Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (41 page)

On the morning after the day of Bastian’s return to Braidwood, Braxton de Russe was put into a wooden coffin that would transport him across the river to St. Bartholomew’s where he would be put into his stone crypt next to his wife.

Given the state of his body, Wellesbourne and Collins tried to convince Bastian to bury him sooner rather than later, but Bastian wanted to wait for his uncles and cousins, whom he knew would be returning from Wallingford Castle the following day. As soon as Aramis and the army, including young Henry and Gloucester, were sighted an hour out of Braidwood, Bastian gave the word for Braxton to be put into his coffin. Several servants, including Collins, completed the task as Bastian stood by and watched with a heavy heart.

In full regalia, including the red de Russe tunic of a lion  holding a sword, Bastian and his cousins, Brant, Worthington, Martin, Lucas and also Gannon carried Braxton’s coffin down from the second floor of Braidwood and loaded it onto the wagon that would take it to the ferry crossing.

Gloucester and Aramis stood solemnly by, watching the somber actions, as Henry stood between them, wiping tears from his eyes. The young king had been deeply saddened at the passing of a man he had come to like a great deal. Even in the short time he’d spent with Braxton, he had formed a bond with him and felt as if he had lost a grandparent or a mentor.

As the knights moved about the coffin, securing it to the wagon with rope, Henry broke away from Gloucester and made his way to the wagon, laying a timid hand upon Braxton’s plain coffin. Not remembering having attended his own father’s funeral, this occasion lay quite heavily upon the young king. It was a sad and poignant moment.

The gesture wasn’t lost on Bastian. He watched the young king, feeling a lump in his throat, for in many ways he was that boy laying a hand upon his father’s coffin. He still wasn’t ready to bury his father. There was so much he wanted to say to him, particularly now with the relic becoming something bigger than he could have imagined. He needed his father’s wisdom. He also needed his father’s advice regarding a wife that still would not speak to him. He had spent the night in the hallway outside of the locked chamber door, unable to leave it. He felt as if everything inside of him was slipping away, dying with his father and with the hatred of his wife.

But she didn’t hate him enough to betray him. To Gisella’s credit, she had not said anything to anyone about the relic or the real reason Braidwood had been broken into. Everyone assumed she was simply grieving over Braxton’s death and she let them think that, even though it seemed strange that Bastian had been kept from their chamber. But no one gossiped about it. The servants of Braidwood kept silent on the matter. Everyone had a different way of grieving, and perhaps this was hers.

What the servants thought, or what anyone thought, was of no particular concern to Bastian. He remained stoic in the face of everything because that was what he knew. He had long been taught to hide his feelings and that was what he did particularly well. Now, he stood by and watched as his father’s coffin was secured and the honor guard was placed, the one that would escort Braxton to the ferry and across the river. As weary as the knights were from their hard march from Wallingford, they still mounted up and formed an honor guard around Braxton’s coffin, preparing to move out. As everyone moved to collect their steeds and follow the coffin out of Braidwood, Gisella emerged from the house.

She was dressed in a deep red brocaded surcoat with gold thread, a stunningly spectacular garment. Upon her head she wore a traditional black veil, the veil she wore to church, now wearing it in mourning for Bastian’s father. Her dark hair was gathered underneath it, carefully pinned, revealing her slender white neck and delicate jaw. Sparrow was with her, dressed in dark blue and a black prayer veil.

Henry was the first to see Gisella and he ran to her, reaching out to clutch her hand the moment he came upon her. He gazed at the woman he had come to know, seeing that she looked very pale and tired.

“I heard that Sir Braxton was killed when men broke into Braidwood,” he said anxiously. “You were not injured, were you?”

Gisella forced a smile at the boy. She was feeling ill, and exhausted, torn apart by emotion and little sleep. She also hadn’t eaten in a couple of days because of her nervous stomach, so she was feeling quite terrible. The only reason she was attending Braxton’s funeral mass was purely out of respect for the man she was very fond of. Otherwise, she would have remained in bed.

“I was not injured,” she assured the boy softly. “Sir Braxton put Lady Sparrow and me into a safe room. We were well protected.”

Henry continued to hold her hand, sorrow on his young face. “I am very sad about Sir Braxton,” he said. “I have been praying for him since we left Wallingford.”

Gisella’s forced smile turned genuine. “I am sure he would appreciate that.”

The sounds of bootfalls caused the three of them to turn as Bastian approached. He was without his helm, his dark hair curling around his shoulders as he had eyes only for Gisella. His gaze never left her as he came to a halt at the bottom of the steps that led to Braidwood’s entry.

“Lady de Russe,” he addressed his wife. “I am very pleased that you have decided to join us for mass. My father would have appreciated it.”

Gisella wasn’t ready to see Bastian this morning but she had no choice. She could feel tears welling at the sight of him, her heart melting at the sound of his beautiful voice, but she reminded herself that all of that belonged to the Maid. Not her. Crushed, she nodded her head and averted her gaze.

“It is only for your father’s sake that I am here,” she said quietly. “I will walk behind the wagon.”

Henry piped up. “I will walk, too,” he announced. “I want to walk with Lady de Russe.”

Bastian didn’t want to force her to ride but it would be a long walk. “My lady, it is at least a couple of miles to St. Bartholomew’s,” he said. “Please let me have the carriage brought around. You can ride with the king and with Lady Sparrow.”

Gisella shook her head firmly. “Nay,” she said. “I will walk.”

Sparrow interjected. “Gigi, it is a very long walk and it will be a warm day,” she said. “I think the carriage would be an excellent idea.”

