“Remi, we have not seen nor spoken to each other all day,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Are you going to spend our short time together moping?”
She shoved the cheese in her mouth, her eyes angry at him. “I want to ride with you. I do not want to spend eternity in a convent, and I deplore this heat.”
“Then you are going to pout.”
“I am,” she shook her fist at him. “I am sick of this already.”
He let his smile break forth. “If I let you ride with me, will you stop sulking?”
Her stance softened. “Mayhap. What about the convent?”
He grinned, whipping her into his arms. “Angel, I can do nothing about the convent, nor the heat. Anything else you care to take offense with?”
She was melting in his arms, as she always did. He was grinning so openly at her that she could not stop the small smirk that played on her lips. “Give me but a moment and I shall think of something.”
He chuckled low and kissed her tenderly, a kiss that suddenly ignited a passionate response and it was no time before their tongues were tussling erotically. From the trees, they heard a polite cough.
“The men are assembling, Gaston,” Nicolas said.
Gaston glanced at his cousin. “Nicolas, tether her palfrey. The lady will ride with me.”
Surprised, Nicolas bowed and strode away. Remington smiled, stroking Gaston’s face.
“He told me you always ride alone,” she said softly. “Except for Arik, sometimes.”
Gaston lost some of his mirth then. He kissed her again and let her go, handing her a hunk of sweet bread before wadding up the food sack.
Remington ate the bread slowly, watching his distant movements. It only reaffirmed her ideas that he was terribly torn by Arik’s death. But Gaston was a man of few words, and other than his declarations of love, she had never heard him voice any other emotion. Anger, hatred, sorrow; he kept them well concealed.
It was sticky in the trees, even with the canopy cover. She could hear the voices of the men on the road as they came to order and she knew the time for departure was close. Gaston turned to her, adjusting his helm.
“Any necessary business before we leave, madam? I shall not stop again until after sundown.”
She nodded, shoving the last of the bread in her mouth and gathering her skirts. After relieving herself in the bramble, she rejoined Gaston.
He was gazing down at her, his expression returning to the stone-cold facade she had first encountered the very first time she had met him. It was the frontage of the Dark Knight, the perfect warrior, and the man who intimidated the hell out of her. It was almost as if there were two different personalities in one man.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded her head and he took her elbow gently, leading her back to the road.
“De Tormo has appointed himself your guardian until we reach London,” Gaston said quietly. “Do not be alarmed if he seems solicitous. After we reach London, our visits together are likely to be closely watched and I want you to prepare yourself for the reality that the church might not allow me to see you at all at some point.”
She looked stricken. “But…why? Why would they keep us apart?”
He kept his voice down. “Because you are another man’s wife, Remi. The church must do what is morally right until this can be resolved. I told you this would not be easy, love, but we will have to do what they dictate until the proceedings are over.”
She frowned, greatly distressed at the prospect of being separated from Gaston. “Why did not you tell me this before we left for London? You never mentioned any of this.”
He shrugged. “I saw no harm in keeping certain facts from you. After all, you were suffering tremendously and I did not want to add to your distress. But know it now, Remi, and prepare,” he paused by Taran and faced her. “You must be strong, as I know you are. No complaints, no tantrums. Just be a good girl and do as you are told, and we shall overcome. Very well?”
She made a face. “I shall try. I do not like any of this, but I shall try.”
He smiled and lowered his visor with a clang. Just as he was preparing to lift her aboard Taran, de Tormo came bustling up.
“What are you doing?” he demanded of Gaston.
Gaston turned to the priest, nearly half of his own great height. The imposing helm was closed, rendering Gaston most fearsome, but de Tormo wasn’t deterred. He wanted an answer to his question.
