His huge hands washed her completely. From her head to her toes, she was clean, soft, and sweet smelling of roses and lavender and lily-of-the-valley. For a man of his incredible size, his hands were as gentle as a woman’s and by the time Remington was bathed and dried on the shore, she was absolutely limp. Never had she felt so completely relaxed or satisfied.
He wrapped her up in her dress and carried her back to their camp, setting her down gently on the furs. Somewhat recovered, she donned a fresh surcoat from her satchel, a sturdy cotton the color of a ripe peach. It would wear better on the journey than the standard silks and satins and was far cooler. It was a simple dress with a rounded neckline and short sleeves, but the skirt was full and luxurious.
Gaston dressed silently, glancing at her every so often. She put a simple gold and topaz belt around her hips and pulled the front of her glorious hair back, securing it at the crown of her head. Wispy little tendrils framed her sweet face and he felt like a gushing, silly fool as he watched her. His heart was liquid, his limbs like mush. He was absolutely besotted with her.
They dressed silently, for in truth, there was no need for words. They were both speechless with their joy.
Behind them, off to the right, they heard the bushes moving harshly and a muttered curse now and again. Gaston turned, quite calmly, to greet whoever was approaching and was not surprised to see de Tormo propel himself through the brush. His fat face lit up with mild outrage.
“I thought to find you two together,” he announced. “Truly, my lord, I thought I made myself most clear regarding the lady’s reputation.”
“You did,” Gaston answered evenly. “As you can see, the lady is not ravished or compromised in any way.”
The priest rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Please, de Russe. Do not try and fool me into believing that you spent the entire night at a proper distance, watching the lady sleep,” he put up his hands to prevent any explanation. “I do not want to know what happened. Just… give the lady to me. She will ride with me in the carriage until we reach London.”
“Agreed,” Gaston turned to look at Remington. “Is that satisfactory?”
She remembered the words they had had yesterday, how he did not want to speak to her when they were riding together. A day playing games and chatting sounded pleasant, even if it were with the priest. Moreover, she would not spend the day irritated with Gaston because he did not want to talk to her.
“Aye, it is,” she secured her satchel and rose, the peach color of the dress emphasizing her beauty magnificently. In fact, she presented such a beautiful picture that even de Tormo softened his huffing.
He held out his hand, taking her bag. “I have brought several games along. I hate to travel; it bores me. Do you play cards?”
She passed a glance at Gaston as the priest took her by the elbow to escort her from camp. “Aye, I do. But do you have any dice?”
De Tormo was shocked. “Dice? What does a lady know of dice?”
She smiled, amused. “My sister taught me. The sister you buried. Mayhap your prayers will admit her into heaven, in spite of her gambling vice.”
Gaston frowned. “Rory taught you to gamble? Really, Remi, how uncouth.”
She laughed softly. “I could probably win everything of value from you, my lord. She taught me well.”
He raised a reproving brow. “No future wife of mine will gamble. Not even with a priest.”
De Tormo shook his head. “I do not gamble, not even for fun. Besides, I am not very good at it.”
Both Remington and Gaston looked at the priest in surprise and Remington even laughed. “So you have gambled? A man of God? I am shocked.”
“Do not be,” de Tormo mumbled. “I have not lived as piously as some. Come, now, milady. Allow the Dark One to see to his men and be free of your burden.”
A huge, armored arm suddenly shot out, blocking both Remington and the priest. They looked up in surprise to see that Gaston’s face was as cold as ice. The pleasant expression from not a moment before was vanished.
“Never, ever think that she is a burden to me.” His voice was as low as thunder. “She is the reason I am willing to take on the church. I would walk through fire for her, and I would kill an army of thousands single-handedly if she were to ask it of me. Never believe that Henry holds true power over me; this lady that you touch is my reason for living, and ’tis only she who holds my true power.”
De Tormo was perfectly calm; Gaston had not offended him. In fact, he was coming to like the Dark Knight a good deal for his devotion to Lady Remington. So many knights were immoral and corrupt, and he found it refreshing that the greatest knight in the realm was capable of deep feeling. He also knew that de Russe expected complete confidence with his declarations, and de Tormo would see that he got it. He would not betray the man.
“I know,” the priest said simply.
Gaston’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer before he lowered his arm and allowed them to pass. Remington’s eyes were searching and their gazes locked a brief second before she turned away, paying closer attention to the path ahead of her.But he continued to watch her as the priest led her off in the direction of the road.
He had an army to assemble. Emitting a piercing whistle between his teeth, a scant few seconds later there were squires and soldiers pouring into his little encampment and the tarp and the furs were hastily gathered. His squires helped him with his sword and gauntlets. Readied, he met up with Nicolas and they began to structure the troops.
*
Remington actually enjoyedthe ride. She and de Tormo spent the entire morning playing a card game from France, something called Hearts. She loved the game and beat the priest every hand. To put a little fun into it, she demanded that they play for little crabapples and the loser had to eat the apples. When the column stopped for the nooning meal, de Tormo had eaten several under-ripe crabapples and was literally green himself.
Nicholas met Remington as she exited the carriage and he looked stricken to see the ill priest. Remington laughed at them both, especially Nicolas. As young as he was, he was very emotional and God-fearing.
