Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (18 page)

Braxton’s old eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Not much you are,” he jested. Then, he sobered. “Back to the subject at hand, Bas - as far as Gloucester is concerned, you must answer this summons. He will want answers. If I were you, I would send him a missive immediately denying any basis for this rumor he speaks of. Demand to know who told him. Be incensed. If Gloucester thinks you are angry about this, it is more than likely he will let it go. It is not safe to rile the Beast.”

Bastian sighed as he picked up the parchment from his father’s coverlet and looked at it once more. “No need to send a missive,” he said. “I am expected in London as it is. I will see him for myself.”

“Will you leave today?”

“Aye.”

Braxton was clearly disappointed. “Where will you stay?”

“At the Tower, I would assume.”

“Bah,” Braxton spat. “No one is staying at Braidwood. You and your bride settle there. It is a half-hour walk to the Tower. You can be close but not
too
close. You may want your privacy, lad.”

Braidwood House was the de Russe townhome situated very close to the Tower of London to the east. One could see the river from the top floor, as the home was on a parcel of land that was raised. It was surrounded by a lush, park-like garden and a very tall wall. Bastian remembered it as a child but he hadn’t been there in years.

“I haven’t thought of that place in a very long time,” Bastian said. “Does anyone even use it?”

Braxton tilted his head with thought. “I think your cousin Brant did last year,” he said. “He and Martin lived there for quite some time. Martin is still there, I believe, but he’ll flee when he sees you.”

Bastian gave his father a half-grin. “He still owes me a horse.”

“He swears that he did not take that horse from you, lad. Mayhap you should believe him.”

Bastian didn’t reply other than to lift his shoulders and Braxton yawned, turning his focus to the windows to see that shades of sunrise were beginning to appear. A new day was dawning, bright and pure, and it was time to rise. Having Bastian around always made him feel young and healthy but, more than that, there was something more to focus on other than his failing health.

As he gazed at his son, he began to recall the threat he had received just before Bastian had returned from France. Aramis knew of it, as did Worthington. When Braxton found out his son was coming home from France, he was sure the first words out of his mouth to Bastian would be about the threat.
From the Armagnacs,
Aramis had surmised. Supporters of the Maid who believe Bastian was responsible for her death.

But now, knowing Bastian’s involvement in the Maid’s demise as he did, Braxton couldn’t bring himself to burden his son with the threat he had received. Bastian had enough on his mind without knowing that cowards were threatening his father. He hoped they would be something that faded away as memory of the Maid faded and time marched on. If not, if they didn’t go away, then he would have to deal with them when the time came, but for now, Bastian was not to know. Braxton would make sure of it.

“Well,” he said briskly, as if to focus on something new. “Call for Elred, Bas. I must rise and dress. Will you let me break my fast with your wife? I should like a chance to see her before you take her off to London.”

Bastian stood up from the chair. “What about me?” he wanted to know. “Am I permitted to eat with you also, or is this an invitation strictly for Lady de Russe?”

Braxton grunted as he struggled to sit up and throw his legs over the side of the bed. “I do not suppose you would allow me to have her all to myself.”

“I would not.”

“Then you are invited, you spoiler of an old man’s joy.”

Bastian grinned as he went to the door and opened it to summon the older servant who had been assisting his father for many years. He noticed that his chamber door across the hall was open. He couldn’t help the smile on his lips as he became aware that his wife was awake. He hadn’t seen her since yesterday and realized, as he looked at the cracked-open door, that he was eager to see her again.

Odd how he felt excitement at the thought of seeing a woman he never wanted to be married to. Just the short amount of time he had spent with her yesterday, coming to know a woman of intelligence and humor, was enough to make him look forward to more time with her. He could hardly believe he felt that way, but he did. Given the resistance he had shown towards marrying her, he felt a bit foolish in his eagerness.

Struggling to be casual, and suppress any outward excitement he might have been exhibiting, Bastian made his way across the corridor and rapped gently on the door panel. Pushing it open and sticking his head into the darkened room, the first thing he saw was dimples.

A siren’s song, at that moment, could not have been more compelling than the sight of those delightful dimples.

Gisella had been so exhausted that she slept the rest of day and most of the night. Bastian left her alone, and instructed his aunts to leave her alone, after she had fallen asleep in her shoes and clothing on top of the coverlet in his bedchamber. But Aunt Beatrice fussed that she still had her shoes on and Aunt Cynthia wanted Bastian to cover her up so that she would not be cold, so Bastian very carefully removed her small slippers and covered her up with a lamb’s skin blanket that Aunt Cynthia gave him. Tucked in and cozy, Gisella slept the sleep of the dead.

The following morning just before dawn, Gisella awoke in a dark, unfamiliar room. She had no idea where she was, or what time it was, and she sat up in bed so fast that she ended up rolling off the end. Falling to her knees, she struggling to remember where she was and slowly, it began to come back to her.

