Jasmine held onto her sister’s good arm, watching her fearfully. She was far too weak to risk a ride into town, yet shewas well aware of Remington’s determination. If she said she was going, then she was going.
“Oh, Remi, I do not think….” she sputtered.
“My wine-colored silk,” Remington repeated patiently, the world rocking a little less. With all the pain that her sister had been through, she could have been on her deathbed and would have still insisted to ride into town with her to pick up the child. She had to do this.
Jasmine let out a little sigh of fear and released her sister, moving obediently to the wardrobe and drawing forth a beautiful silk with gold leafing.
“Good,” Remington said, feeling terribly weak. “Now, send one of the soldiers guarding the hall down to the stables and see that two palfreys are saddled. Tell him to have the animals brought around to the side gate, by the kitchens.”
Jasmine stood by indecisively a moment while Remington struggled gingerly from her torn shift. She glanced up at her sister. “Go. Hurry, for we want to return before dark.”
“You do not have to do this,” Jasmine said softly.
“Aye, I do,” Remington grunted as she reached for her surcoat. “’Twas my husband who caused you this pain, sweetheart, and I must do what I can to make it up to you.”
“You do not,” Jasmine insisted gently.
“I do,” Remington fixed her with a hard look. “Hurry up, now, and do as you are told.”
With great reluctance, Jasmine went into the hall and sent the nearest soldier on the errand. Pausing for a few minutes to retrieve her own cloak and heavy shoes, she returned to her sister’s room.
Remington was already half dressed but could not manage the stays. She stood weakly, gripping the canopy post for support as Jasmine silently did her stays.
“You are too weak,” Jasmine hissed when the last stay was fastened.
“Go find my hose and shoes,” Remington ignored her statement, although she indeed felt terrible. She honestly did not know how in the hell she was going to ride into Boroughbridge and back.
Jasmine had to put her hose and her shoes on for her, as her right arm was nearly useless. Rastus had actually bandaged it tight against her torso, but she had complained so much about the bindings that he had removed them. Swinging loose, she wished the arm were still bandaged tight because the pain was excruciating every time she moved it.
Her pain and weakness was making her shake and sweat, and Jasmine was terribly reluctant to let her go.
“How are you going to ride a horse with that arm?” she demanded.
“With my left hand,” Remington said firmly. “’Twill be no problem. Get my cloak, please.”
Jasmine let out a sigh of pure frustration and retrieved the matching cloak. Remington winced visibly when the material was laid across her shoulders.
“Remi,” Jasmine protested at the pained expression.
“Quiet,” Remington snapped. “Let us be gone. The horses should be ready by now and….”
“Nay, they are not,” Gaston stood in the doorway. Both women swung around, startled at the sound of his deep baritone. He did not look pleased.
“Gaston,” Remington exclaimed weakly. “I thought you were with your new troops.”
He entered the room deliberately, eyeing her. “I was until a loyal soldier told me that your sister had ordered palfreys readied. Your palfrey.”
Remington looked exceedingly guilty as Jasmine leaned close to her sister, raging quietly. “That damn soldier ran right to him.”
“Well that he did, madam,” Gaston said sharply, pointing to the door. “I will speak with your sister alone.”
Jasmine bolted, slamming the door in her wake. Remington eased herself onto the bed as Gaston approached her.
“Do not yell at me,” she said softly, avoiding his hard gaze. “’Tis not as it appears.”
“Just where in the hell were you going?” he demanded. “Look at you, Remi. You can hardly stand. How were you going to stay mounted on a horse?”
She hung her head as he loomed over her. “Well? I am waiting for an answer.”
