It seemed he could only think of her. Distraction could be deadly in his profession, but he wasn’t concerned. He could fight battles in his sleep and Remington was a welcome subject to his mind. My God, he couldn’t wait to hold her again.
The army did not even stop for the nooning meal; it was eaten as they marched. Gaston, however, never ate on a battle march. He would wait and sup this eve with Remington, in between making love to her.
The army by-passed Boroughbridge and Gaston could literally smell his keep. His anticipation grew as he strained to catch a glimpse of the massive structure on the horizon, and he was not disappointed. Like a massive gray sentinel, the stone edifice rose out of the northeast sky and Gaston’s body washed with satisfaction.My keep, he thought with contentment he had never known.Remi’s and mine.
He would be holding her in no time.
Mt. Holyoak greeted its conquering son with open arms. The gates were flung wide and an honor guard lined the drawbridge as Gaston brought the army back to the fold. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more welcome, or more at home, even though the honor guard had been standard fare at Clearwell.Mayhap it was because he felt more comfortable at Mt. Holyoak than he ever had at the home he had shared with Mari-Elle. Mt. Holyoak was already in his blood.
Sir Roald met him in the outer bailey, smartly saluting his lord as he dismounted Taran. Gaston’s eyes were scanning the grounds for Remington.
“Where is Lady Stoneley?” he asked his knight casually.
Sir Roald looked even paler than usual. “We have a bit of a situation, my lord. A papal envoy arrived while you were away with a message from our king, and another message from Lord Stoneley for his wife. Lady Stoneley has taken to, uh, your room and will not come out.”
Gaston tried to control his shock. “What did the missive say?”
Roald shook his head. “I know not, my lord. I have not read either one of them, since they were not directed at me. Lady Stoneley refuses to read the missive from her husband.”
Gaston’s nostrils flared slightly, an overwhelming indication of his level of emotion. Arik had heard the majority of the conversation and stepped forward.
“Where is the envoy?” he asked.
“I have made him comfortable but little more,” Roald said. “He’s a pushy bastard and I have kept him restricted to the lower floor. He demands to be shown Lady Stoneley; he believes her to be a prisoner.”
Gaston fought to maintain his control. “You said Lady Stoneley is in my room?”
“Aye, my lord,” Roald replied.
Without another word, he left his knights and disappeared into the innards of the castle.
The familiar dank smell comforted him as he made his way to his bower. By the time he hit the second level he was nearly running. He had to get to Remington, to speak with her andcomfort her before he dealt with the envoy. If he went to the envoy now he would most likely explode and commit murder. Only if he saw Remington first could he gain a handle on his rocketing emotions.
The family wing was softly lit, the heat of the day seeping away. The doors were open, as they usually were during the day, and he passed by Rory and Jasmine on his way to see Remington. The sisters did not utter a word to him; with expressions of glee, they raced from their rooms and off to find their returned knights.
He was focused on the great double doors of his bower straight ahead, but as he passed by Remington’s room, he suddenly heard her voice and jerked to a halt. Fully prepared to charge into the room and pull her into his arms, he came to a skidding stop at the open door, his eyes drinking in the atmosphere of the room.
Remington lay upon her bed, her back propped up with several pillows. Dane lay with his head upon her lap and Trenton sat with his legs folded right next to her, his handsome young face alive. From the tone of her voice and the looks on the boy’s faces, he knew that she was telling them another glory tale.
“But if the lion of Nemea was invulnerable to injury, then how did Hercules kill it?” Trenton was asking.
“Hercules was very clever, Trenton,” Remington replied. She sounded tired. “First, he whacked the lion over the head with a club, and then he strangled it with his bare hands. Quite a feat, I would say.”
“Who else did he kill?” Dane demanded.
Remington ran her fingers through her son’s hair. “It wasn’t so much as who he killed, but why. Hercules was not a vicious murderer; in fact, he was a very wise and great man. If he did kill, it was because he had to. And he mostly killed ferocious animals with a taste for flesh.”
“Then what else did he kill?” Dane rephrased his question.
Remington looked thoughtful. “He killed the man-eating birds of Arkadia, and he killed the three-headed monster Geryon, whose home was near the sunset. But he did a lot of good things, as well.”
“What?” Trenton asked.
Remington put her hand lightly on Trenton’s knee. “He captured the bull that was destroying the island of Crete; a huge, terrible bull that was tearing up the palace and the land. Hercules caught it and ate it. He also caught the huge wild boar of Mount Erymanthos and brought it back to his older brother as a prize. He was the strongest, bravest man in all the world.”
“Like my father,” Trenton said eagerly.
Remington smiled. “Aye, like your father.”
