“As am I,” he said. “But ’tis no matter. She shall not stand in our way, I promise you.”
She kissed his cheek softly, burying her face in his neck once again. She did not know what to say to him. An annulment was along the lines of an act of God, and she did not believe in miracles. In fact, she seriously doubted there was a God who could create men as terrible as her husband.
Yet; Gaston believed it possible, and she clung to his belief. He was her god now.
He held her, caressed her, his mind moving ahead to London and Henry. The king was already creating quite a bit of trouble within the church for his demands that ecclesiastical immunities be dissolved, that priests and clergy be held accountable to the laws of government as normal men were. For Henry to go to the papal legate on Gaston’s behalf and demand an annulment might add more fuel to the strained fire.
He was well aware of the problems of Henry’s relationship with the church, but he would do what he had to do to achieve his ends. It was either that or murder both Mari-Elle and Guy Stoneley.
He shook his head at the thought, disgusted that he had even considered it. Mayhap he had learned lessons in politics from Richard after all.
Remington lifted her head to smile at him and he brushed his lips on hers, suddenly very fatigued. He had her back and all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms the rest of the night, to forget about the most eventful day for a while.
The adjoining door suddenly creaked open and Dane was in the archway, sobbing softly. Both Remington and Gaston looked to the little boy.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked her son, sliding from Gaston’s arms.
“I….had a….dream,” he sobbed, rubbing his eyes.
She took her son in her arms and brought him to sit with her on the bed. Gaston sank down beside them.
“What dream? What was so awful?” she cooed gently.
“Father,” he blurted. “I saw father, and I saw you, and he was trying to kill you.”
Remington kissed the top of his crying head. “Battles and lords and sieges,” she admonished Gaston softly. “Now he’s having nightmares of death.”
He raised his eyebrows and put his hand out to the boy. To his surprise, Dane left his mother and cuddled up in Gaston’s arms.
“You shall protect her, won’t you?” Dane sniffled.
“Of course,” Gaston said gently. “But it was only a dream, Dane. Dreams can’t hurt us.”
“But sometimes my dreams come true,” he insisted. “This one will, too, and you have to save my mother.”
Gaston gave Remington a disbelieving look and was puzzled to see that she looked entirely calm and agreeable, even. She met Gaston’s stare and gave a reluctant shrug.
“He has on occasion, dreamt of things that have come to pass,” she said softly. “Ever since he was old enough to tell us of his dreams.”
Gaston lifted an eyebrow to tell her exactly what he thought of that nonsense. She looked away.
“Dane, your father is not going to kill your mother, I promise,” he said. “Do you think you can go back to sleep now?”
The little boy shook his head. “I want to sleep in here with you.”
Gaston and Remington looked at each other. “This is my bedchamber, Dane, not Sir Gaston’s.”
“I know that, but he sleeps in here with you, and I want to sleep with the both of you,” he squirmed from Gaston’s arms and dove under the coverlet of the bed, tossing about.
Gaston and Remington watched him with astonishment for a moment. So the boy was intuitive as well as having propheticdreams, Gaston thought wryly. He reached down and tugged off a huge boot, and Remington looked at him with surprise.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He yanked off another boot. “I am going to sleep in here with you and Dane,” he stood up, bare-footed, and swept his arm in the direction of the dozing boy. “After you, my lady.”
Hesitantly, she stood up and removed her robe, revealing a thin white nightshift, as fine as a spider’s web. She heard Gaston groan. “By God’s Bloody Rood, madam, how am I expected to sleep with you wearing such a provocative garment?”
She looked down at her shift. “It covers everything, my lord.”
