Gaston looked at the knight with astonished eyes. “Is this true?”
Hubert swallowed, flushing slightly at Remington’s praise. “There were only five robbers, my lord, unskilled and wild. ’Twas not a difficult match, but I worried greatly for the lady’s safety.”
But Remington was not finished with her honors; Hubert was being far too modest in her opinion. “Two of them grabbed me and tried to molest me, but Hugh killed them both, even after he had already killed two attackers. He was magnificent, Gaston, truly. He is far too humble.”
Gaston’s arm tightened on Remington, listening to her relay the horrors of her journey. “And in Stanford-on-Avon, he bought me when Guy tried to sell me as a whore,” she continued, looking to Hubert. “Hugh recognized me and paid Guy a good deal, explaining that he wanted me for several hours. It bought us time to escape.”
Gaston looked to Hubert again, his face taut with emotion. “There are no words to express my thanks, Hugh. I am forever in your debt.”
Hubert bowed awkwardly, not knowing what else to do. He was uncomfortable and flattered at the same time. “Simply upholding the code of chivalry, my lord.”
It was far beyond that and they both knew it, but Gaston kept silent. He had never been very good at expressing himself, and left it at that.
Even as Ingilsby led them inside, Remington continued to relate their adventure to Gaston. He held her close, listening intently to every word. Alex took them to the grand dining hall where a sumptuous spread had been lain out in honor of the duke’s arrival. But in faith, Gaston had no appetite, and more so after hearing the traumatic tale Remington was relating to him. Yet as a courtesy to his host, he sat and accepted a full goblet of premium wine, still listening to Remington talk.
And as she talked, he watched her face with loving eyes, still stunned at the rapid turn of fortune. She was returned to him, where she belonged, and he was deeply grateful to the knight who risked his life to help her.
Eager to be alone with her, he spent a nominal amount of time in the dining hall before excusing them both into a small solar near the entrance to the castle. Remington held his hand tightly, even as they entered the room and he closed the door behind him. When he turned to her, it was to kiss her forehead reverently.
“God, I still cannot believe I have you back,” he whispered. “I thought…I did not know when I would see you again, angel.”
She smiled bravely. “I would have found a way to escape him.”
He held her at arm’s length, studying her. Really studying her. Remington gazed at him openly and watched his face darken.
“You have a bruise on your face,” he said softly. “Did he do that?”
Her hand flew to her face unconsciously. “Aye.”
A muscle in Gaston’s cheek twitched. “I want to hear everything, Remi. Not the pretty story you gave me in the dininghall. I want to hear every little detail of what happened. How did Guy abduct you?”
Her happy mood faded and she sank into the nearest chair. “He wore a papal guard’s tunic. He sent a soldier up to my rooms to tell me that the papal council wanted to speak with me, and when Patrick brought me down he was waiting for me. Only I did not know it was him until….” Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped quickly at them. “Until he killed Patrick. I do not know how we got out of the Tower, because he knocked me unconscious. I did not come to until we were nearly out of London.”
Gaston’s smoky eyes went to black with rage. “He killed Patrick? You saw this?”
She nodded, sniffling. “Guy dropped something and when Patrick bent over to pick it up, he stabbed him.”
Gaston clenched his teeth, absorbing the information. He could see how upset she was becoming and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, angel. Go on with your story.”
She told him everything, including the beatings that seemed endless. She watched his face after she told him, seeing the veins on his neck pump furiously. By the time she was finished, Gaston held no particular expression although he was sweating profusely. She watched him with eager eyes.
He stood there a long while after she finished and she was slowly dying inside, wishing he would scold her or rage or react somehow. Anything but silence. It was enough to kill her.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked in a small voice.
He moved away from her chair. “Of course not, angel. Why would I be?”
She did not believe him. She rose from her chair, tears of anguish spilling over. “Then why do not you look at me?” she demanded loudly. “Why do not you hold me and tell me how much you love me? Why do not you…?”
He spun around to her, grabbing her into his iron embrace and pulling her hard against him. She sobbed loudly, sobs full of humiliation and terror. He stroked her hair.
“I am sorry, I am sorry,” he whispered over and over. “’Tis not what you are thinking, Remi. I am simply overwrought with the news, ’tis all, and am trying to compose myself lest I tear this room apart with my bare hands.”
She continued to sob, the horror she had suppressed surfacing and demanding release. He held her tightly, his heart smashing like fragile glass. Hot tears stung his eyes, too. “If anyone should be angry, it should be you,” he said softly. “I failed to prevent this from happening.”
“How could you have foiled him?” she sniffled loudly. “There was no way you could have known what he was going to do. Who would have expected that Guy Stoneley would be the first man to escape from the White Tower?”
Gaston was guilt-ridden with impotence, nonetheless. “I should have put more knights on guard, or mayhap more soldiers. Mayhap I should have had my men guarding Stoneley. Oh, hell, I should have done something more.”
