Gaston was in the outer bailey; one hundred new recruits had arrived two weeks early from London and he was highly irritated. Could no one do as they were supposed to? Mari-Elle wassupposedto stay at Clearwell, and these raw soldiers were notsupposedto be here for another ten to twelve days. His mood darkened as Arik, perturbed as his lord, directed the settling loudly.
Patrick came upon them, giving the new men the once-over before turning to his cousin. “Gaston, I come with a request?”
Gaston’s face was taut with irritation. “From who? If it is Mari-Elle, tell her to go to the Devil.”
“Nay, not from your wife,” Patrick replied with a smirk. “I come from the masses. They want to go swimming, with your permission.”
“Swimming?” he tore his attention away from the problem at hand and looked down at his cousin. “The ladies?”
Patrick crossed his arms, smiling. “It is terribly hot. Besides, there is no danger of them running into your wife outside of the keep.”
Gaston rubbed his chin. “You have a point,” he let out a sigh of pure exasperation, his mood irritable. “Assign a few knights to go with them; I want you here with me right now.” He slugged Arik in the arm, suddenly, pointing to something that had just caught his attention in the ranks. Arik was off and shouting at the novice soldiers.
Sir Roald and two other knights appeared at Remington’s door not a half hour later. “I have come to take the fish to the pond, ladies,” he announced with a wide grin.
Amid all shrieks and sighs of thanks, the sisters practically crashed into one another as they hastened to gather linen towels and other supplies. Two large wicker baskets were thrust at Sir Roald and another older knight as the ladies, along with Dane and Charles, preceded them from the room.
They had to pass the baileys on their way to the lake, baileys filled with fresh recruits. One look at the four women and the whistles and wolf-calls abounded. As much as the knights tried to shield them and they tried to hurry through, it wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid their attention.
Gaston heard the whistles and hoots and knew what had happened. Taking the ladder to the inner wall two rungs ata time, he mounted the wall in time to catch a glimpse of Remington scurrying from the outer bailey with Sir Roald’s arm grasping her protectively. He did not blame the men; they were only human and knew a beautiful woman when they saw one. But he would have to explain things to them rapidly or there would be more than one dead soldier.
The heavy trees were thick with moisture and everyone was sweating rivers, including the knights in armor. Rory and Jasmine broke through the trees first and took off on a dead run for the relief of the lake, while Skye and Dane bounded after them. Charles stayed with Remington and the three knights as they made their way to the huge oak tree, their usual spot.
Sir Roald spread a large woolen blanket to protect the ladies from the ground and sent one knight into the trees to patrol. He smiled at Remington chivalrously, backing away to a discreet distance to keep watch.
Remington noticed Charles seemed to be infatuated with the knights. The lad had never shown any interest in warring arts and for him to show interest was unusual. Remington suspected it had something to do with Gaston’s mock battle that morning.
“Did you enjoy your time with Sir Gaston this morning?” she asked.
Charles nodded. “Aye. He’s an intelligent man. For a knight.”
“Then you are not afraid of him anymore?” she said, arranging her skirts.
“Nay,” Charles insisted. “He’s not like I expected after all.”
“What did you expect?”
“To be honest, I do not know,” Charles toyed with a piece of grass. “I was scared of his reputation, I suppose. The knights that told me of his coming told horrible stories about his fierceness and ruthlessness. When I heard about the soldier he killed in the bailey, and the fight at the faire, I was all the more frightened of him.”
“And that is why you have been holed up in the tower?” she asked gently.
He nodded, embarrassed. “When he came into Dane’s room this morn, I thought I was going to throw up from fright. But he’s…different. He’s….”
“He’s a mortal man with intelligence and compassion,” Remington finished, giving him a little shove in the arm. “He’s not your hated Dark One; Devil’s Spawn, or whatever else he is called.”
“He’s not, Remi, I will admit it,” Charles said. “He seems to like you an awful lot, though. Aren’t you afraid his wife will be jealous of you and send you away?”
“Nay,” she replied simply, looking out to the lake. “I am not afraid of her.”
Charles let it go, turning his attention to the lake, too. “I think I shall go in, too. Can’t let them have all the fun.”
Remington was left alone under the oak tree. With a sigh of contentment, she settled back against the trunk and watched the faint breeze trickle through the leaves. Sunlight danced on the woolen blanket and she found her thoughts turning toward Gaston again. It seemed that all she ever did now was think of him.
Somewhere in the midst of her daydreaming she dozed off. Drifting in and out, she heard screams of delight and Rory’s loud voice. In her dreams she saw Gaston, his incredible sensual face, the curtain of hair that fell down over his eyes. She dreamt something about the faire, although she couldn’t quite grasp the thought. Peace was finally hers on this lazy, muggy day.
Somebody was shaking her gently, calling her name. She rolled her eyes open to find Sir Roald looking back at her.
“My lady, we must return now,” he said. He sounded tense.