Lady de Russe
. She was married now and thoughts of her swift wedding were blurry, as if she had dreamt them, but thoughts of Bastian once they had reached West Court were much clearer. He had changed dramatically after their arrival and became civil, even kind. It was quite possible that he was simply putting on a show for his family but she didn’t think so because he had been kind even in moments when they had been alone. Picking herself up off the floor, her thoughts lingered on Bastian and also on Sparrow. She wondered where the woman was and she was anxious to see her. She hoped her friend didn’t feel as if she’d been abandoned. With the intention of seeking out Sparrow as soon as possible, she went about dressing for the day.

Her capcases were neatly lined up against the wall and she lit a taper so that she could see more clearly. The lavish room became evident to her in the weak light of the candle and she went to the three lancet windows that faced the river and peeled back the drapery. They were made from find damask, slightly oiled even though the windows had glass in them. There was enough moisture from the river that condensed on the glass that the oiled drapes were a necessity.

With the drapes pulled back, the early morning light filled the room. The walls were wood paneled and one wall had a tapestry that seemed to depict a military victory of some kind. Gisella, with something of a trained eye for art thanks to Lady Gloucester, studied it with interest, seeing the fine detail work, before returning to her capcases.

She had fallen asleep fully clothed and her blue surcoat was wrinkled and mussed, so she rummaged about in the two bigger capcases until she found a fresh woolen shift, the color of eggshell, and a yellow damask surcoat with beautiful embroidery around the neckline and on the belled sleeves. She also pulled forth lemon-scented soap, scented oil, and hair combs.

Setting everything carefully on the bed, she timidly entered the smaller dressing room that adjoined the chamber and noted the contents of the room. A bigger wardrobe was against the far wall while a smaller cabinet-like table with a big porcelain basin and matching pitcher on top of it was positioned closer the door. The big iron tub, lined with linen, had been drained but some water lingered in the bottom if of it. Moving to the larger cabinet, she opened to find neat stacks of towels inside, made from linen. There were also razors and other bathing implements.

Pulling forth a linen towel, Gisella went to the basin and noted that the pitcher was about half-full of water that smelled of lavender. Pouring it into the basin, she went back into the bedchamber, grabbed her soap, and returned to the dressing room. She proceeded to strip off her shift and surcoat, washing with her lemon soap in the very cold lavender water. She washed her face, hands, and body, and by the time she was done toweling off, her teeth were chattering.

Racing back into the bedchamber, she hurriedly put on her soft linen shift and yellow surcoat. But she needed help with fastening the surcoat so she opened the door to the darkened corridor and summoned a male servant, who in turn went for a female servant.

As she waited for someone to help her fasten the surcoat, she sat at the great dressing table and combed her long hair, now wavy because of the braid she had slept in. Her hair was very dark, like both of her parents, and she could see glistening red highlights that reflected the light. Braiding it again, she wounded the braid at the base of her neck and secured it with three big iron hairpins from her capcase and a pretty butterfly comb. She was just finishing with a slick of rouge-tinted lip balm over her chapped lips when the chamber door pushed open.

Bastian appeared in the dim light, his gaze immediately finding Gisella as she sat before the big dressing table that had once belonged to his mother. This had been her chamber, after all, a room long bereft of feminine finery until this morning. When their gazes met, he smiled timidly.

“Good morn to you, my lady,” he said softly in his deep, husky voice. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Gisella’s heart leapt at the sight of him and she smiled in return, setting the lip balm down to the table. It was enough to just stare at him a moment, reminding herself that they were now married. It still seemed odd and impossible, but wholly pleasant.

“Very well, thank you,” she replied. Then, she sobered somewhat. “This is probably a silly question, but how long did I sleep?”

“Three weeks.”

Her eyes bugged with shock. “I did
what
?”

Bastian chuckled. “A jest,” he said. “You slept all day and all night. It is now early morning, exactly one day after we arrived. You were clearly exhausted so I told everyone not to wake you.”

She grinned with relief, with his little joke, thinking the man had a fairly ready sense of humor. She had seen it yesterday. It also served to dispel some of the concern she had about his good behavior only being for his family’s sake. Already, he was smiling and jesting with her. He was acting as if he was actually glad to see her. It made her heart swell enormously.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” she said. “I am sorry to have thrown you out of your bed.”

He shook his head. “You did not,” he said. “I slept next to you. Did you not hear the snoring?”

Gisella shook her head, rather shocked and giddy to think that he had actually slept next to her and she hadn’t even noticed him. He was her husband, after all, but the thought of the man next to her in the same bed made her feel a little lightheaded.

“I did not hear anything at all,” she admitted. Then, she glanced up to the ceiling, to the chamber overhead. “Is… is Lady Sparrow well? I fear she will think that I have abandoned her.”

Bastian leaned against the doorjamb. “I have assigned your brother to watch over her,” he said. “I believe they spent yesterday walking all over the grounds. I think they even went down to the river. She is not alone if that is your concern. She is well taken care of.”

A hint of a smile flickered on Gisella’s lips. “Then I fear you have played into her hands,” she said. “Sparrow thought my brother to be quite handsome. You have done exactly what she wished.”

Bastian shrugged lazily. “I do not believe Gannon has any complaints.”

Gisella cast him a glance. “I have not seen my brother in almost two years,” she said. “He does not have a lady he is fond of, does he? I do not want Sparrow to find herself in the middle of a tense situation.”

