Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (22 page)

“That is not the only thing that is bold.”

The outlaw’s eyebrows lifted and he began to laugh. The other bandits took up the sound and soon, most of them were chuckling. The outlaw in charge focused intently on Bastian.

“Then I suppose I should just let you go,” he said. “Just like that?”

Bastian was cool and steady. “If you want to live, you will,” he said. “But if you are too stupid to do so, would you like to know who you are about to face in battle?”

The outlaw laughed again. “Please, tell me,” he begged. “I am eager to know the name of the man who will cause my death.”

Bastian didn’t hesitate. “They call me Beast because I have the bloodlines of seven great houses running through my veins,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “I am a beast of a warrior, the finest England has ever seen. If the entire French army could not destroy me, a band of stupid outlaws certainly cannot. Now, get out of my way before I destroy you and all of your cohorts. This will be your one and only warming.”

The grin on the outlaw’s face vanished. His confident manner seemed to grow incredulous. “Beast?” he repeated. “Aye… aye, I have heard of you. We have all heard the name. But how do I...?”

Bastian suddenly spurred his charger forward, unexpectedly, and caught the man off-guard in mid-sentence. The wicked broadsword carried by Bastian, the one that was bigger and heavier than the usual weight of a battle sword, was unsheathed and in a split second, the outlaw’s head was lying in the dirt just as Bastian had predicted. It was a swift and brutal action.

Seeing the bloodied head of their leader on the road caused the other outlaws to panic and in that moment of chaos, the carriage driver whipped his horses and began tearing down the road. Bastian and the other knights followed at breakneck speed as Gisella and Sparrow threw themselves to the floor of the carriage for protection. They were expecting arrows to come flying at them at any moment and Gisella held on to Sparrow, who was in a ball on the floor of the carriage.

But the hail of arrows didn’t come, fortunately, and it was a wild ride out of the heavily foliaged part of the road, a rapid pace that went on for at least a mile until Bastian called the party to a halt. As the carriage rocked to an unsteady stop, Bastian went straight to the seat where his wife had been sitting. As he came alongside, he could see Gisella and Sparrow picking themselves up off of the floor of the cab.

“Are you well?” Bastian demanded, throwing up his visor to get a clear look at his wife. “Were you injured at all?”

Gisella was stunned but not injured. She shook her head as she sat back on the bench and pulled Sparrow with her.

“I am not hurt,” she told him, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. She sighed heavily as she fixed him with her startled gaze. “God’s Bones, but that was… exciting.”

Bastian was vastly relieved to see that Gisella wasn’t injured. He was also quite pleased to see that she wasn’t hysterical about it, which struck him at that moment as being an impressive quality in a woman. On the other side of the carriage, Gannon and Lucas rode up to see to the ladies’ welfare also. Bastian glanced at his knights.

“Were either one of you injured?” he asked his men.

The knights shook their heads. “Nay,” Gannon said. “But Lucas’ horse caught an arrow in the rump.”

They all turned to look at Lucas’ big brown rouncey. There was indeed a small arrow sticking out of the horse’s behind and Lucas reached back and yanked it out. The horse nickered a bit and shifted around, disturbed by the pain, as Lucas dismounted and took a look at the puncture.

“It is not too bad,” he announced. “It is a clean wound. I will dress it once we reach London. For now, I suspected we’d better keep moving.”

Bastian nodded, glancing back at the direction they had come from. He didn’t see anything but that didn’t mean they weren’t being stalked. He’d killed their leader, after all. It was best if they made it to the safety of London as quickly as possible.

“Indeed,” he said. “I am sure they have not taken kindly to the death of their leader. Let us get a move on. We will stop at Braidwood first. In fact – Lucas, you will ride on ahead and announce our imminent arrival. That way, you can tend to your horse sooner rather than later.”

Lucas nodded, mounted his horse, and took off at a canter. Bastian watched him go before returning his attention to the Gisella. His gaze softened as he looked at her.

“Are you sure you are well?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Gisella nodded. “I am, thank you,” she said gratefully, but her gaze moved to the floor of the carriage and she gasped softly. “But your aunt’s lovely parasol did not survive.”

