Remington rushed over to the two scuffling boys, yelling at them to cease their fighting. Gaston heard the beginnings of the dispute and was already on his way over. He reached down and pulled the boys apart by the neck, holding each of them at arm’s length.
They were still shouting at each other and Trenton had a cut on his lip. Gaston gave him a good shake.
“Good men, you will cease this fighting,” he said severely.
The boys listened somewhat, but they were still huffing and glaring at one another. When their struggles slowed, Gaston let them go and crossed his arms critically.
“May I ask, then, what that display was all about?” he asked reprovingly.
“He started it,” Dane yelled.
“Did not,” Trenton responded.
“Dane. Trenton,” Gaston snapped. “If you cannot tell me what has caused this argument, then you will both retreat to your rooms for the remainder of the day. Is that understood?”
Dane opened his mouth but thought better of it. Gaston eyed his son, silently ordering him quiet. Trenton obeyed, reluctantly.
“Now,” Gaston started again. “Dane, why do not you tell me why you were scuffling with my son?”
Dane tore his eyes away from Trenton and stared at Gaston as if he had just announced he was Jesus Christ. “He’s…. he’s your son?”
“Aye, he is,” Gaston answered. “Did not your mother tell you he was here?”
“Well….no,” Dane admitted, feeling terribly hurt for some reason. It wasn’t the fact that his mother had not directly told him; he knew something was up by the way they had been kept to their rooms, and he knew Lady de Russe had arrived. But he had not known Gaston’s son had arrived, too. He was quite enjoying being Gaston’s sole son.
“Then allow me to introduce you to my son, Trenton de Russe,” Gaston indicated the larger boy. “Trenton, this is Lady Stoneley’s son, Dane. You two will be fostering together.”
The boys looked at each other in a new light; however, it only added to the hostilities. Dane finally lowered his gaze, kicking at the ground.
“Dane, aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Gaston prodded gently.
Dane looked at Trenton and looked at the dirt again, fidgeting. “It was nothing, my lord. We were just fighting, that’s all”
“I know you were fighting, I saw you,” Gaston said, and then turned to his son. “Trenton? What happened?”
Trenton looked a bit sheepish and shrugged. “He said his mother was lady of the keep, and I said my mother was lady of the keep. And we fought.”
“I see,” Gaston stroked his stubbly chin. “Trenton, Lady Stoneley is chatelaine here. Do you understand that?”
Trenton nodded. “But what about mother? She is your wife.”
“And she is chatelaine at Clearwell,” Gaston replied evenly. “It would be far too much work for her to be chatelaine of two keeps.”
Trenton looked at Dane doubtfully. “He said you loved his mother. How can you if you are married to my mother?”
Gaston felt as if he had been struck. He did not dare look at Remington; if he had, he would have seen she had gone completely white. He found himself swallowing hard.
“Lady Remington is a valuable asset to Mt. Holyoak, Trenton,” he said, hoping he could bombard the boy with a lot of clever words and avoid the real question. “I appreciate the work she does for me here at the fortress.”
“But you sleep in her bedchamber,” Dane insisted, trying desperately to prove his point to his new enemy. “And I have seen you….”
“Dane.” Remington reached out and grabbed her unruly son, embarrassed and horrified. “We will be at the lake, my lord. Good day to you. Good day to you, Trenton.”
He watched her scuffle off, holding Dane by the ear. The boy’s whimpers and grunts faded as they crossed the outer bailey. Gaston motioned to one of the knights on the outer wall and two soldiers were following Lady Remington from the keep.
He turned to his son, wondering how in the hell he was going to control the damage. Trenton was looking at him, quite confused, and he could see that this was going to take some time. He put his hand on his son and steered him over to the hay wagon, and bade the lad to sit. He lowered himself next to him, eyeing his son and groping for the correct words.
“Trenton,” he began softly. “You know that your mother and I do not exactly get along at times.”
