He let out a sound somewhere in between a choke and a laugh. “He’s, well, he’s a flavorful man. A character. Full of…personality.”
“He is an obnoxious boor,” de Tormo put in casually, picking at his teeth.
“You have met my uncle?” Gaston asked curiously.
Remington giggled as the priest shook his head. “Nay, but I can piece your clues together well enough.”
Gaston raised an eyebrow. “I have used the same words to describe you.”
De Tormo looked at him and prepared a sharp retort, but snorted humorously instead. “Then your uncle must be a saint as well.”
Gaston grinned and passed a wink at Remington before reining Taran away from the carriage and thundering to the head of the column once more.
Windsor Castle came into view not a half hour later. Remington caught sight of the great tower flying its huge blue, gray and white standards and her heart lurched into her throat. It was a massive place of soaring towers and grim gray walls. She was awestruck at finally seeing the mighty fortress.
Gaston brought the party in from the north, passing through the Great Park to the mighty double portcullis opening of the King’s Gate. His standard bearers, six of them, rode in front of him as they rode the length of the Great Park, plenty of time for him to be recognized by the sentries on the walls.
He flicked his eyes upward, glancing at his standards. They were unmistakable; a black shield with silver lining, and in the middle was a huge boar’s head with exaggerated tusks that thrust upward to needle-sharp points. A crown encircled the neck of the beast, and its eyes were silver with a spot of blood red. ’Twas a most fearsome, impressive banner, and surely the most recognizable in England.
The bailey of Windsor was a vast, open thing. Gaston brought the party around to the front entrance and Remington’s mouth hung open at the sheer size of the castle. Three stories in some parts, sometimes more, it spread forever, larger than anything she had ever seen. Three Mt. Holyoak’s could fit into one Windsor.
There were several household troops assembled, waiting to greet the great Dark One. Gaston turned to Matts, ordering half of his army housed. The other half, plus Nicolas and Matts, he would take to London.
He dismounted Taran, leaving his two squires to deal with the excited animal as he made his way back to the carriage.
Remington’s eyes were wide. “I have never seen such a huge place,” she declared before he could even speak.
“Too large,” he replied, looking at de Tormo. “I am dropping off half of my men, to be housed here. I do not want to go riding into London looking as if I plan to lay siege to the Tower. A small guard and two knights will serve me better.”
Remington wasn’t listening to their conversation; she was watching the people. Men finely dressed with pointy shoes and strange, pointy beards pranced about with elaborately dressed ladies on their arms. She self-consciously looked down at her own dress, thinking the aqua satin with gold embroider to be quite plain.
“Remi?” he broke into her thoughts. “Would you like to get out and look about?”
She was moving for the door before she answered him. “Aye, I would. Gaston, why are those men wearing such gaudy clothing? Who are they?”
He helped her from the carriage. “Pansies. They are nothing but noble men who look more like women.”
She looked strangely at one man, his privates bulging obscenely. She found it so appalling that she began to laugh andGaston passed a glance at the same man, who looked down his nose at the two of them before going on his way. Gaston shook his head. “Idiot.”
They were standing in front of a huge doorway, carved into a tower four stories tall. Remington tilted her head back, gazing to the top of the tower.
“’Tis called Earl Marshall’s Tower,” Gaston told her. “St. George’s Hall is this structure to the right. ’Tis where most state business is conducted.”
She was actually speechless a moment, absorbing the sights. Behind her was a huge, cylindrical tower as large as any castle she had ever seen. “What’s that?”
“’Tis called The Keep.”
She shook her head, overwhelmed. “This is so large. And there are more turrets and towers than I have ever seen.”
He smiled, taking her arm. “And they all have names, like the Lieutenant’s Tower, Chancellor’s Tower, Winchester Tower. Anything that remotely resembles a tower is named for someone or something.”
He led her around the northeast side of The Keep, letting her stretch her legs and gain a full look at the tower. She held his hand tightly and he felt as prideful as a peacock; every soldier or knight who caught a glimpse of her was interested, until they saw who it was who held her arm. Every fighting man in England knew the Dark Knight on sight.
They had wandered over by the King’s Gate simply because she wanted to get a better look at the massive structure. People were coming and going and Remington was in heaven with all of the activity. She turned her beautiful face to him.
“Can we go into London while we are here?”
He squeezed he hand gently. “I do not know, angel. A good deal will depend on my meeting with Henry, and your immediate future. But we shall try.”
