Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (35 page)

“My brother, Aramis, is with him. He will keep him sane.”

Gloucester appeared horrified. “Aramis de Russe would drown his own mother if he thought there would be gain in it for him,” he said, waving his knights on and the men in armor began running back to their horses in the courtyard. “If he believes sinking Suffolk will gain him loot or properties, he’ll encourage Bastian to drive his sword into the man’s gullet!”

With that, he was off, leaving Braxton and Gisella standing in the entryway, watching as Gloucester and his men departed the torch-lit courtyard of Braidwood in the hopes of averting a disaster at Wallingford Castle. As quickly as they had come, they departed, leaving an odd and tense silence in their wake.

But Braxton had a smirk on his face as he watched the man go even if Gisella wasn’t quite so humored. She was positive that Bastian would be thrown in the Tower once Gloucester caught up with him. She turned to her father-in-law.

“Bastian is in a great deal of trouble,” she said fearfully. “What do you think will happen when Gloucester catches up to him?”

Braxton shrugged as he closed the entry door. “It will be most terrible.”

Gisella looked stricken. “Why?” she demanded. “What will happen?”

Braxton reached out and put his arm around her slender shoulders, leading her back to the reception room with its stack of painted cards and roaring blaze.

“Gloucester will catch up to Bastian and throw a fit,” he said, “whereupon Bastian will listen to the man but he will not agree. Suffolk will enter into it and the three of them will sit around and get raging drunk, and then Suffolk will agree to flog his brother on behalf of Bastian. Bastian will hardly care at that point and they will have a wild party all night long. How does that sound?”

Gisella was grinning reluctantly by that point. “You jest when I am serious,” she said. “I know Gloucester. He is a vengeful and spoiled man. I am worried that he will punish Bastian.”

Braxton shook his head as they reached the fireplace and he directed Gisella to sit in one of the warm chairs nearby.

“He will become angry but I doubt he will punish him,” he replied. “He understands Bas. More than that, he needs the man. To punish him or lock him up would put the wars in France at great risk. Never forget that Gloucester and Bedford need Bastian far more than he needs them. Everything will work out in Bastian’s favor, Lady de Russe. You must have faith.”

Gisella could only hope that he was correct. Collins brought supper in at that point, followed by Sparrow and a few kitchen servants, and a lovely meal was set upon the massive table in the center of the reception room. A delicious beef and barley stew was presented along with fish with mustard, stewed figs and stewed carrots, and big hunks of freshly baked bread.

While Braxton and Sparrow ate their fill and threatened each other with a good-natured beating over the Chess board that Collins finally brought forth from the solar, Gisella sat in front of the fire and picked at her bread, her thoughts lingering on Gloucester now riding off to intercept Bastian. No matter what Braxton said, Gisella was fretful over the meeting. Bastian’s journey to Wallingford was dangerous enough without the added threat of Gloucester riding to stop him.

Braxton had said that Gloucester needed Bastian more than Bastian needed him. Truth was, Gisella needed Bastian more than the crown did. They were newly married and the thrill of discovering one another was only getting better. She never wanted it to end.

As the moon rose in the black velvet night above, Gisella found herself praying for her husband.

The man appeared at the gates of Braidwood sometime before midnight. He was limping, holding his torso, and groaning of an attack near the waterfront. He begged the men on guard at Braidwood to let him in, pleading for their mercy, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The sentries in the small gatehouse of Braidwood watched the man crumple at the base of the gatehouse, crying miserably.

They had been left instructions by Sir Bastian not to open the gates to anyone they did not recognize and trust, and the weeping man against the gates did not fit that decree. The wind was picking up a bit now, blowing dark clouds in from the east that were beginning to cover up the moon in intermittent bursts, but the sentries of Braidwood continued to ignore the pleas of the man in front of their big iron gates. As the night deepened and the clouds rolled, they took to ignoring the cries.

The shift changed just after midnight and four guards came on at the gatehouse, replacing the six that had been there throughout the day. There were other guards on duty but they were at one of the six small towers that lined the walls, one man per tower, with a total of ten men on duty from midnight to sunrise. The outgoing shift headed to the bunkhouse on the south side of the complex, a small structure that was dormitory-like in nature and could sleep up to seventy men at time. As those men tucked in for the night, the four guards at the gatehouse watched the stranger at the gates as he pleaded for help.

But this shift of guards largely ignored him as well, all except for one young guard who hadn’t yet learned to harden his heart where it pertained to the world around him. He hadn’t learned those difficult lessons of life yet and when his three companions sat down on the ground floor room on the south side of the gatehouse and began to roll Bones for money, the young guard wandered back up to the top floor to watch the man at the gates below.

