The Tower was still in the distance when the procession called a halt. Gaston appeared at the carriage, opening the door for her. Silently, she disembarked; noticing that Nicolas and several soldiers had unloaded her belongings from the wagon and were awaiting orders.
In front of her was a huge manor house, a giant vine of spider fern covering nearly one entire wall and completely obliterating one of the chimneys. She observed the house curiously, noticing two soldiers standing at the front door, conversing with a servant.
“This,” Gaston followed her gaze, “is Braidwood, my family’s home. I will take de Tormo’s advice and keep you here until it is safe.”
“How safe can I be with your obnoxious uncle?” she quipped softly, trying to ignore the pain that was tearing at her heart.
He smiled, taking her arm. “As safe as if I myself were guarding you. Uncle Martin was a great knight, once. He’s just…”
He was cut off by a booming laugh, so great that Remington jumped where she stood. Nicolas, his arms laden with Remington’s belongings, was suddenly scooped up from the ground by a bear of a man. As big as Nicolas was, it was no easy feat, but the man was absolutely huge. He slapped Nicolas on the side of the head, his voice loud and his actions rough. Remington’s eyes widened.
“Oh, please…do not tell me that he is your uncle,” she half-begged.
Gaston clutched her arm tighter. “Aye, that is my Uncle Martin. Do not worry love. He is only rough with the males in the family.”
Martin de Russe moved around his son, allowing the burdened knight to pass into the manse. He was a massive man, almost as big as his nephew, and possessed the de Russe dark hair. As he drew closer, she could see that he was handsome indeed, but she felt herself shrinking back from him.
Fortunately for her, Martin was focused on Gaston. “Gaston! You stupid little whelp, let me kiss you!”
Gaston stood his ground, but he suddenly felt as if he were five years old again. The urge to run and hide was overwhelming. “Kiss me and I shall skin your hide, Uncle. A handshake will suffice.”
“You take away an old man’s joy, lad,” Martin sniffed, but indeed shook Gaston’s hand with a meaty fist. His gaze was very warm on his nephew. “Holy Mary, if you do not look more like your father. Brant would be in heaven to see you now,” hesuddenly focused on Remington. “And what have you brought me? My God, she’s beautiful!”
Gaston pulled Remington against him protectively, fighting off a smirk at his uncle’s manners. “My most prized possession. We will speak of it inside.”
Martin nodded eagerly. “As you wish,” he said. “Besides, I have a surprise for you.”
Martin lumbered back inside with Gaston and Remington in tow. He led them into a comfortable reception room, richly appointed and smelling of fresh rushes. It was cool inside, away from the humidity of the river, and Remington sank gratefully into the embroidered chair indicated by Gaston.
Gaston removed his gauntlets and helm, shaking his wet hair and raking his finger back over his scalp. Martin, meanwhile, had bellowed for refreshments and now stood eagerly, eyeing Remington like a Christmas goose. But Gaston let him wait until he had removed some of his things and taken position beside Remington.
“Uncle Martin, this is Lady Remington Stoneley,” he introduced them quietly. “My future wife.”
Martin looked at Gaston sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“Mari-Elle is dead,” Gaston replied. “I intend to marry Lady Remington and have brought her here to London while I obtain the necessary annulments.”
Martin’s jovial expression faded, being replaced by confusion. “Annulments? I do not understand, lad.”
“What madness are you spouting, Gaston?”
The voice came from behind, from a doorway that led to another section of the manse. Gaston’s head snapped to the sound of the voice, recognizing it, and there was a smile on his lips even as he turned. He knew that voice; it was very much a part of his fabric as a knight, and as a man.
An enormous blond man came through the doorway, his big blue eyes glimmering and a huge smile on his face. He was dressed in mail and pieces of armor, well used, and held an air of power about him. His very presence filled up the room.
“Matt,” Gaston said with satisfaction, holding out a gloved hand. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Matthew Wellesbourne took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. In fact, he and Gaston seemed to stare at each other for a few moments, studying one another, reaffirming ties and unbreakable bonds. Gaston was as pleased as Remington had ever seen him.
“I was in London on business,” Matthew said, still holding on to Gaston’s hand. “I happened to see Uncle Martin earlier today and we dined together. In fact, I was just preparing to leave when your messenger arrived announcing your approach. I thought I would stay around until you got here.”
Gaston squeezed the man’s hand and let it go. “I am glad you did,” he said. “You are looking fat and happy. How is your new daughter?”
Matthew grinned; he had an easy smile on his handsome face. “Already ruling the house,” he said. “My father swears she looks just like my mother, but I think she looks like Alixandrea. She has her mother’s face, I swear it.”
“At least she does not have yours.”
“My feelings exactly.”