She lifted it up by the stem, looking at it forlornly, and Bastian could see that the wooden disc had broken in half. He took it from her, inspecting it.

“I will see if I can have it repaired,” he told her. “Do not fret over it.”

He could see it was a useless thing to say because she was already fretting over it. She reached out, taking it from him, gingerly touching the broken wood. She sighed.

“It was so lovely,” she said sadly. “But I suppose it is a small price to pay for our lives.”

Bastian smiled faintly. “I would rather have the parasol broken than you,” he said, ushering the carriage driver on with a wave of his hand. “We should see London within the hour, so let us move on.”

He moved back to the head of the group but Gisella was still lingering on what he had said.
I would rather have the parasol broken than you.
He’d given her a wonderful compliment and he probably wasn’t even aware of it.

They were the sweetest words she had ever heard.

Braidwood House

London

Braidwood sat downstream from the Tower of London, a vast property that had belonged to the de Russe family since it had been built almost four hundred years before. The house was three stories, with the third story being a half-story with a pitched roof, and most of the house was covered with spider fern vines that swallowed up the Kent rag-stone that comprised the structure.

Designed in a “U” shape, there was a large courtyard in the center of the structure and tall curtain walls surrounding it. All of the curtain walls had been swallowed up by the same spider ferns, vines that had big thorns to deter anyone foolish enough to try and scale the walls. The de Russe family was very fond of thorny vines surrounding their homes as evidenced now by two de Russe properties she had seen.

Braidwood had river frontage with a small private road that ran in front of it, along the river, and Gisella was back to being fascinated by her surroundings now that the fright from the recent outlaw attack had subsided. She tried not to think about Bastian cutting the outlaw’s head off, as it had been a sharp and vicious action, but she knew he had done it to save their lives. He was a man unafraid to initiate a fight. It was the first time she’d actually seen the Beast in action and she was both impressed and somewhat frightened by it. Now, the stories she had heard about the man and his skills were starting to make some sense. The reality was awesome to behold.

The big, iron gates of Braidwood opened up and invited Bastian and his party into the courtyard beyond. There was a big, circular drive with a fishpond in the center and on either side of the drive were carefully manicured gardens that had carved stone benches so one could sit and enjoy the flowers. It was quite lovely and showed evidence of a woman’s touch, Gisella thought. Someone had gone to great trouble to make the gardens beautiful.

As they moved towards the front of the house, Gisella could see that there was a separate kitchen built over against the wall near the east side of the “U” shape and an enclosed kitchen yard next to it. The stables were also located on that side, downwind and downstream from the house, and they could already see Lucas near the stables with one of the grooms, tending to the rump of his steed.

There were grooms and servants waiting for them as they came to a halt in front of the entry. Bastian dismounted the white stallion, slapped it on the neck affectionately, and went to the carriage to assist his wife. He held her hand in a genteel manner as she stepped out onto the carriage step, a big stone that was used for those when disembarking carriages or even dismounting horses. He continued to hold her hand as she came down off the stone, looking around the complex with great interest. Behind her, Gannon had come to help Sparrow down from the carriage. Sparrow beamed at him while he pretended not to notice.

“What a magnificent townhome, Bastian,” Gisella said. “I did not imagine it quite so large.”

Bastian looked around the grounds of a home that was probably more of a true home to him than any other he had ever lived in. He felt comforted here.

“It reminds me a lot of my mother,” he said. “This was her favorite house. We spent a lot of time here when I was young. This was a good, safe home for children to grow up in.”

Gisella took his elbow as he began to lead her down the neat pebble path towards the front entry of the home. “Are you an only child?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I have two younger sisters, Theodora and Elizabetta” he said. “Theodora is a nun and Elizabetta married three or four years ago. She and her husband live in London, as her husband is a commander for the Tower Guard.”

Gisella listened with interest. “I see,” she said. “Will we be meeting your sister and her husband while we are here?”

He nodded. “More than likely,” he said. “She had a daughter a couple of years ago. I have a niece I’ve not yet seen named after my mother, Aderyn.”

