Rory’s head snapped around to her giggling sisters, her green eyes narrowing. “He is certainly the most handsome of all of the knights. Gaston is far too big, Antonius is too small, and Nicolas is… well, I’d better not say what he is.”
A quarrel naturally ensued, though not particularly hostile. Each lady was trying to prove to the other that her knight was the strongest, the bravest, and the most handsome. Remington thought she had the best argument by far and actually had Jasmine agreeing with her as they crossed the drawbridge and under the raised portcullis.
As they were enveloped by the shadowed coolness passing through the archway and into the outer bailey, they heard the sentries on the wall announcing incoming riders. There weresoldiers moving to protect them as they passed through the bailey, still other soldiers rushing to the open portcullis.
The iron grate lowered with a resounding bang and shouts on the wall initiated the raising of the drawbridge. The ladies paused at the entrance to the inner bailey, curious to see if the approaching men were indeed the army returning. Sir Roald was up on the wall, conversing with the sentries and other soldiers and straining to look for himself.
“Do you think it’s them?” Skye asked hopefully. Remington shook her head, watching Sir Roald descend a wooden ladder and head directly for her. “We shall soon find out.”
He came to an abrupt halt in front of them. “We have riders approaching, my lady. They are flying the banners of the holy church.”
Remington looked puzzled. “The church? Will you let them in?”
“I have little choice if they are flying the papal cloak,” he said, but she could tell he was not pleased. “I would ask that you and your sisters retreat to the safety of the castle.”
Remington glanced at her sisters. “I agree that my sisters should return, but I would like to remain if I may. After all, I am lady of Mt. Holyoak and would know their business.”
Roald wasn’t pleased with her statement, either, but he agreed. He escorted Remington to the top of the inner wall where she could watch the scene unfurl, yet remain in relative safety.
Leaving her in the company of several seasoned soldiers, he resumed his post on the outer wall.
Remington waited with the soldiers, slightly uncomfortable with them but trusting they would not accost her in any way. Ever since Gaston had killed the soldier who had grabbed her, the men had kept a respectful distance.
It seemed like an eternity before she heard the distant shouts of the riders outside the wall. Sir Roald called down to them, waited for a reply, and then responded. The conversation was most one-sided, but from what Remington could gather, the party had come to see her.
Her.
She was surprised to say the least. What would the church want with her? She watched with anticipation as Sir Roald reluctantly ordered the bridge lowered and the portcullis raised. He turned to look at her then and she could see even at a distance that he was not pleased in the least.
She descended the wall without being told to do so. Passing through the inner gate, she nearly collided with Sir Roald.
“What do they want with me?” she asked urgently.
His jaw ticked as he watched the portcullis go up. “They say they carry a message from the king,” he looked at her then. “And your husband.”
Remington’s eyes widened. She swayed back from the knight, almost falling backward had she not quickly caught herself. Her shock, her fear, her natural terror of the man called her husband suddenly swallowed her up and she took a step away from Sir Roald, shaking her head slowly.
“Nay,” she rasped. “I shall not read it. I shall not read it.”
Sir Roald was no fool; he knew that the lady and his liege were lovers. But he also knew it was more than a purely physical relationship, for he could tell by the way Gaston gazed upon her. The man was in love.
He had furthermore heard the rumors of Lord Stoneley’s cruelty and could read the horror in her face. Quickly, he sought to protect her, at least until Gaston could return.
“You do not have to, my lady,” he assured her. “Retreat to the castle and I will deal with the church as best I can.”
Remington was shaking so badly she could hardly walk. She did not want to read any missive from Guy; she wanted to forget him completely. Oh, where was Gaston?
Quaking, she turned away from Sir Roald and hastened back into the safe innards of Mt. Holyoak. Her rapid footsteps soon turned into running pats as she raced up the stairs and tore the length of the corridor until she reached the confines of her bedchamber. But even then, as she looked about the empty room, she was not comforted. She must find safety, someplace where no one could harm her. Panic, fear-borne, was welling in her chest.
Gaston made her feel safe. She wanted him here, dear God, but he was off fighting another man’s battle. She wanted him;nay, needed him. Her breathing came in harsh rasps and her body was near collapse due to her injury and her mental state, but she felt uncomfortable staying in her own bedchamber. But there was one place she did feel safe, because it reminded her so much of Gaston.
The door to Gaston’s bedchamber flew open and was slammed shut with equal force. Remington threw herself upon the bed, smelling of leather and Gaston, and buried herself under the covers. Here, she would hide until he returned. She would not leave it for a minute. She wanted nothing to do with the church or their missives.
Come home to me, my love. I need you.
*
Templehurst was abloodbath from the moment Gaston had arrived. Three rebellious barons had attacked the fortress with the sole purpose of razing the structure to send a message to Henry. They were Yorkist loyalists to the core and wanted nothing to do with the Welsh bastard king, even one year afterthe decisive battle at Stoke, and had decided to make an example out of Sir James de Wolfe.
