Chapter Three #2
“Then I would believe you.”
He carefully considered his reply, something simple yet truthful that she would understand.
He didn’t want to go into all of the details of de Russe’s relationship with the Maid.
That would be something for another time and it was something that needed to come from Bastian, as her husband.
At the moment, he could see he would have to do damage control on the depth of the rumors circulating about de Russe.
“De Russe was her jailor,” he said. “Bedford put him in charge of her because she seemed to outsmart everyone else. De Russe showed her respect and compassion, as he would any prisoner of standing, but that is where it ended. Those who spread gossip and lies about his relationship with the woman have no idea what they speak of. They are worthless pigs who should have their tongues cut out.”
Gisella didn’t say anything right away. She continued to stare up at him, mulling over his statement.
It was clear that she was still uncertain about the entire situation but her brother’s strong words were sinking in, giving her cause for reflection.
He had promised her the truth so she had no choice but to believe him because she said she would.
By her expression alone, she seemed to be easing her stance somewhat.
Still, there was suspicion in the bright blue eyes. Gannon could see that clearly.
Before Gisella could respond, a very drunken guest suddenly appeared, pushing between Gisella and Gannon and grabbing hold of Gisella’s arms. A fat man of epic horizontal proportions was in their midst, obviously thrilled to see Gisella.
He lurched forward and, with his shift in weight, nearly sent her to the ground.
“My beautiful angel,” he slurred. “I thought you belonged to me and me alone, yet I see you run off with this… this man!”
He threw an accusing finger in Gannon’s direction.
Quick as a flash, Gannon reached out and grabbed the man around the neck, yanking him off of his sister.
He was about to throttle the fool when a big body moved up beside him and enormous hands reached out, separating him from the drunkard in very fine clothing.
Gannon looked up to see Bastian pulling the man away from him, away from Gisella, and turning him back towards the hall.
As Gisella and Gannon looked on with some curiosity, Bastian faced the drunken man.
“My lord Guildford,” he said calmly. “Your wife will be looking for you, I am sure. Mayhap it would be best if you find her now.”
The drunken man looked up at Bastian, craning his head back and staggering backwards when he lost his balance. He blinked as if realizing the pure size of the man staring him down but, more than that, he’d heard talk in the hall about this man. Beast, they had said. He frowned.
“By what right do you have to speak to me that way?” he demanded, his speech slurred. “You touched me!”
Bastian was very good at many things but he was particularly good in dealing with spoiled men with a sense of entitlement.
He had been watching Gannon and Gisella from the shadows of the corridor, hearing the drone of conversation but not the actual words, and had come to their aid when Guildford had launched an offensive against them.
He faced down the fat drunkard, his eyes narrowed.
“For your bold actions against my betrothed, you are lucky that it was merely a touch,” he said, lowering his voice. “You know who I am and you know what I am capable of. I suggest you find your wife before you receive first-hand knowledge of my violent talents.”
That was enough for Guildford. He blinked again, rapidly, before stumbling backwards, sideways, and then threw his weight into the direction he wanted to go.
Without a hind-glance to Gisella, he staggered back into the bustling hall as Bastian watched him go.
When he was sure the man wasn’t going to turn around and come back at him, he turned his attention to Gannon and Gisella.
Mostly, he was looking at Gisella. As one admires a great feat of perfection or beauty, he found himself staring at her for just that reason – she was quite beautiful and quite perfect.
She was petite, no more than an inch or two over five feet, with glistening black hair, curled, all wound up in a silver cord in a hairstyle that suggested a Grecian goddess of old.
She was wearing a long white tunic, and hose, and the tunic was tied about her tiny waist but there was no mistaking her rather lush and curvy figure beneath.
It was, in fact, rather indecent. The eyes that gazed back at him were bright blue, much like her brother’s eye color, and she was looking at him most curiously.
Unable to look away from her, Bastian cleared his throat softly.
“The Earl of Guildford,” he said, to both Gisella and Gannon.
