attached to the master. She knew theirs was not a public game.
Jasmine made the suggestion that a swim was quite in order and everyone agreed except Remington. She looked to Patrick, knowing Gaston’s orders had been quite firm, but Rory began to pester him until he relented and promised to ask. He quit the room in search of Gaston, but not before depositing a kiss on Rory’s hand. Rory tried to slap him but he was too quick for her.
