“My sisters are not baggage,” she insisted with feigned outrage, slanting him a taunting look. “I hope that they never leave me and that we live together forever. All four of us, ’Twould be wonderful….”
“Stop right there, madam,” he pointed the apple at her. “I refuse to support three old maids. If they are not married off, then I will sell them to the highest bidder. I hear men are most desperate for English brides in Turkey.”
“Turkey?” Remington repeated loudly. She wasn’t even sure where Turkey was, but she knew it was far away. “My sisters will marry Englishmen, I shall have you know. They’ll not marry barbarians.”
The corners of his lips twitched and he chewed loudly on the apple. She watched him a moment. “Aren’t you going to sit with me?”
He took the last large bite and tossed the core. “Nay, madam, not with the horde approaching. Besides, I must return to my duties. I have left Arik and Antonius overlong with the new recruits.”
She was disappointed. “Do you have to?”
“Aye, angel, I do,” he wiped his hands on his thighs, facing her fully. “I shall see you tonight, however. All night, most likely.”
She smiled seductively, leaning back against the tree. “I look forward to it, my lord Gaston.”
He grinned faintly and opened his mouth to reply when two yelling boys suddenly cut him off. Trenton and Dane were sloshing out of the water, yelling at each other as they marched toward their respective parents.
“Mother,” Dane hollered. “Tell him that we are descended from the Tuatha de Danann.”
“They’re fairies,” Trenton yelled at Dane. “You aren’t a fairy.”
Gaston glanced down at Remington, but she was smiling softly at the boys. “Sit down,” she told them.
Wet and angry, they obeyed, but they sat several feet apart from each other. Remington’s manner was most calm and patient, delaying Gaston’s natural urge to demand they behave. Since they were addressing her, he decided to let her deal with them.
Her sisters finally reached the little group, looking curiously at Trenton.
“Who’s this?” Rory pointed at him.
“This is Trenton de Russe,” Remington looked at her sisters deliberately. “Sir Gaston’s son.”
She saw the eyebrows go up on all three of them, turning to look at Gaston at the same time. He gazed impassively in return and Remington motioned her sisters to sit. “Sit, sit. I am about to tell Trenton and Dane of our roots.”
She turned back to the boys as her sisters got themselves comfortable.
“Now,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Trenton, do you know of the Tuatha de Danann?”
Trenton looked uncomfortable, and bright little splotches appeared on his cheeks. “A…a little, my lady. They are Ireland’s fairy race.”
Remington nodded. “That’s right. They existed many centuries ago when the world was a dark, magical place, a place of dragons and fairies and great wizards. But they were not originally from Ireland; nay, folklore tells us that they were from an island even further north than Ireland. Before they came to Ireland as conquerors, they made an alliance with a fearsome race called the Fomoiri. The Fomoiri were half-man and half-monster, terrible beings from across the sea, and it was wise to seal an alliance with them. The chief of the Fomoiri, a beast named Balar of the Evil Eye, gave his daughter Ethne in marriage to the son of the chief physician of the Tuatha de Danann, and a great relationship was forged. Or so the Tuatha de Danann thought.”
Trenton and Dane stopped all of their quarreling and were listening quite intently. She smiled, pleased at their interest. Even Gaston was listening.
“When the Tuatha de Danann first came to Ireland, they encountered a race of farmers called the Fir Bolg, whom they went on to defeat in the battle of Mag Tuired. Unfortunately the king, a man named Nuada, lost his arm in the battle and thereby had to forfeit the throne.”
“Why?” Dane demanded, interrupting her.
“Because only a whole man can be king,” Trenton snapped at him as if he were an idiot.
Dane opened his mouth to retaliate but Remington continued quickly.
“That’s true, Trenton,” she said. “Therefore, the throne was offered to a man by the name of Bres, whose mother was a Fomoiri. Bres, unfortunately, was a terrible king. He taxed his people heavily, throwing the entire country into poverty.Even the greatest Tuatha de Danann warriors were reduced to farming to maintain their lives, chopping wood and tilling the earth. It was a truly awful sight to behold.”
“Warriors like my father?” Trenton asked.
Remington glanced at Gaston; he was leaning against the tree trunk, his arms crossed casually. He smiled at her and she felt her cheeks flush. “Aye, like your father. Can you see Sir Gaston tending the earth like a peasant?”
The boys shook their head solemnly. “Why did not they fight the king?” Dane wanted to know.
