He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “With me, madam.”
She yanked free from his grasp. “I think not. You told me to be good and obey and….”
He clapped a hand over her mouth, his eyes intense. “You shall wake the priest if you do not keep your voice down.”
He pulled her with him into a thicket of dense brush. Somewhere, Remington could hear water bubbling and knew a brook was close by. He continued to lead her further away from the camp until Remington could see a small fire flickering in the distance. The closer they came, she could see a neat tarp strung up among the bushes and the fire had a spit over it, roasting some sort of animal.
Her annoyance with him fled. Suddenly, she was very eager to be alone with him, to cuddle the night away.
“Did you make this little camp?” she asked softly.
“I did,” he tossed his mail gloves to the ground and unlatched his breast plate. “I even caught the rabbit.”
She grinned in spite of herself, feeling very pampered as she sat under the tarp. He had spread out furs and one of her satchels was serving as a pillow.
Remington sat and watched as he ate the entire rabbit, followed by a half a loaf of bread and a bladder of watered ale. She leaned up against his back, staring dreamily into the fire, feeling her fatigue but not willing to give in to it yet.
The conversation was light, and Gaston actually did most of the talking in between bites. He said nothing of the afternoon when he had dealt her a most grievous insult, and she had truthfully forgotten about the incident. Her lids grew heavy as he droned on, lulled by the rich quality of his voice. It wasn’t long before she was dozing against his back.
He felt her relax against him and wiped the grease from his hands, turning slightly to pull her against his chest. She startled at the jostling, but he soothed her. “It’s all right, angel. Go back to sleep.”
She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. “But I do not want to. I want to hear more of your trip to Paris.”
He lay back on the furs, pulling her cloak tightly about her as she snuggled into the curve of his torso. He was so warm it was like sleeping against a furnace. “I shall tell you more of Paris tomorrow night, I promise. Sleep now, love.”
“What happens when de Tormo awakes and finds me missing?” she mumbled.
“He is a smart man and will surely suspect where you are,” Gaston replied, holding her tightly.
“Won’t he be angry?” she was nearly asleep.
“Nay,” he shushed her, closing his own eyes. “Go to sleep.”
*
She awoke beforedawn. The sky above the trees was a pale gray, as the sun had yet to break the horizon. She was alone on the furs and stirred a bit, looking around to see where Gaston had gone. He wasn’t far.
Stripped naked but for his breeches, he was washing his neck and torso with a rag and a bar of soap. Remington sat up slightly, her sleepy eyes focused appreciatively on his beauty. Lord, the man was so well formed that he was nearly too perfect to bemortal. As massive as he was, everything on his body was well-proportioned and flawless. She watched him shove his head into the basin of water and lather it with soap before finally rising to her feet.
“Here, my love, let me help you,” she said softly.
He turned to look at her, upside-down. “Why are you awake? ’Tis not dawn yet.”
She smiled, pushing her sleeves up. Batting his soapy hands away, she continued to lather his hair with gentle fingers. Without a word, she poured water from the basin on his head until the soap cleared.
He shook his head like a wet dog and grabbed a linen towel, wiping his face and drying his hair. Remington dried her hands on the towel as he stood straight, drying off his neck.
“I am sorry if I woke you,” he said softly.
“You did not,” she replied, admiring his physique. “I grew chilly without you beside me and woke up.”
He smiled faintly, shaking his head again. “I slept like a dead man last night. I cannot remember when I last slept so well.”
She took off her cloak; the weather was temperate in spite of the early hour. The humidity almost made it cloying. “I heard a stream bubbling last night. Where is it?”
He tilted his head off to his left. “Not merely a stream, but a small lake. ’Tis very pristine and calm.”
A lake. Nature’s bathtub. Remington went back to the tarp and rummaged into her satchel, bringing forth the cake of scented soap Gaston had bought her. With a faint grin, she turned to him. “I think I shall have a bath, too.”
