Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (34 page)

Henry’s gaze moved to the courtyard where Bastian was standing with his wife in a circle of knights, all of them looking at something on the ground in the center of the circle. Someone was crouched down, pointing to whatever they were all looking at.

“I would speak with Sir Bastian now,” he told Braxton. “Come along.”

Braxton was dragged along by Henry but not before looking at Aramis and shrugging his shoulders. Aramis scratched his head curiously and followed as the young king pulled Braxton with him, the old man shuffling along and trying to keep pace with the boy. As Henry and Braxton drew near to the crowd of knights, Aramis called out to them.

“The king approaches,” he said in his rather booming voice. “Make way.”

Everyone turned to see Henry and Braxton approach. Henry was holding on to Braxton, or in truth it was the other way around, but Henry’s focus was on Bastian. Bastian met the boy’s gaze steadily, bowing to him as he came to stand with the men in the circle.

“Your Grace,” he greeted. “How may I be of service?”

Henry looked around the circle at all of the knights, seasoned men bred for battle in their well-used and expensive armor. It was rather exciting and rather intimidating, to be truthful. Some of these men had served his father and he tried to imagine how that must have been, knights in Henry of Monmouth’s ranks. It was a thrilling thought. But then he looked at the drawings in the dust in the middle of their circle to see what they had been studying and his brow furrowed with curiosity.

“What is this?” he asked, pointing to the dirt sketches.

Bastian turned his attention to the drawings. “This is Wallingford Castle,” he said. “We have no map of it so a soldier who knows the castle has drawn it for us.”

Henry looked up at him. “Are you going there to besiege it?”

Bastian thought carefully on his answer. “I am going there to ask the Earl of Suffolk to give me his brother, Thomas de la Pole,” he replied. “You know Sir Thomas. He is in your entourage.”

Henry nodded, looking down at the scribbles in the dust. “I know him,” he said. “I saw him hit Lady Gisella. That is why you want him, isn’t it? To punish him for striking her?”

Standing behind Braxton, Aramis let out a grunt of displeasure now that he knew the reasons behind Bastian’s motivation, over a woman of all things, but Bastian ignored his uncle. He nodded to the king’s question.

“It is, Your Grace,” he said.

Henry’s gaze moved to Gisella, standing with both hands looped into the crook of her husband’s elbow. She smiled at Henry and he could see the faint bruise on her jaw where de la Pole had hit her. Henry scratched his head, frowning.

“What Sir Thomas did to Lady Gisella was very unkind,” he said. “He must be punished. I will go with you to Wallingford Castle and order Suffolk to give you his brother. He must obey me or I will take Wallingford away from him.”

Bastian was stunned at the very simple yet very effective plan. Nothing of what the king said was untrue. Henry seemed quite serious about it but Bastian wasn’t convinced it was a good idea.

“That is generous, Your Grace, but I do not think you should be put in such a position,” he said. “Suffolk is an ally and you do not want to turn him against you. Moreover, I will be traveling with an army and you would be safer if you remained here. I believe I can convince Suffolk to give me his brother.”

Henry wasn’t sure if he was being denied or not, so he went on the assumption that he wasn’t. “I will ride with you,” he said, more firmly. “Suffolk must listen to me. If he denies me, I will make sure he is punished.”

Bastian could see that the young man would not be deterred, which brought about a new host of problems. He forced a smile.

“You offer is very generous, Your Grace,” he said again, eyeing the men surrounding him. They were all looking at him as if glad they were not the ones dealing with the head-strong king. “If you would like to listen to Sir Worthington speak on the strategy of addressing Suffolk, I will speak with my father a moment. Please excuse us.”

Henry wanted to hear about strategy so he wasn’t hard pressed to remain and listen to Worthington’s suggestions about the approach to Wallingford. Gisella let go of Bastian, remaining with the king as Bastian pulled both his father and his uncle with him into a private huddle a few feet away. He started to speak but Brant broke away from the group of knights and came to the huddle as well. From the look on his face, he seemed to be having the same concerns about the young king traveling with them into a potentially dangerous situation as Bastian had.

