Gaston stood, donning his mail tunic and sliding into a heavy leather vest. “Too bad his son was stupid enough to cause all of this, but of course, his father will not admit it. The lad brought it down on himself when he kidnapped the women.”
Arik watched Gaston secure the vest. “You mean when he captured Lady Stoneley. You would not have killed him had he only abducted the sisters.”
Gaston moved to strap on his scabbard. “Since when do you read my mind and know my motives? ’Tis a dangerous sport, Arik, even for you.”
Arik grinned wryly. “I have made my life out of dangerous sport, my lord. There is nothing else where you are involved.”
Gaston slid his massive broadsword into the crafted leather and metal scabbard. “Where is my soldier?”
“In the new troop house,” Arik replied.
Gaston preceded him from the room, his boot falls filled with purpose. Arik secured the door behind them and together they marched down the hall.
“I rather like the smell of roses and lavender,” Arik remarked.
Gaston did not respond for a moment. Then he paused at the top of the stairwell and looked at his friend. “What does that mean?”
Arik shrugged evasively. “Just that. It mingles well with the leather and metal in your room.”
Gaston’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Not another word, Arik.”
Arik smiled; he found it amusing to see Gaston cornered. He had smelled Lady Remington from the moment he entered the room. “My lord, I would sooner cut out my own tongue than gossip. Surely you know that.”
Gaston did not say any more, descending the stairs and trying to ignore his second in command. He was positive Arik knew what he was thinking, and he did not want anyone to know.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mari-Elle waited andwaited for Gaston to come to her. Midnight came and still he did not, and she waited and fumed.
What more could she do? She had begged, lied, wheedled and cajoled, and still he had been unresponsive. She had tried to play upon his sympathies for his son, but he had merely become angry.
Frustrated, she sat up in bed and pondered her future darkly. There was not much time left to lie with him and then convince him that this child was his, and she was nearly out of ideas. The fainting spell, convenient as it was, did nothing to sway him. Mayhap… mayhap something more drastic would.
A light ignited in her devious mind and she bound from the bed, wincing when her lower abdomen pulled sharply at the sudden motion. She made her way unsteadily to her wardrobe and began to rummage again, tossing things aside in her quest. After a few minutes of cursing and grunting, she finally had what she was searching for.
A lovely bejeweled dagger filled her palm, the blade about three inches in length. She smiled as she turned it over, examining it. What if she were to present herself to Gaston asa woman desperate to take her life if he did not give in to her needs? She was quite good and ranting and hysterics, and surely he would forget his stubbornness when he saw how very sincere she was.
She clutched the dagger to her chest, feeling more hope than she had since her arrival. She closed her eyes, a picture forming in her mind, her hysterical threats, pleas, Gaston’s soft voice, as he coaxed the blade from her hand. Defeated and crushed, she would throw herself in his arms and he would comfort her. From that point on, she knew she could seduce him. Once his guard was down, the rest would be easy.
Donning her best dressing surcoat, she went in search of her husband’s bedchamber.
Remington was asleep in the great bed, the soft crackle from the fire the only sound in a soundless world. She had been planning on returning to her own room, door or no door, when she had inadvertently smelled the cotton coverlet that she had clutched to cloak herself. Inhaling the pillow and the mattress, she was delighted to learn that they smelled of him, leather and male musk. Happy and warm, she had collapsed onto his bed and drifted off to sleep.
Mari-Elle, being an intelligent woman, had little trouble locating Gaston’s room. She simply asked the nearest soldier and he directed her gladly, for there was no standing orders to restrict Mari-Elle to her room. All orders had been given to her directly and she had been expected to obey.
She entered the dim wing, following the directions the soldier had given her, and made her way silently down the hall. All of the doors were closed save one, which looked as if it had been torn off its hinges. She looked at it a moment, puzzled, and actually stuck her head inside the room. It was a ladies room, vacant, and through the open adjoining door, she could see another empty bed.
She clung to the stone wall as she made her way toward the great double doors at the end of the hall, knowing upon sight it was her husband’s room. Her stomach twisted with nerves as she approached, silently beseeching God for help with what she must do in order to preserve her honor and livelihood.
The torches on either side of the doors burned low and sooty as she tried the latch quietly; amazingly it wasn’t locked, and she quietly shoved the right door open, carefully inspecting the room as it was revealed to her, trying to grow accustomed to the dim light.
The fire was low in the hearth and the room was dark, but she could make out the massive bed directly to her left. Huge, swathed in yards and yards of dark fabric that hung from the canopy frame, she could also see a figure bunched up in the center of it.
She dashed the faint smile away from her lips as she approached with the stealth of a cat. She would wake him gently, aye, before launching into her tirade, and she was verily pleased that the element of surprise was on her side.
Slowly she approached, her eyes growing used to the dark and she could see that the figure was almost buried in the coverlets. She rounded the bed on the far side of the figure, not wanting to be too close to him lest he lash out and strike at her for surprising him. But even as her pleasure filled her, it suddenly occurred to her that the figure on the bed was far too small to be her husband.
Cold, complete fury flushed her veins even as her brain tried to deny what she was seeing and suddenly she ceased to think as a rational being. All she knew was that this wench in her husband’s bed had most likely received the seed of life she so desperately wanted. No wonder Gaston had been uninterested in her if he had a bitch to bed. This small body sleeping peacefully after sucking her husband’s seed dry was beyondcontempt and Mari-Elle was filled with the fury of hell. She would show no mercy.
