“There, you coward, I am dressed,” she said. “You can turn around now.”
“How many times must I tell you that I am not cowardly,” he insisted, pulling on his boots and moving to don his armor. “I am simply exceedingly wise in my judgment. Were I to watch you any longer, all of your efforts at dressing would be lain to waste. The surcoat would come off.”
She held her grin, kneeling before him to help him with his leg armor. The stuff was heavy; Gaston would position it and she would latch it. She found it little wonder that he had two squires to assist him.
“Off your knees, love,” he pulled her to her feet. “I have a few things to attend to outside, and then we will sup. I trust our meal will be fit for a returned duke?”
She put her arms out exaggeratedly, bowing worshipfully. “By your command, Oh Great Duke. The great Dark Duke of Warminster.”
“Dark Duke, am I?” he muttered, swatting her playfully on the exposed rear. “Mind your manners, wench.”
She yelped weakly and grabbed her behind, but she was smiling. Gaston grinned at her as he pulled on his gauntlets, and then indicated the door. “After you, madam.”
She thrust up her chin. “I like a man who knows his place. A proper distance behind a woman.”
He smirked, moving to open the door for her. “That will change after we are married. For now, I plan to lull you into a false sense of security into believing I am a true gentleman.”
“I believe no such thing,” she insisted.
He shook his head, watching her luscious backside as she sashayed through the open door.
*
Supper that nightwas nearly like the first few days when Gaston had arrived at Mt. Holyoak, except for the obvious vacanciesof Arik, Rory and Patrick. Remington had ordered mutton, reminiscent of Yorkshire, and had it prepared several different ways. Gaston was digging into his third helping of herbed mutton, listening to Skye and Jasmine argue with Nicolas over something silly, smiling every so often when Remington would jump in and deliver a scathing blow to his cousin.
De Tormo sat on the opposite side of Antonius, far gone into his food and ale. The priest was not as pious as he liked to believe; in addition to turning a blind eye to Gaston and Remington’s adultery, he was also guilty of gluttony. Not only that, but after the conversation Gaston had had with Remington that afternoon, he swore he saw the priest give one of the serving wenches a second glance.
It was strange, he reflected, how his life had changed within the past year. For a man who was alone most of his life, he suddenly found himself surrounded by his family and wondering why he had ever chosen to be a loner. There was so much more to be gained by allowing himself to feel, to love, to laugh. A pity Arik wasn’t alive so he could tell him just that. Arik had spent the better part of twenty-four years trying to tell him so.
“Remi, did Gaston tell you he is to have a birthday soon?” Nicolas said, snapping Gaston out of his train of thought.
Remington turned accusing eyes to Gaston. “He did not. When, Gaston?”
“The twentieth day of June,” Gaston mumbled into his cup.
“In two days?” she gasped. “How dare you not tell me? There is no time to plan a fitting celebration.”
“How old do you think he is going to be?” Nicolas asked his wife mischievously.
Skye looked at Gaston openly. “Oh…twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”
Nicolas snorted loudly. “He’s older than that. Try again.”
Gaston met Skye’s gaze and she blushed terribly. “I do not know, Nicolas. I am a horrible guesser. Do you know, Remi?”
Remington smiled. “I do indeed. Gaston remembers the fall of the Roman Empire.”
Antonius and Nicolas roared loudly at Gaston’s expense. “How old?” Jasmine demanded.
“Thirty-eight,” Gaston told her, smiling faintly while his knights whooped. “I shall be thirty years and eight.”
Jasmine nodded, her eyebrows raised in surprise; she did not think he was that old. “What about you, Remi. Are we celebrating your birthday?” Skye asked.
Remington looked surprised, hoping Gaston did not hear what Skye had said. But he turned to her. “Pray, when is your birthday, madam?”
Remington shot Skye a deadly look. “Uh… soon.”
He gathered her hand in his own, still smiling. “When?”
