“I never tease,” he said. “I am completely sincere when I say that every woman at Windsor will be hateful of your beauty. And I will be beating off the men endlessly,” he suddenly looked thoughtful. “By damn, the convent is looking more and more attractive.”
She snickered again, flattered. Pleased to see her smiling, he held out his arm to her. “We have delayed overly. Allow me to escort you back to the den of gamblers so that we may be on our way.”
“Den of gamblers? Who told you such lies?” she asked innocently as he led her across the sweet grass toward the road.
“De Tormo,” he said flatly. “The man is ill with eating under-ripe apples. Really, Remi; how cruel.”
She gave him a sinister grin, looking away coyly. He was completely captivated by the gesture, but shook his finger at her. “Leave the priest alone. No more playing for apples. We need de Tormo and I shall not have you killing him with foul food.”
Her good humor restored, she bowed submissively. “I swear it, Oh Dark One. No more playing for apples.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No more playing for anything. Do your needlework like a good little girl.”
“But I like to play Hearts,” she insisted. “Can I continue to play if we do not play for winnings? Please?”
He opened the carriage door. “Get in before I take my hand to your backside, you naughty wench.”
She obeyed, pausing a moment. “You shall apologize to Nicolas for me, please? Tell him… tell him I overstepped myself and I am sorry. And explain the ways of breeding to him, for God’s sake.”
He nodded. “I will, madam, have no fear. It makes me wonder how many other wenc… oh, never mind.”
She knew what he was going to say and raised her eyebrows threateningly. Without another word, she seated herself comfortably and he walked away, turning one more time to give her a subtle wink. Remington sighed dreamily.
Up at the front of the column, Gaston mounted Taran. “Did you see any further signs, Matts?”
The knight next to him shook his head. He was older and had served Gaston since the days of Edward. “Nay, my lord,” he replied. “If there are bandits about, they have since vacated. They would be fools to attack a fully armed column of men.”
“But there were several campfires,” Gaston adjusted his reins. “Which would lead me to believe that there are a great number of renegades. Keep the men alert just the same. Nicolas.”
Matts turned away, being replaced by Gaston’s cousin. “Aye, Gaston?”
Gaston gave him a critical look before lowering his visor. “You will assign ten men-at-arms to surround the carriage carrying Lady Remington and the priest. I want you to ride back there with her until we have passed through this gauntlet of forest. Understood?”
“Aye, my lord,” Nicolas almost breathed a sigh of relief; he was expecting to be reamed for raising his voice to Remington. In fact, he was still expecting some sort of punishment. “What’s the matter?”
“Matts found signs of transients in the forest, probably bandits, or worse,” Gaston replied, scanning the tree line. “I want the lady well protected should we fall under attack.”
“Aye, my lord,” Nicolas turned away, digging into his saddlebag to retrieve his dagger. He drew forth the sleek, bejeweled weapon and examined it with satisfaction. Before tucking it into his gauntlet, almost as an afterthought, he unsheathed the weapon to inspect the blade.
Thick, gooey honey dripped from the blade and oozed from the sheath. Nicolas did not move fast enough and honey dripped onto his gauntlet, seeping into the joints. He cursed loudly, holding the knife aloft and away from the rest of him while the honey dribbled to the dirt.
“Damnation. Ror…!” His head snapped up to Gaston, his eyes wide. “Christ, Gaston. I have just cursed a dead woman.”
Gaston gazed back impassively, watching the honey drip from the blade. “’Twas your misfortune to allow her to get close to your possessions. If I were you, I would check everything rather carefully when we stop this night. Rory was quite thorough in her torment of you.”
Nicolas stared at the dagger, the honey running from it. “I…I would take her over my knee again if she were still alive.”
The corner of Gaston’s mouth twitched. “The first time you punished her had no effect. What makes you think the second time would reform her?” He gathered his reins and Taran danced excitedly. “Go back to Remi’s carriage, Nicolas. And tell her of her sisters’ haunts from the grave; I think she will enjoy the joke.”
Nicolas gave his cousin a wry look before turning as ordered, riding back along the column with the dirk held high and away.
The party passed quickly through the trees. Gaston was very uneasy with the sighting of the smoldering campfires and his sixth sense told him to be alert. Robbers and bandits wereplentiful in the woods of well-traveled roads ready to prey on unsuspecting travelers, but they were not a stupid lot; they stayed away from armies or heavily armed parties.
Yet the deserted camp had been quite large, as large as the group he carried, and he was not so sure that the outlaws would not make some sort of attack.
The attack would be deadly for the bandits. Not only were they attacking the church, but also they would be taking the offensive against the Dark Knight. Even though he flew his black and silver standards, mayhap a gutsy outlaw would think it quite a test of his power to take on the Henry’s Dark One.
Remington continued to play cards with de Tormo, winning more than she lost, unaware of the uneasiness about them. She kept gazing out of the window of the carriage, feeling the sultry moisture off the trees. The humidity was so thick that even the birds had ceased to sing, finding a cool spot to rest. De Tormo broke out a bladder of cool water and they slaked their thirst.
