Gaston’s hand was on the door, his knuckles white with restraint. “As fortune would have it, she will be visiting you this afternoon, pursuant to Henry’s order and your innumerable requests. You will see her then and she will tell you herself.”
Guy’s face actually lightened. “Ah. Then the Tudor did not go back on his word, after all. I am pleased. ’Twill be good to see my sweet, tasty wife again.”
De Vere put his hand on Gaston firmly, opening the door himself. He was not about to allow Gaston to reply in any manner, considering they had just danced in the fire for several minutes without getting burned. Both men knew that Stoneley was trying to provoke the Dark One.
Guy laughed as the door was closing. “Take her hard, de Russe. She likes it that way.”
De Vere heard the comment and pushed Gaston from the door, following him closely. Gaston did not protest the manhandling; in fact, he welcomed it. He needed the additional control, for he had exhausted his. It had taken every last ounce of strength to walk through the door without tearing it off its hinges. His fury, unfocused, was a lethal explosion waiting to happen.
“Walk, Gaston, just walk,” John pushed him again, moving him down the corridor and away from Stoneley. “You did very well. I am pleased with you.”
Gaston did not reply until they were out in the hot afternoon, the bright blue sky overhead. “When this is all over, I am going to kill him. I vow this, John.”
“I know,” de Vere replied softly. “You can feel his evil when you walk into the room; it grabs at you like a vise. How is it that such a lovely woman is married to such a vile man?”
Gaston shook his head faintly. “Betrothals are strange things. See how mismatched Mari-Elle and I were.”
De Vere nodded. “I suppose I should convey my sympathies to you on her passing, but it seems to me as if it were more of a blessing.”
“More than you know,” Gaston replied, his anger fading and being replaced by an empty fatigue. He felt an overwhelming desire to hold Remington.
They paused at the entrance to the Queen’s house and Gaston faced the earl. “I would thank you for accompanying me. The situation is most undesirable and I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”
De Vere slapped him on the shoulder. “What are friends for, Gaston?”
He slipped into the door, leaving Gaston speechless a moment. Arik had been his only friend, had not he? Gaston had always made very sure that he had no other friends. Yet, mayhap, he had unknowingly made far more friends that he cared to admit. After all, friendship was painful and cloying and… by God, why couldn’t he admit it? Of course he had more than one friend. He had a whole damn country full of them.
The revelation was startling, yet he felt a tremendous sense of comfort in it. Had he indeed been so blind? Apparently so.
He caught sight of Nicolas across the compound, by the armory. He watched his young cousin a moment, being reminded of Mt. Holyoak for some reason. And Mt. Holyoak reminded him of Remington.
He would go and see his very best friend this moment.
*
In spite ofher anxieties, Remington’s stay with Uncle Martin had not been bad. In fact, when she got past the loud voice and overbearing manner, she found Martin de Russe to be a very charming man.
They sat up into the wee hours the first night of her stay, playing chess until she finally called checkmate. Martin had moaned and raved, but as a true gentleman, he conceded her victory and gave her a big, wet kiss on the cheek that set her to grinning. She had never been around such an affectionate man and had to admit she found it comforting.
Her father had been a mildly caring man with his girls, but the fact remained that he was not demonstrative in the least. He had wanted sons, and when Kerry Halsey presented him with four daughters, he was not pleased. He was never actually hostile toward the girls, yet he did not lavish attention on them. Remington saw in Uncle Martin what she had wanted from her father all along; approval, affection, friendship. Martin gave these things willingly.
The next day dawned hot and bright and she broke her fast with Uncle Martin in the lovely garden of his manse. The roses were in full bloom, as were a myriad of other flowers. The pungent smell of gardenias wafted on the air as they enjoyed bread with melted cheese and beef.
From that point on, the day had gone very well and she had settled in quickly. She found it amusing that Uncle Martin only employed female servants, except for the ancient little man who tended his garden. He said he did not like the scent of males, but Remington knew it was because he did not want to compete with anyone for the women’s attention. And they lavished him with care as if he were the only man on earth.
And they lavished attention on Remington, too. When she had finally gone to bed after beating Uncle Martin at the game, a hefty serving woman with a Scandinavian accent had been there with warmed, scented water and a strange oil. Like any good, strapping mother, she proceeded to give Remington a sponge bath and then poured the oil on her back.
Flat on her stomach on the mattress, the strong woman gave Remington the most wonderful massage she had ever experienced. The last thing she remembered was the woman’s strong hands kneading her tired muscles, and then she had awoken to a bright day in a fresh bed. It had been heavenly.
Uncle Martin had taken great pleasure showing her his garden as the morning progressed. The humidity seemed to bring out the most in the scents, and the air was heavy with fragrance. By midmorning, a serving wench brought out a snack of cool water with lemon and honey and sweet little tarts with fruit. Having just eaten a large breakfast not two hours before, Remington begged off, but Martin ate the entire plate.
Lunch came and went and Remington’s thoughts wandered to Gaston. From the battlements on the manse, she could see the Tower quite plainly, looming over the Thames. She knew him to be within the walls, as was Guy, and she was anxious and unnerved. She tried not to imagine what might be happening, but it was difficult to not allow her imagination to run wild.
Uncle Martin stood on the battlements with her after the nooning meal, pointing out various spots of interest and commenting on the traffic along the river. Noble barges floated by slowly, decorated with all sorts of fine adornments and Remington was greatly interested in them. Merchant vessels docked on the opposite side of the river, unloading wares from exotic ports.
Remington watched and listened to Gaston’s uncle as he kept a running conversation about the various boats and mercantile houses on the opposite side of the river. Truly, she was fascinated and Uncle Martin was a very interesting man.
With the heat of the afternoon cloying and intense, they retreated to the cool innards of the manse. Remington found that she was terribly tired these days, content to sleep and eat and naught much else, as she had been when she had beenpregnant with Dane early on. She sank gratefully into a hide-covered chair while Uncle Martin started into the subject of Gaston’s father, Brant. Over the course of the next few hours, she would discover Brant de Russe to be a remarkable, exciting man.
