“I have been well,” Nicolas replied, picking over the remainder of the marzipan. “So has Patrick. Gaston has all but put us in charge of his new keep and we have been extremely busy.”
Martin nodded with satisfaction, very proud of his two sons. His only regret was that he was too old to fight with them anymore, for he missed them terribly. Being in London, far away from his sons, he was often lonely.
Nicolas popped a piece of candy into his mouth, not looking at his father. “But I do have news for you. I am getting married, and come spring, you will be a grandfather.”
Remington nearly fell out of her chair. Her eyes bulged and she looked at Gaston; he too, was astonished.
Martin leapt from his chair. “A grandfather?” he repeated, delighted. “Holy Mary, lad, you do not know how long I have waited to hear you say that! I could never get a decent betrothal for you, being my second son. Everyone wanted Patrick, but not you,” he clapped his hands together, oblivious to the insult he had just dealt his son. “Who is this lucky lass?”
Nicolas was red around the ears. “Lady Remington’s sister, Lady Skye Halsey.”
Martin looked at Remington. “How thrilling! She must be a beauty, then, like her sister. How large is her dowry?”
Remington ran cold. Skye did not have a dowry; none of her sisters did. She opened her mouth to stammer out an answer when Gaston interrupted her. “One thousand gold marks. Nicolas will be well set-up.”
Nicolas passed a shocked glance at Gaston, who met his gaze steadily. Remington reached up and grasped his hand, and they clung together tightly. It did not surprise her that Gaston would provide Skye’s dowry, and she was tremendously grateful to him. He constantly amazed her with the new ways he demonstrated his love for her.
“Delightful! Nicolas, you will be a wealthy man.” Martin was ecstatic. “I look forward to meeting my daughter, and my future grandson. You must bring them both here after the babe is born. Better yet, I shall travel to Mt. Holyoak.”
“I shall bring them here,” Nicolas mumbled firmly, then spoke louder to his father. “Skye would enjoy the trip.”
Remington’s emotions had exhausted her. From the depths of despair to the pinnacle of joy, she found she was fairly spent. As Martin and Nicolas and, occasionally, Gaston, prattled on. She could only sit in silence, holding Gaston’s hand, listening to his deep voice now and again.
They were at the manse over an hour before Gaston decided it was time for him to seek Henry. The supper hour was drawing near and he knew the king would be at the Tower, preparing for his meal, free of meetings and audiences. He motioned to Nicolas to vacate the room and he pulled Remington to her feet.
“I shall be but a moment, uncle,” he said.
He took Remington into a small room off of the main hall, a musty little closet. But it was private.
“I must go seek Henry, angel,” he whispered, taking her head between his great hands. “He will most likely keep me all night; mayhap even for the next few days. But I will return as quickly as I can.”
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but he could see her lip quivering. “I am frightened, Gaston. What if he…?”
He cut her off with a bruising kiss; the pain of their separation was cutting him much deeper than he could control. He released his kiss and she gasped, wrapping his arms around her supple body fiercely.
“Be brave,” he repeated. “No matter what, we will overcome. I swear it on my oath as a knight.”
She could only nod, too numb at the moment for tears. He smiled gently at her and kissed her again before leading her out into the foyer. Martin was waiting, holding Gaston’s helm and gauntlets.
Gaston latched his helm and pulled on his gloves. “Take good care of her, uncle. I shall return when I am able.”
Martin took Remington’s elbow gently as if afraid she would try and follow Gaston out the door. “I shall treat her as if she were my own daughter. Better. I might even take her into London and treat her to a play.”
Gaston eyed his uncle. “I would prefer that she not leave the manse, but I know how persuasive she can be,” his gaze fell on Remington. “Behave yourself.”
In spite of her breaking heart, she frowned at him. “Do you truly feel it necessary to say that?”
Martin guffawed. “All women must be told to behave. Control is not a God-given gift in a female as it is in a male.”
Gaston smiled at Remington’s outrage. “Nay, I do not feel it necessary, but I say it for my peace of mind. My uncle is a weak man when it comes to feminine wiles.”
He threw open the door. Beyond, Remington could see de Tormo sitting in the carriage, waiting impatiently and she wondered why Gaston had not invited the priest in. But she was glad he had not; mayhap Gaston had an inkling as to what hisuncle was going to say and it was best that de Tormo did not hear his darkest shame.
The cold steel from a gauntlet brushed her cheek and she looked up into Gaston’s smoky eyes. He was smiling at her, and she forced herself to smile back.
“That’s a good lass,” he whispered. Without another word, he ducked through the doorway and marched out to his men.
Remington stood in the doorway long after the column of men had moved on. The sun set lower, and she still stood. Martin stood behind her, feeling a good deal of pity for her. Finally, he gently pulled her out of the doorjamb and closed the door.
