“I suppose we had better go and say our good-byes to Arica and Adeliza,” she already felt her throat constricting with emotion.
He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her down the hall. “They’ll hardly miss us, I assure you. As long as they are fed and warm and dry, they’ll never notice our absence.”
“What a terrible thing to say!” she exclaimed, and he laughed.
“A mere jest, angel. Please do not dissolve into hysterics.”
She slapped at him playfully, between outrage and giggles. “Gaston, you are most inconsiderate and cold. Would you prefer that I not miss them at all?”
“Of course not,” he squeezed her gently, letting her pass first through the nursery door.
It wasn’t Remington who cried as she told her babes good-bye. It was Gaston. But his tears were short lived. As he cradled Arica in his massive arms, Nicolas came bolting in through the nursery door.
“Gaston,” he said urgently. “A small army approaches.”
Gaston carefully set Arica back in her crib before turning to his excited cousin. “Colors?”
“Yours,” Nicolas smiled with delight. “Patrick approaches.”
“Patrick?” Remington repeated happily, Gaston was already moving for the door. “Did he send word ahead of his arrival that I was unaware of?”
“Nay,” Nicolas shook his head.
Remington hastily lowered Adeliza into her crib. “Can I come, Gaston? Please?”
He shrugged. “You are chatelaine, are you not? ’Tis your duty to greet guests to Deverill.”
Remington preceded the men from the room, but not before she sent several serving wenches scurrying with orders. Gaston observed with approval the manner in which she dictatedcommand, firmly, calmly, and pleasantly. She was obeyed because she treated the servants like people, not like animals, and was always rewarded with swift action and loyalty.
It constantly amazed him that a woman who was treated like an animal for nearly half her life was so patient and kind. As if all she had ever been dealt in her life was the same.
She smiled up at him as they made their way to the bailey, and he smiled back, still engrossed in his thoughts. This was the same woman who had reared back from him like a crazed creature, who had bore secrets too horrible to believe.
It was incredible how she had blossomed, how they both had blossomed in each other’s company. She craved affection, touching, as did he. Away from Guy and Mari-Elle, they had both been allowed to taste the true meaning of love.
His soft feelings faded as he thought of what was coming. All testimonies had been given on Remington’s behalf, and still the church was staunch in their stance. Resorting to lies seemed to be the only way to obtain what was so desperately wanted for the both of them, as much as Gaston loathed doing it. Skye, Jasmine, and Remington herself were the secret weapons in this fight. If they could convince the papal council of Guy’s evilness, then there was no way the annulment could not be granted.
But what if it wasn’t? A persistent little voice pushed, taunted, and irritated him. What then? Gaston thought seriously a moment.Whatthen?
…If Guy were not proven a devil worshiper, he would remain a prisoner of the crown for the rest of his life. He had not given his consent for the annulment, in spite of nearly being beaten to death; therefore, there were no provisions to be made for him. The papal hearings were moving ahead on the basis of Gaston and Henry’s insistence that Guy was an unfit husband and an immoral, cruel barbarian. Guy continued to cry foul, insisting that Remington was a reward for Gaston’s service to his king,and that she was furthermore being forced against her will. She was a victim of Henry’s power game.
Guy was still insisting that he loved her.
Gaston’s blood began to boil again, as it did every time he thought of Guy’s pathetic pleas. He wondered seriously why the man was so eager to hold onto her. Mayhap he truly did believe he loved her, as much as the vile man could love anything at all.
Thank God that Dane was safe at Oxford. He could not be used as a pawn anymore by his father, considering no one but Gaston, Henry and John de Vere knew where the boy was. When Guy asked, he was simply told Dane was fostering. Period. Certainly the church did not like the idea that a father was not being allowed knowledge of his son’s whereabouts, but Henry was firm with them. The problems were between the father and the mother, and the boy was not to be involved in any way. When the circumstances allowed, his whereabouts would become common knowledge.
They entered into the nearly completed inner bailey, the sky overhead a brilliant blue. Gaston could see that the outer gates were beginning to swing open for his cousin, and he could see his threatening black and silver banners flying in the distance. Removing himself from his train of thought, he clasped Remington’s hand and moved forward to greet his cousin.
Patrick rode ahead of the column of forty men, astride a great brown destrier. Remington noticed he was riding alone, like Gaston. He came to a halt, cuffing his horse when it tossed its head irritably.
“Greetings, my lord,” Patrick dismounted, raising his faceplate.
Gaston nodded faintly. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Patrick took a few steps closer. “Merely progress reports on your men at Clearwell,” his blue-green eyes drifted to Remington. “Greetings, my lady. You look well.”
She smiled, although she thought she could detect a bit of coldness in Patrick’s voice. Not at all like the gentle Patrick she had come to know. “Thank you. How have you been?”
