Remington, flushed and gasping with excitement, took Gaston’s hands into her own. “Truly, Gaston, he was not being cruel. It was all in fun.”
Drake was decidedly afraid of the Dark One. He bowed crisply. “I meant no offense, my lord. As the lady said, ’twas all in fun, I was simply showing her a true Irish jig.”
Remington nodded vehemently to back his statement. “Honestly, Gaston. Please do not be angry.”
His cold facade faltered slightly, realizing he had overreacted. But when he had heard her pleading with the knight to stop, memories of Guy flooded back on him and he could hear her pleading with her husband to stop his brutal onslaught. It was a peculiar flashback and he found himself on his feet before he realized it, moving to halt the knight. Now, looking at her earnest face, he felt a bit foolish.
“I am not,” he said. “But it is late and I think it is time we called a halt to the festivities.”
She nodded. “I am fatigued,” she turned to Drake and curtsied prettily. “My thanks, Drake. I enjoyed discussing our mutual Irish heritage.”
“As did I, my lady,” Drake smiled and moved to take her hand, but realized who was standing behind her and quickly put the outstretched hand behind his back. “Good eve, my lord.”
Gaston eyed the knight as he moved away rapidly. Remington followed him as well and waved sweetly to her companions as they dispersed themselves. She looked up to Gaston to find him gazing at her with a cocked brow. She smiled and clutched his arm.
“Why do you look at me like that?”
His gaze rested on her a moment longer before he chuckled, patting her hand. “Because I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” he led her over to the table where Alex still sat. “Bid good night to Alex.”
She extended a warm good sleep to Lord Ingilsby as Gaston put his arm about her waist possessively and led her from the grand hall. A servant was waiting at the mouth of the hall with a brightly lit torch, waiting to show them to their room. Talk was soft between them, smiles warm as they followed the servant through the foyer and toward the main stairs. At one point, Remington lamented her fatigue and Gaston swept her into his arms to a screech of delighted giggles. She squirmed her way out of his grasp only to find herself heaved over his shoulder as they hit the stairs. Both of them laughing, he mounted the stairs behind the smirking servant with Remington slung over his broad shoulder. She pounded on his back and he slapped her playfully on the behind.
When they reached the first landing where the stairs split in two directions, the front door swung open and several soldiers spilled forth. Gaston glanced disinterested until he saw theycompletely bypassed Alex in the dining hall and headed straight for him.
“My lord!” one of the soldiers called out to him.
Gaston put Remington down gently. “What is it?”
“We have received a messenger from Mt. Holyoak, my lord. She’s under siege!”
Gaston did not react but Remington’s hand flew to her mouth. “By whom?” he asked.
“Botmore,” the soldier said. “The messenger is outside with Sir Hugh. He shall be….”
At that moment, Hubert and a disheveled soldier marched into the hall. All attention riveted to the warrior in Mt. Holyoak’s colors, especially Gaston. “Who attacks my keep?” he demanded of the soldier.
The soldier was one of Gaston’s elite guards, seasoned and intelligent. He was bloodied and dirty, but saluted his liege sharply. “Botmore, my lord. And we were told that Stoneley rides with him.”
Remington couldn’t help herself; she shrieked and closed her eyes, feeling the ground sway beneath her. Gaston did not look at her, but he put out a hand to comfort her. “You know for sure that Stoneley is with him?”
“His own men identified him, my lord,” the soldier said firmly. “Sir Roald ordered me to ride forth to find you, and then I was to take a message to Lord Brimley and seek reinforcements, with your approval.”
Remington was shaking heavily with shock and fright. “Gaston, Dane and Trenton are inside the keep. Guy mustn’t….”
He looked to her, then, seeing the terror in her eyes. He gathered her against him as he took the steps down to Hubert and his soldier. “You will continue on to Brimley and seek his support,” his eyes flicked up to see Alex moving into the foyer and their gazes locked. “I shall solicit Lord Ingilsby’s assistance.”
“No need to request, my lord,” Alex said. “Consider my force your very own to do with as you please. I can have all three hundred mounted within the hour.”
“Thank you,” Gaston’s gaze fell back on his soldier. “You may tell Brimley that I rode forth with Ingilsby.”
“Aye, my lord,” the soldier saluted again, assuming he was dismissed until Gaston stopped him.
“What was the status of Mt. Holyoak when you left?”
“We received word from a perimeter patrol that an army was approaching from the southwest, armed to the hilt, and Sir Roald put the fortress on alert,” the soldier said. “Sir Roald sent one of Stoneley’s men back with the patrol to see if the man could determine who was approaching. Word came back that it was Botmore, riding with Stoneley at his side. At that point, two messengers were sent to seek you. Unfortunately, we ran into an advance party and there was a brief skirmish. I managed to get away, but my colleague was dispatched.”
“Then the army was just upon the keep when you left,” Gaston clarified.
“Aye, my lord. The battle was just engaging.”
