“What?” she burst.
“He’s abandon Mt. Holyoak, because it reminded him of you,” the priest said quietly. “He refuses to return to Clearwell at all. Henry pushed the dukedom down his throat, thinking it would ease the pain of his loss of you, and Gaston had no choice but to accept.”
“He’s a duke?” she repeated in disbelief.
“A powerful one.”
She shook her head slowly. “No one deserves it more than he for everything he has been through in his life. Do you know where my sisters and son are?”
“Nicolas married Skye. I performed the ceremony, in fact. As I also performed the mass for Antonius and Jasmine,” de Tormo said. “They are all in Warminster, with the exception of Patrick. He’s turned Clearwell into a larger training ground than even Mt. Holyoak and resides there. Gaston divides his time between Clearwell, London, and Deverill Castle.”
“Deverill Castle?”
“His fortress in Warminster,” the priest said.
“What about Mt. Holyoak? Is it vacant?” she asked, feeling greatly fatigued all of a sudden.
“For the most part,” de Tormo replied. “It is still Gaston’s and he keeps about one hundred and fifty men there, a skeleton guard for the region.”
“What of Lord Botmore? Is he still raiding the area?”
“With Gaston gone, there is no need to,” the priest answered. “Besides, Lord Brimley seems to be acting as Henry’s liaison in the region. Henry himself traveled to Yorkshire to meet with the baron, knowing how Gaston felt about returning to Mt. Holyoak.”
She was silent, feeling the babe kicking and rubbing at her belly. De Tormo watched her, thinking she looked ravishing pregnant. He’d never truly seen a beautiful pregnant woman upuntil now. He knew Gaston’s stubborn, bitter heart would melt if he could only see her.
“Gaston’s child is large,” he commented. “You still have some time to go yet, do you not?”
“Six or seven weeks,” she answered absently, turning her gaze to de Tormo. “I cannot travel, father.”
“I know,” he said softly. She would go to him if she could.
“Shall… shall I take a message to Gaston?”
She lowered her head again, folding her hands over her belly. “Tell him… tell him if he sends a missive, I will not return it unopened.”
*
Wells was notfar from Warminster. In fact, the distance could be traveled in a little over half a day. There were thousands of times when Gaston wanted to jump on a horse and ride hard to the abbey, break the doors down and shake some sense into Remington. There was not a minute that passed that he was not thinking of her, wondering how she was faring, wondering if she had stopped hating him.
She was the reason he had accepted Warminster. He could be close to her in Warminster, much closer than Clearwell or Mt. Holyoak. Even if she did not want to see him, he could still be close to her. But having missive after missive returned unopened nearly killed him. Not a drinking man, he had drunk himself into a stupor every time a missive had returned untouched.
He relived their last conversation nightly. She did not trust him anymore. She did not want to see him anymore. His stomach hurt so terribly that he had taken to drinking cow’s milk in the morning to sooth it.
With Henry’s new recruits divided between Clearwell and Deverill Castle, he was amply occupied with his duties. In adesperate attempt to divert his attention from his agony, he had taken to training the men personally. Having amassed at least fifteen more pounds on his already massive frame, he was more muscular and tighter than ever before and looked forward to the grueling regime he had set forth for the men. It helped him to forget, even if his men thought they were training under the devil himself.
When de Tormo had arrived from Wells late one night with news of Remington, Gaston had turned into an emotional bundle and downed two big bottles of wine as the priest told him of Remington, of their conversation. Nicolas and Antonius had sat in on the first few minutes of the meeting for emotional support, but left at the priest’s insistence. Without Arik’s wisdom, Gaston often felt a bit lost when he was feeling particularly emotional. Arik always managed to calm him down somehow. Matthew was the head of reason, too, but he had a new family and his focus needed to be with them even though he had spent an inordinate amount of time with Gaston lately. At this moment, however, Gaston was without him and quickly growing unsteady.
He had stopped drinking when de Tormo told him that Remington promised to read any missive he should decide to send. It had been enough for him to toss the bottles in the hearth and draw forth vellum. But he had been too drunk to write, and de Tormo took over the duties. They had wasted an entire piece of valuable vellum because Gaston couldn’t decide what exactly he wished to say. Everything sounded too emotional, or too detached, or just plain silly.
He just couldn’t seem to tell her what he was feeling on a piece of parchment. He had to go and see her, beg her forgiveness, to see her once more. All of his pride and bitterness was forgotten, replaced by a soaring hope.
De Tormo couldn’t have been more pleased. He was glad he had taken the chance to go and see Remington, pleased that Gaston was surmounting his considerable pride in the matter. He only hoped the brandy would not make him forget everything he had vowed come morning.
He never got the chance to make good on his vows the next day. Henry had trouble in southern Yorkshire at a major stronghold known as Spofforth. Gaston mobilized eight hundred men and sent a missive to Clearwell for four hundred more. Even as both armies moved northward, his mind was with Remington, aching with every fiber in his body to see her. He wondered if she would take the delayed response as a negative reaction. Dear God, he hoped not.
He did so want to see her himself, personally. Since it was an impossibility, he sent de Tormo back to Wells Abbey to tell Remington that he would come when time allowed to see her himself. The priest was only too happy to comply.
As Gaston and his mighty army went northward to Spofforth, de Tormo mounted his small mare and took six soldiers with him for his mission of peace back to the abbey.