“Gloucester will murder me if I take the king into battle against Suffolk,” Bastian hissed at his father. “Why did you tell him about the situation with Suffolk?”

Braxton held steady against his son’s frustration. “He asked,” he said simply. “God’s Bones, Bastian, he is the king. He wants to help. Let the boy do something to help you if he can.”

Bastian’s eyebrows flew up. “Are you mad?” he demanded. “I cannot take a nine-year-old king to a confrontation. If Gloucester doesn’t kill me, Bedford and Beaufort will.”

“I must agree with Bastian,” Aramis said. “He cannot take the king to Wallingford to confront Suffolk.”

Braxton frowned at his brother and at his son. “Why not?” he asked. “You have not spent the past several hours with that boy. Gloucester and the regents have that child so boxed up and so repressed that he is scared of his own shadow. He wants to be a good king. He wants to do what is right. He is not fond of battle or confrontation. He wants to help solve your problem, Bastian. Why can’t you let him fulfill the destiny that his father would have wanted for him?”

Braxton’s words doused Bastian’s building fire. When his father put it like that, of course Bastian could not deny the boy the opportunity to fulfill what his father would have wished.
A good king
. That was all Henry ever wanted for his son, his namesake, the child who was only nine months old when he became king. Bastian sighed heavily and looked at Brant, a man he trusted. He and Brant were nearly the same age and had much the same personality. He lifted his eyebrows for emphasis.

“Well?” he asked Brant. “What are your thoughts? For certain, now I do not know what to think, so give me your advice.”

Brant looked over at the king, who was intently watching Worthington as the man drew in the dirt. After a moment, he sighed heavily.

“He is the king,” he said. “If he truly wishes to go, we do not have the power to deny him. So we will bring him with us and ensure that he is amply protected. We also send word to Gloucester about what is happening. Your missive from last night asking him if he has yet contacted Suffolk has not been answered. Surely a missive regarding the king would prompt the man’s immediate response.”

“Or his immediate ire,” Aramis grumbled. “This is madness.”

Bastian looked at him. “Do you have a better idea?” he asked. “If you do, now is the time.”

Aramis rolled his eyes. Then, he pursed his lips angrily, looking over at the group of knights where the young king was now pointing to the dirt map and asking questions.

“I am going to be stripped of the Warminster dukedom as well after this,” he hissed. “I just
know
it. I am going to be living on the streets of London and prostituting myself to pay for my daily bread.”

Bastian grunted. “We will probably all end up in the Tower,” he said. “But, for now, we have no choice, as Brant pointed out. If Henry wants to come and order Suffolk to turn his brother over to me, then we shall be forced to permit it. Father, will you come with us and watch over Henry?”

Braxton shook his head. “As much as would like to, I cannot,” he said. “Traveling from West Court yesterday took away all of my strength. A march to Wallingford would likely kill me.”

Bastian patted his father’s shoulder in understanding. “Then you remain here and protect the women,” he said. “That is the most important task of all.”

With that, Bastian broke away from his father, uncle, and cousin, and headed over to where the knights, his wife, and the king were gathered. He thought fleetingly of his friend, Henry’s father, and of how proud the man would have been of a son who wanted to do the right and good thing for all. When he thought on it that way, he didn’t have much of a heart for denying the boy any longer because the qualities Henry was displaying were the qualities of a good king. Lost in thought, he heard footfalls next to him and turned to see Brant walking beside him.

“I am putting you in charge of the king’s safety,” he told his cousin. “Make sure he is amply protected.”

Brant nodded. “I will,” he said. Then, he hesitated before speaking further. “Bas?”

“Aye?”

“Do you think Suffolk is going to obey the king’s order to release his brother to you?”

Bastian didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did, his tone was low and steady. “I cannot know for certain,” he said. “But if he does not, it will be your duty to take the king and ride hard for London while I lay siege to Wallingford. Return the boy to the Tower and guard him with your life.”