Gisella looked up at him, smiling. “That is a lovely name,” she said. Then, her smile faded. “Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask what happened to your mother?”

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “She died of a cancer in her belly about ten years ago. I am sorry she never got to meet you. She would have liked you a great deal.”

Gisella was back to smiling again. “I hope so,” she said. “I am sorry that I will not get to know her but I hope you will tell me about her if it not too difficult a subject.”

“It is not,” Bastian replied. Then, he eyed her. “Speaking of difficult subjects, you mentioned that Gloucester gave you the white stallion. Was it from both him and Lady Gloucester? He is your uncle, after all. The horse was not a family gift?”

Gisella was watching her feet as they moved along the rocky path towards the front entry. She wasn’t surprised by the change in subject. In fact, she had been expecting it at some point.

“Nay,” she said. “It was only from him. But I was not allowed to tell anyone who gave the horse to me. He told me if I did, he would deny it.”

“Why?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “Gloucester has been attentive to me since I arrived in Lady Gloucester’s household,” she said. “He never actually molested me, but it was more the way he looked at me or would, mayhap, ‘accidentally’ brush my arm. He was always trying to touch me somehow – my arm, my back, or my hand. He would make comments, too, about the way a dress fit me or how soft my skin seemed. It made me horribly uncomfortable and I tried my best to discourage him, but he would not stop. Then came the gifts – the perfume, the jewels, and the white stallion. The horse came a couple of months ago and with it came a horrible note written in his hand – it said that he hoped I would ride the horse the way he wished I would ride him. I was so angry when I read it that I burned it.”

Bastian came to a halt just as they reached the entry. Gisella looked up at him to see that he seemed rather deep in thought. His gaze upon her was intense.

“But he is your uncle,” he said, revulsion in his tone. “He is your mother’s half-brother.”

She nodded solemnly. “I know,” she said softly. “But it does not matter to him.”

Bastian’s jaw flexed. “Did he tell you not to tell anyone about his gifts or overtures?” he asked. “Not just about the horse?”

Gisella nodded. “He told me to keep all of his gifts a secret,” she said. “Sparrow knows, of course, but I thought I had better tell you since you are now my husband. If his inappropriate advances continue... in any case, I thought you should be informed.”

Bastian sighed, mulling over what she had told him. His first reaction was one of disgust, then of rage, but he kept it well hidden. It wasn’t Gisella’s fault that Gloucester had a wandering eye but he seriously wondered if it would cause problems in the future. If he were to discover that Gloucester continued making overtures to Gisella after the marriage, then Bastian would have to confront the man for pride’s sake. It could get quite ugly. He already knew he would fight for her, and he would win. Even against Gloucester.

“Yet he pledged you to me,” he said thoughtfully. “Does he truly believe I will not object to his behavior?”

It was more a question to himself. Gisella watched Bastian’s expression. It was obvious there was a good deal on his mind and that the entire circumstance was quite upsetting. She put her hand on his arm, gently.

“Are you angry with me for telling you?” she asked. “As I said, you are my husband and I believe you should be aware. It would not be right to keep this information from you.”

He shook his head, patting her hand gently. “Nay, I am not angry with you,” he said, his voice soft with emotion. “I am very glad that you feel compelled to be truthful with me.”

He went from patting her hand to holding it. Gisella couldn’t help but notice he was squeezing her hand now, gently. It was the most thrilling thing she’d ever experienced in her entire life. Her heart began to thump madly against her ribs.

“What do you intend to do about it?” she asked, rather anxiously.

Bastian noticed, from the corner of his eye, that Gannon and Sparrow were approaching. He didn’t want them to hear a private conversation so he smiled weakly and lifted Gisella’s hand to his lips, kissing it sweetly.

“I intend to ride the white stallion in front of him every chance I get,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Since he told you not to tell anyone who gave it to you, surely he will not contest me when I tell him that you gave me the horse as a gift because you did not want it. That will make him angry, don’t you think?”

Gisella burst out giggling. “Furious!”