Gisella was going to refuse again but thought better of it. As poorly as she was feeling, perhaps it was best to ride. So she nodded shortly and Bastian turned to the nearest soldier, ordering forth the carriage. As the man went on the run, Bastian caught Sparrow’s eye and silently directed her to leave him alone with Gisella. Sparrow took the hint and went to take Henry’s hand, pulling him away from Gisella.

“Your Grace, mayhap we should take some food with us,” she said, as it was the first excuse she could think of to move the king out. “Lady Gisella and I have not eaten yet this morning. Will you come with me?”

Henry looked rather confused but he allowed himself to be pulled along by Lady Sparrow. He liked her, after all, as she had played games with him, so he followed her towards the kitchens, leaving Gisella standing alone on the door stoop with Bastian a few feet away. When she realized that she was abruptly alone with her husband, she turned back for the house but Bastian stopped her.

“Please, Gigi,” he whispered. “Please do not shut me out any longer. I cannot take it.”

She paused, cocking her head slightly as if listening to him, before continuing on into the house. With a heavy sigh, Bastian followed.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t fled upstairs. She went into the reception room to sit and wait for the carriage. As she sat in one of the chairs near the cold hearth, Bastian entered the room and came to within a few feet of her. He just stood there, watching her dark head, feeling more angst and agony than he had ever felt in his life. After a moment, he moved around her chair so that she could see him. Still, she wouldn’t look at him and that crushed him.

“I did not tell you about the relic because I took my father’s advice,” he said softly. He wanted to get the words out before she ran off again. “He told me that anyone who knew about it would be in as much danger as I would be in should it be discovered. I did not tell you not because I was harboring a great secret of lost love. When I told you that I was not in love with the Maid, it was the truth. I took her heart because it was one of the only fragments left after the fire and because she had asked me to take a piece of her and bury it at Winchester Cathedral, the seat of her greatest inquisitor. I originally refused her request, but when I saw the heart I felt that it was a sign that I should fulfill her wish. She told me that St. Michael told her that she must be buried at Winchester before Michaelmas because she was to return before that day, somehow, to show the people of England that France was meant to be free. I realize this sounds of madness but I believed her. That is why I have her heart and for no other reason than that.”

Gisella was still sitting stiffly in the chair, her gaze fixed on the cold, sooty hearth. “It would have been much easier had you told me all of this when we were first married,” she said, her voice dull and without life. “At least I would have understood that the Maid would mean more to you than I ever could.”

Bastian sighed heavily. “That is not true,” he insisted. “You mean everything to me, Gisella. I… I think I knew I loved you the day you told me that it would be sad for me to return to France just when we were coming to know one another. Do you remember that day? I ran away because I was terrified by what you said, because I knew I felt the same way. Whatever spark ignited that day has grown into a monumental blaze. I cannot breathe or think for want of you. You have become my moon, my stars, and my sun. I have never loved anyone before, not like I love you, so it is difficult for me to explain what I am feeling. I hope I have conveyed it well enough. I pray you understand.”

Gisella remained silent, staring at the soot, as Bastian stood there and watched her, his heart pounding and his mouth dry. He was indeed praying that she understood him because he couldn’t fathom the alternative. Just when the wait became excessive, Gisella’s head turned in his direction. He could see the tears forming in her eyes.

“How would you feel if you discovered I was carrying around the heart of another man?” she whispered.

His expression was guarded. “And you are not?”

She was puzzled, even hurt by the question. “What do you mean?”

Bastian wasn’t even sure he should mention it but he could not back down now; after everything they’d been through, it seemed like such a trivial thing.  But his feelings for her were coming out and he wanted to be clear on something that had been lingering in the back of his mind. He had to ask.

“Maxim de Shera,” he murmured. “Did you not give the man your heart, once?”

Gisella was caught off-guard by the question; she had not expected such a thing, especially at this moment. “Who told you this?” she asked.

“Gloucester.”

Gisella understood more now. She wondered if Bastian had been harboring jealousy of a dead man as she had evidently been harboring jealousy for a dead woman.  Oddly, the question touched her because it meant Bastian felt more emotion for her than she’d given him credit for.  If he was asking, then he was concerned, and if he was concerned, then everything he just told her – his love for her – meant something to her. It meant more than she could imagine.

“Nay,” she finally said, quietly. “I did not give him my heart. It was an infatuation and nothing more.”

He thought on her statement, more relieved than he cared to admit. “Then in answer to your question,” he said softly, “if I discovered you were carrying around the heart of another man, I should be quite devastated.”

She could feel his brutal honesty and it touched her. She blinked and the tears rolled down her cheeks. “That is how I feel,” she murmured. “Devastated.”

He went to her, taking a knee beside the chair so they were nearly at eye level. He gazed into those pale, sad, blue eyes and gently reached out to collect a soft white hand, laying limp in her lap. Gisella didn’t resist as he put her hand to his lips, closing his eyes as he kissed it. Tears started rolling down his cheeks, too.

“I am sorry if I hurt you,” he confessed, his lips against her flesh. “I never meant to hurt you and I never meant to make you feel as if I have lied to you. I swear upon my oath as a knight that I did not love the Maid of Orleans. I have never loved anyone but you.”

Gisella burst into tears and Bastian let go of her hand, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, wrapping her arms around his neck, squeezing the life from him as they wept together, both of them so very shattered by the turn of events. Gisella could feel her opposition to him fading, her hurt dissolving away as he held her. To feel his arms around her once more, safe and strong and reassuring, dashed away any doubt or reservation she still held.

He loved her.

“As I love you,” she whispered, kissing his ear gently because it was the closest thing to her lips. “I cannot remember when I have not loved you. I am so sorry for what I said Bastian… you did not kill your father. I did not mean it.”

He held her tightly before releasing her, taking her head in his big hands and kissing her face, trying not to disturb her lovely, black veil. “All is forgiven,” he murmured between kisses. “I know you did not mean it.”