“You know I will until the death.”

Bastian sincerely hoped it did not come to that.

The sunset was shades of brilliant oranges and purples, dashed across the deepening sky. It was nearly dark now but the colors were still there, fading in their glory. Gisella could see them from the lancet window from the reception room at Braidwood even though the window faced east. Still, she could see the brilliant colors but they had little meaning. Her thoughts were with Bastian as he headed to Wallingford Castle.

His plans were to confront Suffolk at first light which meant a night march, rare for an army but Bastian had insisted. He was already concerned that de la Pole had escaped him even though reports coming back from Brant’s men at the ports had been negative. Still, there was the chance that de la Pole had slipped away. That made the march to Wallingford in the dead of night that much more imperative.

Gisella and Bastian’s goodbyes had been tender but swift. They had already said all that needed to be said so when the time came, Bastian took her in his arms and kissed her sweetly in the semi-privacy of Braidwood’s entry hall before heading out to the courtyard where men were already filing from Braidwood’s ward and mounting the white stallion that his wife had given him. The horse seemed to be calming under Bastian’s firm control and Gisella had waved to him as he’d ridden from the ward astride the flashy beast.

But her brave smile soon faded when the great gates of Braidwood closed behind the army and she stood in the open doorway, wondering what the morrow would bring. Although she truly didn’t believe Bastian would be killed, she was nonetheless worried for his safety and for the safety of all of them. That a slap should resound so loudly and cause such an armed response was guilt that she still struggled with.

Henry had been extremely excited to go on this venture, riding a gentle gray mare and surrounded by heavily armed knights. The only thing that made Gisella smile over the entire situation was thinking of Henry’s happy expression in that he was actually being permitted to do something he considered quite kingly. But Henry’s court physician was so upset about it that he had taken to drink and had gone straight to his chamber to mull over the fact that the young king was out of his control. Furthermore, he was too old to ride with the army, upsetting him further. With the physician tucked away for the night, Braxton and the ladies gathered in the reception room.

It was like the calm after the storm. There wasn’t any tension in the air at this point and even though their thoughts were heavily on the departed army, the ambiance of the room was one of patience. All they could do was wait for word. Now, it was Sparrow against Braxton, playing round after round of Bone Ace, and Braxton was still losing, now to a woman. It was a slap in the face of the man’s ego but he was good humored about it, pretending that he was losing on purpose when they all knew otherwise.

“Gigi, come play with us,” Sparrow told her friend, who was lingering by the window. “I am beating your father-in-law terribly. You must come and comfort him.”

Gisella turned to look at the pair, smiling as Sparrow won yet another round. Braxton, showing mock frustration, pretended to gather all of the cards and throw them into the fire, causing Sparrow to squeal with laughter. Gisella came away from the window, wandering in their direction.

“Sir Braxton, you really should not play her any longer,” she said. “Find another game. She is terrible at Chess.”

Braxton’s old face lit up. “Ah-
ha
!” he crowed. “There is a Chess set here. I will find it and then I will beat you into submission, young woman. Prepare for much humiliation by my hand.”

Sparrow giggled. “I will take your challenge, my lord,” she said. “Pray you can make good on it.”

Braxton’s eyebrows lifted in outrage. “You saucy wench,” he said. “Do you dare to dispute my game skills?”

“I do,” Sparrow said sadly. “It is with great regret that I do. Who have you been playing lately? Imbeciles?”

Gisella giggled as Braxton struggled to hold a straight face. “I shall win and then I shall take a switch to you,” he told her. “Collins! Where is that man? He will know where the Chess set is.”

As Gisella and Sparrow laughed at Braxton’s animation, Collins entered the reception room.

“My lord?” he greeted.

Braxton pretended to be quite serious. “Collins,” he addressed the man. “Do you recall where the Chess set is?”

Collins nodded. “It is in the solar,” he replied. “Shall I retrieve it?”