Bastian kissed her hand again as Gannon and Sparrow joined them. Without another word about the white stallion or Gloucester, Bastian escorted his wife into the entry hall of Braidwood.

Footmen were at the door, standing at attention as Bastian and the others entered the two-storied entry hall with the polished slate floor. The room was quite grand, as was the beautiful staircase that elevated into the upper floor. Everything was quite rich with dark wood and elegant furnishing. As Bastian directed the footmen to make sure their baggage was brought in, a small man in a fine tunic and hose approached Bastian and bowed deeply. Skinny, with long white hair, the old man seemed quite pleased to see Bastian.

“Master Bastian,” the servant said. “These old walls are not the same without you. Now that you are here, this house will start to live again.”

Bastian grinned at the old man. “Collins,” he said with pleasure. “It has been a very long time. How have you been?”

Collins was touched by the question. “Well enough, young master,” he said. “We had been told you had returned from France. We are so proud of you and what you have done for young Henry.”

Bastian put a big hand on the old man’s slender shoulders. “What I have done for Bedford, you mean,” he said, jesting. “But I thank you for your kind words. I will be in London now for some time overseeing the young king but I will set up housekeeping at Braidwood. In fact, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Lady Gisella. She will give the orders in the house from now on.”

The old man looked at Gisella with surprise and awe. He bowed deeply. “My lady,” he said. “Welcome to Braidwood. We did not know Sir Bastian took a wife.”

Bastian still had his hand on the old servant’s shoulder. “That is because it only just happened,” he said, looking to Gisella. “Collins has been at Braidwood since before I was born and he watched me grow up. He still remembers that naughty young lad who liked to steal cheese from the kitchen and used to run through the house with packs of dogs.”

That explained why the servant had called him “Master Bastian”. He still remembered that little boy and it was clearly a term of affection. Gisella grinned as she looked at the elderly servant.

“Was he a terrible child, then?” she asked, jesting. “You can tell me. I want to know just how naughty he was.”

The old man grinned. “He was a good lad truly, my lady,” he said. “Although one time, he did bring a goat into the house and it ate Lady Aderyn’s sewing. Even ate the needles. She made Master Bastian... well, she made him....”

He couldn’t finish the story and Bastian finished for him. “My mother made me sift through all of the goat droppings looking for her needles,” he said. “Do you have any idea how difficult that was?”

Gisella put a hand over her mouth, discreetly giggling. “You deserved all that and more,” she told him, returning her attention to Collins. “Thank you for telling me. I hope you have many more stories to tell me.”

The old man wasn’t sure what to say so Bastian grasped his wife by the elbow and pulled her away. “He will do no such thing,” he said. “I want you to think I am a remarkable human being with no flaws. Is that too much to ask?”

Gisella laughed at him but her laughter was cut short when she got a look at the room he pulled her into. A lavishly furnished reception room was before her, remarkably done with leather-cushioned chairs, a massive polished table with pewter candlesticks on it, and a spectacular scene carved into an entire wall. As Sparrow and Gannon lingered in the doorway, pretending to ignore one another, Gisella and Bastian entered Braidwood’s magnificent receiving room.

Mouth agape at the gloriousness of the chamber before her, Gisella let go of Bastian and made her way to the wall with the floor to ceiling scene carved into it. It was utterly spectacular with figures below that seemed to be shielding themselves or cowering from angelic-like figures above. Bastian walked up behind her.

“It is Lucifer’s fall from grace,” he told her. “My mother had it commissioned and fine Savoyard artists took almost a year to create it. My mother said she wanted it to remind her that all things are finite and that we must always be humble and pious.”

Gisella tore her gaze away from the magnificent piece and looked up at him. “Did you take her advice?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I have tried,” he said softly. “Mayhap... mayhap someday I will tell you what I intend to do in order to be truly pious.”

“I would like to hear it.”

His gaze moved back to the artwork, thoughts of the Maid coming to mind as he gazed upon the scene from Heaven.
Winchester Cathedral before Michaelmas
. It was what he intended to do in order to be truly pious and in order to put to rest the soul of a woman who had known nothing but turmoil in life. No rest, no joy, only sorrow.