She let out a long sigh and sat heavily, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Who testified on Gaston’s behalf?”
The serving wench brought in a huge tray of cheese and bread and de Tormo dug in with gusto. “No one, yet. But the men gathered behind him are the likes of which even I have never seen, Remington.”
She felt a small surge of hope. “Truly?”
De Tormo nodded, chewing noisily on a piece of cheese. “Statements on his behalf will not begin until after yours are finished.” He eyed her a moment. “Guy has demanded to speak, too. You should be aware of that.”
She stiffened slightly. “All the better. Then they can see for themselves how evil and insane he is.”
De Tormo shrugged; pleased she was looking at it from that angle. As far as he was concerned, his main worry was that Guy would present himself as the victim in all of this. The man was cunning enough to make such an attempt, but he did not voice his thoughts. She had enough to worry over.
“Gaston should be returning in a few days to take you back to London,” the priest said. “Mayhap you should think on packing.”
“I have already packed,” she said. “In fact, Jasmine made me two new surcoats to take. I am ready to go, father. I just wish…he’d hurry.”
De Tormo smiled. “And do you know who else wishes he would hurry? Martin. He is dying to see you. Gaston did not want him coming with me to Deverill Castle, afraid he would never leave.”
She smiled. “I miss Uncle Martin. He came to me at St. Catherine’s, but I only saw him once. He said he was planning to trail me so that I would always be protected, but he did not.”
“Because Gaston recognized him in the common room when we came to see you,” de Tormo replied, licking his fingers. “He chased his uncle out and told him he would lock him in the Tower if he was insistent on disobeying Gaston’s wishes.”
She understood, a faint smile on her lips. She would have loved to have heard the argument between Gaston and Uncle Martin, both men grimly determined to do their own will. She was surprised she had not heard the shouting that surely must have taken place.
“Will I be staying at Braidwood?”
“Most likely not,” de Tormo answered. “I fear St. Catherine’s shall again be your home. By the way, Remi, no one but Henry and a select few know of the babes. Not even Guy knows. Gaston thought it best not to tell anyone, lest you be viewed as…well, a concubine.”
“You mean a whore?” she smiled ironically. “I do not care, Father, truly I do not. But I will keep silent.”
He lifted his eyebrows sympathetically; she and Gaston loved each other so that it was unfair to brand her as a kept woman. It simply wasn’t the case. “Speaking of which, how are the little ones?”
Her face brightened. “Fat and happy. They are looking more like Gaston every day. And Adeliza is already cutting a tooth.”
“Is that so?” de Tormo smiled. “Well, I must be sure not to stick my finger in her mouth lest I get bitten. Gaston misses them dreadfully, you know. They are all he speaks of.”
She smiled sadly as the priest stood up, wiping his hands on his robe. She suddenly caught a heady whiff of body odor and fought the urge to pinch her nose, rising along with him.
“Now that we have eaten, I find myself exceedingly fatigued,” he said. “I think I shall sleep until sup.”
She nodded. “Aye, a nap and a bath will do you wonders.”
“A bath?” he eyed her and snorted. “Water is my enemy. It dries the skin and reveals parts of our bodies that are better left unseen… well, to those of us who are celibate, baths are a danger.”
She raised her eyebrows timidly, thinking his philosophy most disgusting but trying not to show it. “Then you never bathe?”
“Never,” he insisted. “A gateway to sin for men and women of the cloister.”
Oh, lord, she groaned inwardly. “Well, then, take your nap and I shall see you at supper. I have a few things to attend to now.”
She preceded the priest from the solar, calling to Oleg. The old man appeared out of the woodwork, greeting de Tormo and taking him away to his rooms.
Remington watched them go, still smelling de Tormo, and giggling with distaste as she thought of his hygiene habits. The man must have been a pig in a previous life.
*
The clerical quartersof Westminster were lavish, gaudy surroundings. Gaston stood by the long, narrow windows, gazing out over the gardens absently. Henry sat near the center of the room in a silk chair, 20-foot ceilings soaring above his head.
The whole room smelled heavily of incense; Gaston wasn’t sure of what type. But it was heady and old-smelling and, in fact, intimidating. Gaston was sure the scent was psychologically placed. It reminded one that they were in the most omnipotent house of worship in the civilized world, outside of St. Peter’s Cathedral.