Braxton nodded firmly. “Bring it here,” he demanded, pointing at Sparrow. “I must teach this young woman a lesson.”

Collins could sense the good humor and he nodded, grinning, as he turned for the door. But he abruptly stopped and focused on Gisella.

“Lady de Russe,” he said. “Supper is almost ready to be served. Where would you have it set?”

Gisella looked at Braxton and Sparrow before responding. “It is just the three of us,” she said. “Can you bring it in here and set it upon the big table?”

Collins nodded and shuffled out of the room, leaving Braxton to shuffle through the big deck of cards, trying to figure out why he kept losing, as Sparrow stood up and stretched her legs. Then she rubbed her arms, as the warmth of the day had quickly faded and the coolness of the night was settling.

“It will be a lovely night,” Sparrow said to Gisella, who was moving back to the window that overlooked the courtyard. “Mayhap we will take a stroll in the moonlight through the garden after supper.”

Gisella’s gaze moved over the landscape beyond the window. “How romantic,” she said drolly. “If I am going to stroll in the moonlight with someone, I would rather do it with my husband.”

Sparrow giggled as she came upon Gisella and laid her head on her friend’s shoulder. “And I would rather do it with your brother,” she whispered. “Has he said anything to you about me?”

Gisella shook her head. “There has not been the opportunity,” she said. “I have been with Bastian most times and when I have seen Gannon, it is in passing. But I will ask him if you want me to.”

Sparrow lifted her head, smiling demurely. “He is so strong and handsome,” she said. “I will never forgive you for not telling me about your wonderful brother. I have known you for two years and you have never made mention of him other than briefly.”

Gisella made a face. “That is because I do not look at my brother as strong and handsome,” she said. “He is simply my brother, the wicked boy who used to torment me when we were younger.”

Sparrow laughed softly but was cut short of replying when the soldiers near the gates of Braidwood began to take up a call. Curious, both women peered through the lancet window in time to see the gates opening wide. Men began pouring through, men bearing the colors of Gloucester, and the smile faded from Gisella’s face.

Gloucester had arrived and she knew, instinctively, that his presence was not a welcome one. His men were kicking up dirt in the bailey, shouting to one another, and she could already sense the tension. She turned to Braxton, who was still fussing with the cards.

“Sir Braxton,” she hissed. “Gloucester is here.”

Braxton lifted his head, looking at Gisella with a surprisingly calm expression. But it was clear he was mulling over the man’s arrival. The calm mood of the evening shifted, now becoming tense and curious at the unexpected arrival of Gloucester. Gisella and Sparrow came away from the window, heading for Braxton.

“He is here to stop Bastian from riding to Wallingford,” Gisella said to the man, but suddenly looked stricken. “Or he is here to take the king back to the Tower. God’s Bones, what will he do when he finds out the king has gone with Bastian?”

Braxton reached out and grasped her arm, squeezing it firmly. “There is nothing he can to do except follow Bastian to Wallingford, in which case Bastian will deal with the man,” he said calmly. “For now, we will welcome Gloucester and ask him to sup with us. But you and Lady Sparrow must remain gracious and calm, no matter what the man says. Is that clear?”

Gisella and Sparrow nodded solemnly. “Of course,” Gisella agreed.

“And you will let me do the talking.”

Again, the women nodded in agreement. Braxton patted Gisella on the cheek with his big, rough hand.

“Good lass,” he said. “Now, let us welcome our guest. Lady Sparrow, go and tell Collins that we may have guests for supper.”

Sparrow fled the room, leaving Gisella with Braxton to face Gloucester alone. The old man could see how nervous she was, and rightly so, and he reached out to take her hand, holding it gently. Gisella squeezed his big fingers, taking comfort in Bastian’s wise father. She was coming to like him a great deal.

The knock on the entry door inevitably came and a servant scurried from the dining room with the Roman tiles in the floor to answer it. They could hear voices, mostly Gloucester’s loud one, and Braxton called out.

“My lord,” he said in a rather booming voice. “Join us in the reception room if you would.”

