“Covers, aye, but you can see right through the damn thing,” he pointed out.
She looked up at him, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Shall I put the robe back on?”
“Hell no,” he moved around her and pulled back a corner of the coverlets. “Now get in there before I do something drastic.”
“Pray what?” she teased innocently.
He gave her a stern look and bent close to her ear. “I will show you later after Dane has been placed in his own bed.”
With a smile, she climbed into the bed next to her son. Half asleep, Dane snuggled close to her as Gaston eased himself onto the mattress on the boy’s other side. Remington held Dane, and Gaston held them both.
Morning announced itself sharp and clean.
*
The next fewdays were strange at best. Mari-Elle kept to her rooms, as she had been ordered, but her servants were all over the keep, drilling soldiers for gossip and planting rumors of their own. In no time, the quiet solitude of Mt. Holyoak was darkly tinged with enough idle talk and hearsay to fill a moat.
The rumors centered around Remington and her sisters, of course, harmless tales that were more bothersome than anything else. It was obvious Mari-Elle was trying to turn the tide of favor against the Yorkist wife in hopes that she would vacate the keep. Mari-Elle wasn’t truly suspicious or jealous of Remington, but she was threatened by her presence. It never occurred to her that she was her husband’s mistress; Gaston did not have that sort of reputation.
Her husband, however, would have nothing to do with her. She would send for him, seek him out, and when she did manage to find him he was barely civil. It was frustrating, especially since the child in her womb was growing larger and her time at Mt. Holyoak was drawing to a close. The time was coming for more drastic measures.
July was a brutal, humid month and more and more time was being spent at the lake. After the morning meal, Remington packed up Dane and made her way to the inner bailey to seek Gaston out; she no longer asked permission to swim, only to let him know where she was going. More often than not he accompanied her.
She found him in the outer bailey reviewing the new recruits. She and Dane stood patiently by the gates as Arik drilled and Gaston observed carefully. Four hundred more men were expected within a few days and he wanted to have the first class out of basic training.
She watched him underneath the rapidly warming sky; his glossy hair slicked back as usual, giving him a hawk-like appearance. Rarely, if ever, did he give orders directly to the troops, but when he spoke it was as if God himself had issued commandments. They tripped over one another in their haste to carry out his commands.
It was impressive and overwhelming, and Dane soaked it up like a sponge. He couldn’t wait to start his training, but Gastonhad already warned Remington that contact between them would be severely limited, and the boy would be housed with the other squires near the stables. As his mother, she was not so anxious for him to begin his fostering.
A boy sat several feet away on the edge of a hay cart, watching the proceedings intently. Remington studied the boy for a moment until she realized it was Trenton. It was not a difficult discovery, for he looked exactly like his father. He sat as still as stone, never wavering his gaze and Remington could see the hero worship in his eyes, just as in Dane’s.
Dane, however, was growing tired of simply waiting and dug his inflated pig’s bladder ball out of the basket. He began to toss it about as Remington admonished him to be still. He would obey for a moment or two, then start tossing the ball all over again. Inevitably, he lost control and it went rolling over to the hay cart.
He dashed over to the wagon just as Trenton picked the ball up. He extended it to the owner.
“Here,” he said.
Dane took the ball, studying the lad. He was a good deal taller than himself, but his face was still babyish. “Thank you,” he said. “I have not seen you around here before.”
“’Tis my father’s keep,” Trenton said. “I will be staying here now.”
Dane blinked, puzzled. “Your father?”
Trenton pointed to Gaston. “That’s my father. He’s lord of the keep. Are you a servant?”
Dane shook his head. “My mother is lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Trenton frowned. “Mymother is lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Dane scowled fiercely. “Is not. My mother is Lady Remington Stoneley.”
Trenton scowled back. “And my mother is Sir Gaston’s wife. That makes her the lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Dane threw down the ball at the challenge. In spite of the fact that Trenton was a good head taller than he was, he shoved him anyway. “Sir Gaston loves my mother and she is still lady of Mt. Holyoak.”
Trenton was back in his face and shoved him so hard he fell to his bottom. “You are a liar.”
“Am not!” Dane scrambled to his knees and took Trenton down by the legs.