“I have seen the man before. He is quite wealthy and has supplied money to Bedford for the wars in France. We do not want to offend or harm the man, at least not yet. If he makes a move like that again, I may have to reconsider my stance.”
Gannon had heard the name of Guildford but he didn’t know the man personally.
He knew he was a wealthy patron of the king.
But he didn’t pursue the subject, mostly because Bastian was looking at Gisella and Gannon surmised this would be a perfect time for introductions, now in the midst of this gallant moment with Bastian defending and protecting Gisella.
It was perfect, in fact. He didn’t hesitate.
“Then I am fortunate that you prevented me from breaking his neck, lest I find myself in a good deal of trouble,” he said. Then, he looked to his sister. “Gisella, may I introduce you to Sir Bastian de Russe, Baron Henlow. Sir Bastian, this is my sister, Lady Gisella Lorraine Esmerelda le Bec.”
Gisella gazed up at the biggest man she had ever seen.
Her brother was considered quite tall at four inches over six feet, but the man before her was at least two or three inches taller than that.
He was positively enormous, with big hands, a thick neck, a broad chest, and heavy, muscled legs.
She could see it all beneath the armor he was wearing.
He had very dark hair, like she did, and it had a wave to it as he slicked it back over his skull.
It was longer, hanging just past his chin, which she thought was rather handsome.
It wasn’t the typical razor-cut that most men wore, short and square.
His square-jawed, straight-nosed features were also handsome, and the sky-blue eyes gazing back at her were quite intense.
The man, overall, was quite pleasing to the eye.
Shocked at her reaction to his physical appearance, she could feel her cheeks growing hot. She wasn’t sure what to think about him, in any case, but she dipped into a smart curtsy because that was what protocol dictated.
“My lord,” she said politely. “I am honored to meet you.”
Bastian couldn’t take his eyes off her. Oddly enough, although he was diplomatic with men because that was the sex with which he mostly interacted, with women he tended to be more blunt and to the point. His gaze moved over Gisella and her odd dress.
“Your brother told me you were his prettiest sister,” he said. “I thought he told me that to make the betrothal more palatable but I see that he was correct. You are quite beautiful.”
Gisella looked at him with a somewhat guarded gaze. “Thank you, my lord.”
His attention continued to linger on her. “What were you doing hanging from the gallery? And what manner of dress is this?”
Gisella looked down at her state. “I am an angel blessing the battle of Richard the Lionheart as he defeated the infidels,” she said. “This is the angel’s costume.”
Bastian’s brow furrowed slightly. “It seems rather indecent.”
“I am completely covered up, my lord,” Gisella answered. Then, she lifted her eyebrows at him. “If I wore a dress whilst hanging from the harness, the skirt would fall down around my head and expose everything underneath. That would be indecent.”
Bastian and Gannon looked at each other as if deciding whether or not they would accept Gisella’s explanation. “It makes sense,” Gannon finally said. “I told her I did not approve of what she is wearing and neither would our father.”
Bastian looked at Gisella again, who had a hint of a scowl as she looked at her brother. He decided to let her state of dress go, mostly because there was no point in arguing it. It was done. However, he would make his wishes known for the future.
“You will not wear this again,” he said, pointing at the tunic. “You will be correctly clothed at all times, as my wife. I will not be shamed by a woman bearing my name cavorting about in scant clothing.”
Gisella didn’t like being pushed around, especially by a man she had just met. Betrothed or not, there would be ground rules between them and there was no time like the present to establish them.
“I never have, at any time, shamed myself or my family with what I do here at court,” she said pointedly.
“Lady Gloucester keeps a very watchful eye on me as well as all of her women, and she personally chose this costume for me to wear. If you have issue with it, then I suggest you speak with her and I should like to be present when you do. You insult both me and her by suggesting she would allow me to cavort shamefully in public. As for bearing your name, it would seem I have no choice in the matter but if I did, I can assure you this union would not take place. I have no more desire to marry you than I am sure you have to marry me.”