As his companions rolled the bones and won money from each other, the young guard watched the man at the gates as he lay in a heap, begging weakly for help. The young guard had been raised by his widowed mother and had been taken to church regularly where the priests had instructed the faithful to be generous to the poor. As he saw it, leaving a man to die like a dog was not generous and the more he watched, the guiltier he felt. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

Going down the narrow spiral stairs to the ground floor, he made sure his companions were busy with their game before going to the great iron gates of Braidwood and peering at the injured man through the gaps in the iron grate. Unhinging the big iron bolt and releasing the big iron pin at the bottom of the south gate, he pulled open only one gate and peered outside.

The poor man was lying in the dirt, weeping. When he saw the young guard, he gasped and extended his hand, begging for help. The young guard reluctantly took his hand with the intention of dragging him inside the gate but his compassion was his undoing. The man outside of the gate was not injured at all. Armand le Foix was quite well and when the young soldier latched on to him, he pulled as hard as he could on the young man and yanked him outside of the gate. A dagger between the young guard’s ribs and he breathed no more.

Le Foix was up, waving to his comrades who had been waiting against the riverbank on the opposite side of the road. Their wait had been long and they had been partially submerged in the river to stay out of sight of Braidwood’s guards, but they were ready to move when le Foix gave the signal. Soon, a horde of men were racing towards Braidwood as le Foix opened up the gates wide. The Armagnacs poured in.

The guards playing Bones on the ground floor of the gatehouse were the first to die. Le Foix’s French companions made short work of them. They then raced across the drive and through the lovely gardens, heading for the house in the darkness, when one of the sentries in a south-facing tower happened to see the tide of men and noticed the open gate. The alarm quickly sounded.

As the sound of a heavy iron bell began to sound throughout Braidwood, the servants who had been traveling between the kitchens and the manse emerged from the doorway that linked the house with the kitchen, realizing that a host of men were rushing at them. Startled, they ducked back into the house and tried to bolt the big door but the Armagnacs were more powerful than the house servants and breached the house at the dining room entry point. As the sleeping soldiers from the bunkhouse were roused and grabbed their weapons, running for the house, the Armagnac invaders bolted the dining room door from the inside to prevent the Braidwood soldiers from entering. Now, they had free run of the house, at least for a time, and they intended to take advantage of it.

Unfortunately, Collins was the first servant they came into contact with. The man had leapt from his bed because he’d heard the alarm and now he was faced with more than a dozen heavily armed men he didn’t recognize. He was angry more than fearful, hoping that he might perhaps be able to ascertain what treasures these men were after and give the occupants of the house, sleeping upstairs, time to escape. He put up his hands in a supplicant gesture.

“I am the majordomo of the house,” he announced. “Whatever you wish, tell me and I will do my best to get it for you if you will only leave us in peace.”

Le Foix was edgy, feeding off the excitement of having breached de Russe’s manse. He marched upon Collins and shoved the man in the chest, sending the old servant staggering backwards and falling to his knees. Le Foix stood over him.

“When is de Russe returning?” he demanded.

Collin’s wasn’t sure what the man meant. He eyed the host of unfriendly faces around him, shadowed by the darkness of the room.

“Which de Russe?” he asked.

“Bastian.”

Collins cleared his throat nervously. “I am not entirely sure,” he said. “He has gone to Wallingford Castle. You would find him there.”

Le Foix’s eyes narrowed. “We saw his army leave earlier today,” he said, watching Collin’s expression turn curious. “Aye, we have been watching this place since yesterday, hoping de Russe would leave. We were fortunate in that we did not have to wait long. Why did he go to Wallingford? Did he go there to stay?”

Collins shook his head. “He went to discuss business with Suffolk,” he said, not wanting to divulge too much to the man with the very heavy French accent. “If you want Sir Bastian, then he is not here.”

Le Foix shook his head. “I do not want Sir Bastian,” he said, looking around the room. He noticed the floor with its Roman tiles but his gaze returned to Collins. “Where does the man keep his possessions?”

Collins was confused. “He took his weapons with him,” he said, unsure what the man was asking. “He did not leave anything behind.”

Le Foix shook his head. “Not his weapons,” he said. “His possessions. Money and other personal effects. Did he take them with him?”

Collins shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I was not involved with what the man took with him to Wallingford.”

Le Foix sighed heavily, turning to look at the men behind him. They were prepared to tear Braidwood apart in their quest for riches as well as the Maid’s relic. After a moment of gazing at his anxious men, le Foix scratched his head and returned his attention to Collins.

“Who is left here at Braidwood?” he asked. “We saw a great many knights leaving, but who is left behind?”

Collins could only pray that Lady de Russe had already escaped the house after having heard the alarm.

“Lady de Russe and her companion are here,” he said. “As is Sir Bastian’s father.”

Le Foix turned to the men behind him. “The father,” he hissed. “Find him. Mayhap he knows. And if he does not, I will take de Russe’s wife to sport. Find her! We will use her!”

The men scattered as le Foix turned to Collins and brained the man over the skull with the hilt of his sword. As Collins dropped to the floor, le Foix headed up the stairs to the upper floor of Braidwood.