A serving wench came in bearing hot water, linens and witch hazel, and a bottle of alcohol. Remington moved to pick up the linen, but Gaston was shoving the bottle of wine at Patrick.
“Take a drink. Do not swallow, but swirl it around in your mouth and spit it into the basin. The second drink you may swallow.”
Remington cringed as Patrick did as he was told. She could only imagine the stinging pain, but he did not flinch. Instead, he swirled the liquor for several long seconds before evacuating it into the wooden basin. She noticed his face was pale when he took two long, healthy swallows from the decanter.
Gaston gazed into Patrick’s mouth a moment, then ran his fingers along his jaw. “I broke your jaw, I am afraid. And Rastus will have to remove the pieces of that broken tooth, or the tissue will not heal properly,” he stood back, eyeing his cousin firmly, yet with regret. “I am sorry, Patrick. For everything. It would seem that my oversight has caused you a great deal of pain.”
“Oversight?” Patrick repeated.
Gaston nodded. “I sent you to Clearwell to help you heal your grief. I should have realized…nay, I should have known that you would have been better off in the company of your family.”
Patrick put his hand to his jaw gingerly. “You did as you thought best, Gaston. I suppose I knew that all along, but it was easier to focus my grief on my anger towards you for sending me away. It made it easier to deal with my loss if I hated you for causing it.”
Gaston’s guarded expression faded and he sat opposite his cousin. “It was my fault. If I had not ordered Derek Botmore killed, then his father would not have seen fit to retaliate. If….”
“If I had not gotten myself abducted, then you would not have had to kill Derek,” Remington put her hand on Gaston’s shoulder. “Then neither Arik nor Rory would have been killed. ’Tis an endless cycle; we are all to blame, yet no one is to blame.”
Patrick looked at her a moment. “And if we had not even come to Mt. Holyoak in the first place.….”
He let his words trail off and they all laughed softly. Gaston sobered first. “If we had not come to Mt. Holyoak, I would not have two beautiful daughters. And I would not have a dukedom.”
Remington looked down at him, waiting for him to state the obvious. When he did not, she elbowed him in the bicep with her pointy elbow and he winced, rubbing the spot. “Oh, yes. And I would not have come to know such irritation and chaos. Is that right, angel?”
She scowled at him, balling her fist threateningly and he laughed, kissing her hand and drawing her onto his lap. “And I would not have you. Satisfied?”
Patrick watched the two of them, more in love with each other than they had been when he had last seen them. He tried not to envy their happiness overly.
Rastus entered the solar, a small man whom Remington had become well acquainted with when he had tended her shoulder. He smiled at her, a twinkle in his faded blue eyes, before moving to Patrick.
“Sir Patrick, back again, I see?” he opened Patrick’s mouth deftly, running a trained eye over the teeth. “Brace yourself, lad. This might hurt.”
Remington did not want to watch. Leaving Gaston alone with his cousin, she swept from the room, intent on seeing her daughters one last time.
*
The road toOxford was awash with spring flowers, the grass a luminescent green that promised the sweetness of life and earth. The day was brilliant, not too warm, and Remington was blissfully happy as she soaked in the surroundings. By nightfall they would be at Oxford Castle, and she would see her beloved son. She could hardly wait.
She rode in the carriage with Jasmine, Skye and Father de Tormo. Nicolas and Antonius rode on either side of the rig, sweating furiously underneath the plate armor. Patrick and Gaston rode at the head of the column, together, and high above their heads extending for the entire length of the hundred-man army furled the colors of the Duke of Warminster.
Remington relaxed against the cushions, trying not to notice the stench from the priest next to her. Across the cab, Jasmine was helping Skye work on a robe for little Robert, for the younger sister simply wasn’t an accomplished seamstress. Skye couldn’t sew to save her life, and her needlework and tapestries looked as if they were nightmares one would have after eating rotten food.
Jasmine was trying terribly to be patient, but Skye was irritable and accused her sister of being bossy. They would squabble and fight, and then ignore each other for a minute or so before resuming their work. Remington watched and smiled, and couldn’t help thinking that if Rory were here, she would beboxing their ears for fighting so much. Not to make them stop, no simply because if there was a fight, Rory liked to be in it.
Of course, they were also irritable because they missed their children. They both had to be pried from the babes and practically carried to the awaiting rig, a move that did not sit well with either of them. But their misery was blotted by the excitement of traveling to London, and the more time passed, the better their moods.
Remington craned her neck to peer from the open window, catching a glimpse of Gaston and Patrick riding together way out in front. She was surprised to see that Gaston had allowed his cousin to ride with him, knowing how well he liked to ride alone, but she also knew that Gaston felt very bad for what had happened. It was his way of making it up to his cousin.
After Rastus had tended Patrick’s jaw, the knight had shaved and bathed and cleaned himself up. Looking more handsome than Remington remembered, except for his swollen jaw, he had come to see his newest cousins and nephew before departing for London. He had been terrified to hold the girls, but for some reason, he was unafraid of little Robert.
Remington watched him with the babe and couldn’t help wondering if he were feeling a stab in his heart, a stab for the children he and Rory would never have. But Patrick was quiet and calm, as he usually was, and she could detect no discernable emotion. Even as he handed Robert back to his mother, he had been smiling warmly.
This was the Patrick she remembered, the man who melted her tomboy sister’s heart.
Patrick had come home.
The day passed on and the caravan continued north, through the gently rolling lands as they closed in on Oxford. Once, she caught sight of a Fallow deer near the edge of the woods, a doe grazing on buttercups. Skye and Jasmine had crowed theirdelight, but Antonius and Nicolas kept threatening to kill it for supper. The two women took to throwing apricot seeds at their husbands, making loud pinging noises off the armor.
De Tormo had been unusually quiet during the journey. In truth, he had been unusually quiet since Gaston’s return to Deverill. As Jasmine and Skye bombed the knights, Remington turned to the priest.