Bastian shook his head. “Gannon does not but de Lara has,” he replied. “You need not worry about your brother. Many a maid has tried but no one has yet captured him.”

He said it with some humor and Gisella smiled at the mental image of her brother escaping clever women. “Is de Lara married, then?”

Again, Bastian shook his head. “Nay, he is not,” he replied, “but I would not be surprised if he marries the woman when we return to France. She is the daughter of the Lord Mayor of Rouen.”

A maid bustled into the room and went to Gisella, who stood up from the dressing stool so the woman could fasten the stays on the back of her dress. Gisella ignored the woman for the most part, her thoughts lingering on Bastian’s most recent statement.

“Then your stay in England is temporary,” she clarified.

Bastian’s gaze was drawn to the lovely damask gown and Gisella’s very small waist as the maid fixed the stays. He thought he might have detected some disappointment or concern in her question.

“Everything I do is temporary,” he said. “I go where Bedford and Gloucester wish for me to go. Today, it is London but tomorrow it could be back to France.”

Gisella didn’t like that suggestion but she tried not to sound too demanding or upset about it. “Would I go with you?” she asked.

Bastian’s gaze lingered on her. “Probably not,” he said quietly. “I would be returning to battle and that is no place for you. Surely you would be happier, and safer, here at home, with your family or even here at West Court.”

Gisella looked around the chamber. “It is very nice here at West Court,” she said. “But it would be sad for you to leave just when we are coming to know one another.”

Bastian felt a flush of giddiness, something that was unusual for him. He wasn’t the giddy sort. But her words filled him with something like hope, or delight, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that her words made him feel wanted. He had no idea how to express the fact that he felt the same way and, even if he knew the correct words, he would have been deeply embarrassed to speak them in front of the maid. He wasn’t a man accustomed to speaking of his emotions.

Therefore, he kept silent on the matter as he pushed himself off the doorjamb and made his way over to his saddlebags, which were stacked against the wall near the hearth. He picked them up, tossed them onto the bed, and began pulling items out.

“I will have to have these tunics mended before we leave for London,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at his wife. “If you do not have time to sew them, I will have the maids do it. I could probably use a few new tunics as well. Everything I have is years old, torn, and essentially ruined. I do not suppose I should go to court looking like a beggar.”

Gisella wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t responded to her comment about him leaving just as they were coming to know one another. He changed the subject completely. His lack of a reaction had her saddened, but it also had her angry at herself for speaking so quickly on something that could be construed as emotional. It made her sound clinging and silly. Obviously, the man didn’t feel the way she did and it hurt her heart somewhat to know that. She had hoped the warmth she had experienced from him hadn’t been imagined but evidently, it was.

“I can mend your clothing,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the disappointment in her tone. “I can also make you a new tunic if I can secure the fabric. Mayhap your aunts have some that I can use. I will ask them.”

Bastian shook his head and moved away from the bed, heading out of the chamber. “I will ask them,” he said. “Continue dressing at your leisure. I will return shortly and escort you to the morning meal.”

Gisella simply nodded, watching the man as he quit the chamber and disappeared down the corridor. Was he moving faster than usual, she thought, anxious to get away from her? Nay, of course not. He wasn’t moving any faster than he normally did. It was her uncertainty that caused her to think such things. As she stood there and mulled over the situation, the maid finished with her dress and began helping her on with her hose and slippers. As the maid tied off one of her hose, a big, orange cat came sauntering into the room and jumped right up on the bed.

He was a bold one, this cat. The first thing he did was start nosing around in Bastian’s saddlebags and Gisella tried to shoo the animal away, but the cat ignored her. He stuck his head into Bastian’s saddlebags followed by his entire fat body until the only thing sticking out was his tail.

“That is Lady Beatrice’s cat, m’lady,” the maid said. “His name is Moggy.”

Gisella frowned as Moggy the cat pushed his way further into Bastian’s saddlebags. “You had better remove him,” she said. “I do not think my husband wants that nosy cat in his possessions.”

The maid stood up from her kneeling position next to Gisella’s legs and went to the cat, trying to gently remove him from the saddlebags. But Moggy was a very naughty boy and didn’t want to go. He rather liked the cold darkness of the saddlebags and the rotten smell they seemed to emit. As the maid pulled, he dug in with his claws, and it took the maid three tries to pull him free. With the third try, the cat abruptly came loose and the saddlebags tumbled to the floor and their contents with them. Gisella shrieked.

“Oh!” she cried as everything spilled onto the floor. Rushing over with only one shoe on, she knelt down and began grabbing items, putting them back into the bag. “God’s Bones, he is going to be furious when he sees all of his possessions on the ground. Foolish cat!”

The maid went halfway under the bed to pull out a comb that had flipped underneath the bed frame. As both women scrambled around on the floor collecting all of the dumped items, Bastian returned to the chamber.

“What goes on here?” he asked.

Gisella gasped, startled, as she turned around to face him. She was sitting on the floor, craning her neck back at the man who didn’t look particularly pleased to see what she was doing.

“The cat knocked your bags off the bed,” she told him quickly so he would not think she was rummaging through his possessions. “We were simply picking up your things.”