Gloucester appeared in the doorway moments later, dressed in a fine tunic and cloak. He was without armor but the men accompanying him, three knights that Gisella knew to be part of Gloucester’s entourage, were in full protection. All four men entered the reception room, heading for Braxton and Gisella.

“Sir Braxton,” Gloucester greeted. “You are looking well this eve. Greetings, Lady de Russe.”

Gisella forced a smile at the man, still holding on to Braxton as she did so. “Welcome to Braidwood, my lord,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “We are honored by your visit.”

Gloucester’s gaze was intense as he looked at her, studying her for a moment. “I have come to see your husband,” he said. “Where is he?”

Braxton answered for Gisella. “He is not here, my lord,” he said. Then, he indicated the chairs that were positioned in front of the massive hearth. “Will you sit? We were about to have supper. Will you join us?”

Gloucester shook his head, to both questions. “Where is Bastian?”

Braxton remained cool and casual. “He has taken a few men and has ridden on to Wallingford Castle for a discussion with Suffolk,” he said. “You are aware that Suffolk’s brother struck Lady Gisella, of course. Bastian has gone to speak with Suffolk about the man’s punishment. The king has gone with him, in fact. Bastian thought it would be a good opportunity for the boy to learn the art of negotiation.”

Gloucester’s features tensed. “The king has gone to Wallingford?” he asked, anger in his voice. “I did not give him permission to take the king anywhere other than Braidwood.”

Braxton would not be bullied by a man he didn’t have a good deal of respect for. “Yet you have entrusted my son to be the King’s Protector,” he pointed out. “Do you not trust him with the king’s life in any case? If Bastian is with the king, then the king is perfectly safe no matter where they are.”

Gloucester eyed Braxton. He was finished with pleasantries. “Let us cut to the meat of the situation, Sir Braxton,” he said. “I told Bastian to let me handle the situation regarding Suffolk’s brother. Bastian should have trusted me. Had he waited for my response to his missive from last night, he would have known that Suffolk has agreed to turn his brother over but he will not do it if Bastian comes at him with force.”

Braxton was listening seriously. “Where is the brother?”

Gloucester threw up his hands in a frustrated gesture. “At Wallingford because it is the residence he uses when he is visiting London,” he replied, irritated. “How did Bastian know to find him there?”

Braxton knew how but he wasn’t going to tell Gloucester for fear of incriminating his nephews, Brant and Martin, who had been more than willing to divulge what they knew.

“I am not sure,” he lied. “But he found out, somehow. Where is Suffolk?”

Gloucester sighed heavily. “Riding for Wallingford as well,” he said. “The man was in London and now he is heading to Wallingford to speak with his brother. Hopefully he will make it there before Bastian does, but who is to say? More importantly, when Bastian shows his face at Wallingford, Suffolk will more than likely be infuriated and think that I had a hand in it.”

“Then you must ride for Wallingford immediately,” Braxton said, but it sounded suspiciously like a command. “You must be there when Suffolk and Bastian come together, if for no other reason than to calm the situation.”

Gloucester growled as he turned for the door. “Damn him,” he said. “Damn Bastian. I told him to let me handle this situation. Since when did he become so impetuous and so disobedient?”

Braxton was following Gloucester as the man headed out of the room. Surprisingly, Braxton was doing it without help. He was walking unaided as he kept pace with the duke.

“Bastian is trained for war,” Braxton said quietly. “It is that quality that has seen your French campaign successful. He answers to no man and he waits for no man. You should have known better than to make him wait in this instance. His honor is at stake and you know it. He would not wait to redeem it. Would you have waited under the same circumstances?”

Gloucester paused at the entry door, looking at Braxton with a mixture of frustration and understanding. It was an odd expression, indeed. After a moment, he grunted.

“Suffolk will be lucky to survive this if he challenges Bastian,” he muttered. Then, he pointed a finger at Braxton. “Why did you not go with him? At least he would have had your level head.”