“He’s a clever bastard,” he muttered. “He was told he would only be able to see you one time, and now he has managed to stretch it into two visits. Do not be surprised if he does not havehis terms readied by tomorrow. He might drag this out as long as he can.”
“But why?” she sat up and looked at him. “What can he possibly gain by my repeated visits?”
He smiled ironically. “He knows that you have my ear, angel. And I, in turn, hold Henry’s ear. He is not a fool, and I fully believe he realizes what his possibilities are.”
She sank back against him, silent and thoughtful. “I want this to be over with so badly when, in fact, it has only begun.”
He lifted an eyebrow in agreement, continuing to caress her gently as the heat of the afternoon seeped into the walls.
“At least he promised me that he would have terms,” she said after a moment. “That, I think, is something.”
He let out a long sigh. “I am curious as to what those terms are. I fear for what he will demand.”
“Mt. Holyoak?” she asked.
“I care not about the keep; as much as I have grown fond of it, I will not hesitate to return it. However, it will leave me one less bribe for the church. I am afraid I shall have to rely on Henry for donations to our cause.”
“He will do this for you,” she murmured.
“Fortunately, Henry would do most anything for me,” Gaston replied, thinking about Warminster and suddenly wishing he had accepted the dukedom. If it was his, then he could donate it to the church and Henry would have virtually no say in the matter. He regretted that he had asked Henry to donate it on his behalf.
“Will I like living at Clearwell?”
She broke into his thoughts and he shifted her in his arms. “It is rugged terrain, not the sweetly rolling hills of Yorkshire,” he replied, thinking of the home he had not seen in a long time. “But I find it peaceful and lovely. The Welsh border is not far.”
“If the church takes Clearwell, then we can live with Uncle Martin, can’t we?”
“I thought you did not like him.”
She grinned. “I have changed my mind. I like him a great deal, although he talks too much.”
He smiled, too. “He does everything in excess; drinks, eats, wenc… everything indeed.”
She laughed softly and sat up, rising from his lap. Her silk dress was becoming damp in the heat and she did not wish to muss it before supper. In fact, she wanted to strip down to her skin and take a soothing nap, far from the horrors of the day. She wanted to forget about Guy for a short while.
“Gaston, help me from this dress,” she motioned the stays. “I shall stain it in this heat.”
He obediently released her from the garment, throwing it over the chair when she stepped from it. She sat on the bed and kicked off her slippers, unrolling her stockings and shaking them out. Clad only in her thin shift, she lay heavily on his cool linen coverlet.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You intend to sleep, do you?”
“I do,” she sighed, hugging the pillow. “I am exhausted. This child of yours makes me weak.”
He snickered, his gaze licking over her luscious form underneath the nearly transparent shift. He put his hands on his hips.
“I have a better idea.”
She smiled, her eyes closed and pretending to ignore him. She heard his armor coming off, hitting the floor with resounding clangs. When she finally heard his boots hit the ground and the rustle of his clothing, she pulled the coverlet over her protectively.
“Leave me alone, Gaston. I have no desire to satisfy your lusty urges.”
He ripped the coverlet off her so hard that he tore it completely free of the bed. She giggled as he plopped into bed beside her, and then squealed loudly when the feather mattress nearly swallowed her whole because of his weight. He pulled her against him, smiling into her hair.
“I did not believe we would be together so soon,” he purred. “But I see that the opportunity has presented itself. No de Tormo, no Uncle Martin, no king to interfere.”
She was facing away from him, her giggles turning into moans of pleasure as he ran his hands under the shift and latched onto her rounded breasts. His breathing was hot and heavy on her neck.
“God, Remi, you are so sweet,” he whispered.
