She gripped him, her hands in his hair, wishing she could absorb all of his pain. God, they had both suffered so much.
“I told you my uncle was a boor,” he reminded her. “He is a wise, brave man, but he’s still an oaf.”
Her face darkened and she hiccupped. “I do not like him.”
He gripped her arms gently. “In spite of everything, I do. All I ask is that you tolerate him, please. You do not have to like him.”
“I do not,” she repeated stubbornly. “How dare he speak of your father so carelessly. How dare he speak of you as if you had no feelings.”
Gaston shrugged and put his arm around her shoulders, leading her back toward the house. “That is simply his way, Remi. Kind of like Rory.”
Her mouth opened in outrage. “Rory had more sense than to run off at the mouth like that.”
“Mayhap so, but at least Uncle Martin does not put saffron dye into bathtubs or honey into beds,” he countered gently.
She had to agree with him. Silently, he led her back to the house. As they reached the door, Matthew was exiting.
“Where are you going?” Gaston asked, grasping him by the arm. “Please stay. I would like Remington to become acquainted with you.”
Matthew smiled at Remington. “As I would like that very much also,” he replied. But his smile faded and he glanced back towards the house. “But I fear I must be on my way home and it would seem you have much here in London to deal with. Moreover, if your uncle cannot control his mouth then I fear I may have to slug him, which I am sure you will not like, so it is best I remove myself. However, if you would like for me to stay to support you in your endeavor against the church, I will be happy to.”
Gaston shook his head. “I am afraid it is something only I can do,” he said. “But I swear I will send for you if I need you. When can we see you again?”
“As soon as you can make it to Wellesbourne,” Matthew’s smile was back. “I am anxious for you to see my daughter and Alix will drive me mad with questions about Lady Remington, so I would encourage you to come as quickly as possible.”
“We will,” Gaston’s gaze was warm on the man. “It was good to see you, Matt.”
Matthew reached out and took his hand again, snorting at the expression on Gaston’s face. “What on earth is the matter with you?” he asked. “I have never seen you so… emotional.”
Gaston gave him a half-grin. “I am not entirely sure,” he said, dipping his head in Remington’s direction, “but I am sure it has everything to do with her.”
Matthew turned to Remington and grasped her by the arms. It took her a moment to realize that he was only holding her with his right hand because his left was missing. It was a startling realization because she had never heard that the White Lord was missing his hand. As she pondered that mystery, Matthew leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
“Whatever magic you have over him,” he said as he pulled away, “I approve.”
Remington smiled bashfully. “I look forward to meeting your Alix,” she said. “I am sure we will have many happy conversations together.”
Matthew smiled warmly at her. “I am sure you shall,” he said, turning to Gaston. “Promise you will call me if you need me.”
Gaston nodded. “I swear it.”
With a final smile, and a hand to Gaston’s shoulder, Matthew continued on to the livery behind Braidwood to collect his horse as Gaston took Remington back into the house. Martin had devoured nearly the entire plate of marzipan, turning expectantly when they reentered the reception room.
“Ah. Are you well, my lady?” he asked. “You ran out of here so quickly that I worried for your health.”
She felt Gaston squeeze her faintly and managed a weak smile. “You will forgive me, my lord. Sometimes this child announces itself at the most inopportune times.”
“Of course,” Martin said. “Another de Russe heir. By the way, Gaston, how fares your son? I have not seen him in years.”
“Trenton is well,” Gaston was calm again, reaching for the goblet his uncle offered him. “He and Remington’s son are fostering at Mt. Holyoak.”
Martin raised his eyebrows at Remington. “So you have a son, as well? Then there is no doubt that this child you carry will also be male.”
Nicolas entered the room, his helm removed and his dark hair kinky with perspiration. Martin smiled warmly at his son. “Nicolas, I am terribly pleased to see you. But where is Patrick?”
“At Mt. Holyoak, training Gaston’s troops,” he replied.
Martin nodded. “You will relay my greetings to him.” He eyed his son a moment. “How have you been, Nicolas? I have not heard from you in a year.”
