Jasmine smiled and quit the room, a sense of foreboding filling her like nothing she had ever sensed.
Dinner was a lively occasion. As Remington and her sisters helped serve the knights, there seemed to be a special aura filling the air that had not been there before. Warmth, affection, comfort…’twas difficult to describe, but it existed nonetheless. Nicolas watched Skye, Patrick watched Rory, Antonius watched Jasmine, and Gaston could not take his eyes from Remington. In the clear scarlet, she was positively the most beautiful woman he had ever gazed upon and he felt extremely fortunate.
Dane and Trenton were official pages now and not allowed to join the diners. Instead, they lingered in the recesses of the hall with a half dozen other pledges and hovered to do the biddings of the knights. Remington tried hard not to focus on her son, but it was exceedingly difficult since they were both serving the knights. Gaston had asked her not to speak to him at all, which she thought was ridiculous, but she did as she was asked, even when they bumped into one another.
Dane did not say a word. He rushed away as if he had bumped into nothing more than a chair and Remington’s heart broke in two. Biting back tears, she grabbed a pitcher of watered ale and moved to Gaston’s table to replenish the drinks.
Gaston had seen the exchange and was pleased that both Remington and Dane were doing as they were told. But he could tell the moment he looked at her face that she was close to crying and he felt for her. When she moved to top his drink, he gently took the pitcher from her and sat her down on the bench next to him.
“You did well, angel,” he said for her ears only. “’Twill become easier with time.”
Her lips twitched and she blinked, fat tears splattering onto her cheeks that he quickly wiped away. Within the privacy of the head table, he was not uncomfortable touching her harmlessly.
“He will think I have forgotten him,” she sobbed quietly.
He smiled sympathetically. “Nay, he will not. He knows that he is a trainee, and therefore no longer entitled to the courtesy once enjoyed as the young master of the keep. He realizes his place, love. Do not worry that he will resent you for treating him as you should.”
She put her hand to her face and sobbed softly. He chuckled and pulled her head into the crook of his neck. Arik, on the other side of her, gazed back with sympathetic amusement.
“’Tis difficult to cut the cord at seven years of age,” he remarked. “Dane is a fine student, my lady. You will be very proud of him one day.”
She sobbed softly. “I hate you both.”
Both men laughed heartily. Gaston kept her cradled against him as he finished what was left in his cup. Jasmine, placing a fresh plate of bread on the table, looked stricken when she saw Remington crying in Gaston’s arms.
“What’s wrong with her?” she demanded.
“Motherhood,” Arik commented.
Jasmine’s eyes widened. Gaston caught the look and knew that she was in on their secret. His dark expression instantly quelled any further words from Jasmine and the sister quickly vacated the table.
Remington, meanwhile, stopped her tears and discovered she had a terrible headache. She pulled away from Gaston and composed herself.
“With your permission, my lord, I shall retire for the night,” she sniffed.
He peered closely at her. “Are you feeling well?”
“My head aches,” she said truthfully, and then fixed him in the eye. “A lack of sleep.”
He cleared his throat in a startled, reflexive gesture. “As you wish, my lady. I shall see you later.”
She rose from the bench, murmuring something to Rory before continuing the length of the room. Gaston turned casually to watch her retreat, aware that every man in the room was watching her glorious form. Once, the realization would have made him insane with jealously. But he was so secure with their relationship that he found himself bristling with pride.
She’s mine, lads!
Remington was almost clear of the room when a figure rose from one of the tables and blocked her exit. Gaston was up andmoving when he realized the envoy was attempting to detain her again, and he would not allow the man to deal her another tongue-lashing. Everything that needed to be said had been said not an hour before, between himself and the priest. He had yet to inform Remington of the outcome of that meeting.
“De Tormo, the lady was retiring for the night,” he said as he came upon them. “You will not detain her.”
The priest turned and looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “Retiring alone? A rare occurrence, I am told.”
Remington swallowed hard, looking at Gaston. His face was like stone, impassive and unreadable as always. After several uncomfortable moments, he advanced another step on the priest. He smiled, but it was a dangerous gesture.
“I am not in the habit of murdering priests, even fat obnoxious ones, but I can readily change my practice,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “If I were to kill you now, are you assured of spending eternity in heaven? You see, I have nothing to lose, for my soul is already damned. Is your afterlife as guaranteed?”
The priest blanched. “You would not dare and risk the wrath of the church!”
Gaston cocked a lazy, confident eyebrow. “And I, priest, know a few things about you. ’Tis most hypocritical for an ordained priest to take a serving wench to his bed, a serving wench that can be easily bought with a few coins. I wonder how the diocese would look upon that?”
