Chapter Six #2
Sparrow remained sound asleep and snoring, which mean Gisella had to answer the door.
With a grunt of frustration, Gisella tossed off the covers and climbed out of bed, shuffling exhaustedly to the chamber door.
It was bolted and she threw the bolt and yanked open the panel, fully prepared to snap at whoever had interrupted her attempt at sleep.
But the moment the door opened, the unexpected stood in the corridor outside.
Bastian had arrived.
Startled, Gisella opened her mouth to speak but ended up choking on her own saliva. Coughing, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“My lord,” she said, sputtering discreetly. “How… how may I be of service?”
Bastian gazed down at her. He was visibly weary and sporting a growth of beard, coming in quite dark. His gaze trailed to the interior of the room, seeing Sparrow dead asleep in the big bed. He cleared his throat softly.
“You will come with me,” he said. “My father wishes to meet you.”
Gisella was clutching the top of her shift as if trying to cover up the exposed flesh of her shoulders in an attempt to preserve her modesty.
“N-now?” she stammered.
Bastian nodded. “Aye,” he said firmly, but then reconsidered. The lady looked as exhausted as he felt. “Unless… unless you would rather not. I can tell him that you are asleep.”
Surprised he should make such an offer, Gisella nodded thankfully. “I would be very grateful, my lord.”
He nodded his head and averted his eyes, turning away from the door, but then he suddenly paused as if remembering something.
“Forgive me for disturbing you,” he said.
He didn’t give her the opportunity to respond as he turned away again and took a few steps down the darkened corridor.
Gisella watched him, the rather smooth and stalking gait he had, and she quickly reconsidered his offer.
She didn’t know why she should, but she did.
Perhaps it was because he had been so polite about asking and in offering to lie to his father for her by way of offering up an excuse.
There was something about the man that was far more courteous than he had been since they met.
Re-thinking her decision not to join his father for a meal, she called after Bastian.
“Wait,” she said, watching him come to a halt and face her. “I… I am awake, after all. I can always sleep this afternoon. I would be delighted to join your father for his morning meal. I shall only take a few moments to dress.”
Bastian’s gaze lingered on her. “Are you certain?” he asked. “It would be no trouble to visit with him this evening. He knows that we have been traveling all night.”
Gisella shook her head quickly. “I would be happy to meet him now,” she assured him. “I will only be a moment, I promise.”
She shut the door and bolted over to her capcases.
Flinging open the lids, she began yanking out garments, searching for one appropriate to meet new family members in.
She came across a pale blue surcoat with long, belled sleeves and a square neckline, and a matching angel-soft, white shift to go with it.
Quickly, she pulled off her sleeping shift and donned the white shift and blue surcoat.
Fortunately, she chose garments that she could fasten herself and she pulled the fastens tight at the waist, securing the garment.
The surcoat was quite lovely and gave her a delicious silhouette with her tiny waist and full bosom.
The next step was running a comb through her hair, rapidly, and braiding it into an elegant braid that draped over her right shoulder and trailed to her thighs.
Her smaller capcase contained cosmetics and creams, and she quickly ran a rouge-tinted lip balm over her lips.
Against her pale skin and in contrast to her dark hair, the slightly-red lips were positively stunning.
Gazing at herself in the small polished mirror of precious glass that was part of the dressing table, she thought she looked rather acceptable for such a quick dressing job.
Bolstering her courage for what she was about to face, she prayed that she would make a good impression as she quit the chamber.
Bastian was still standing where she had left him, about halfway down the corridor. As she approached him in the dim light, their gazes locked and she forced a smile.
“I am ready, my lord,” she said pleasantly. “Thank you for waiting.”
Bastian couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d never seen her properly dressed, or groomed, and he had to admit that, at this moment, she took his breath away.
She was an exquisite creature and he was positive his father would think so, too.
In fact, he was rather speechless as he looked at her.
All he could think to do at that moment was extend his elbow, which she graciously accepted.
He began to lead her towards the stairs.
“My father will be pleased,” he finally said.
“He is an old man and I do not believe he has left this house for at least a year, probably longer. Visitors are very important to him and you, in particular, are of great interest. He will more than likely wish to discuss your father, so be prepared. He will have many questions.”
Gisella was lingering over the thought of how big his elbow was in her hand.
She’d seen her share of men, including her father who was extremely tall, but she’d never seen a man with not only Bastian’s height but also his breadth.
It was truly something to behold. Lingering on his size, she had a difficult time concentrating on his statement.
“Fortunately, I am an expert on all things Richmond le Bec,” she said, shaking off her reflection of his bulk. “I would not be surprised if your father knows him. Most older knights do, you know.”
Bastian took her hand off his elbow politely as he preceded her down the stairs. “I met your father, once, a very long time ago,” he said. “Would it be impolite to say that he was old even back then?”
Gisella giggled. “It would not,” she said. “My father was fifty and one years of age when I was born, which makes him sixty years and nine right now. All things considered, he is quite old but still moderately healthy. He says my mother keeps him young and fit.”
Bastian politely took her elbow as they came to the second floor landing and moved to the next flight of steps that would take them to the ground floor.
“I’ve not met your mother,” Bastian said. “Your parents have been married for many years, have they not? I seem to remember hearing that, once.”
Gisella nodded. “My mother is an illegitimate daughter of Henry of Bolingbroke,” she said.
“Her mother was a Welsh princess, a cousin to Owen Glyndower. My father was assigned as her protector from the time she was very small and they ended up falling in love when she came of age. My mother had just turned eighteen years when she married my father, who was forty years at the time. She is, therefore, a good deal younger than him. That is why my father says that she keeps him young.”
Bastian struggled not to appear too shocked or too impressed by her admission. “Then you are a granddaughter of a king,” he said. “That makes you related to young King Henry as well as Bedford and Gloucester.”
Gisella nodded. “Didn’t Gloucester tell you that?” she asked. “His father is my grandfather, which makes him my uncle on my mother’s side.”
Bastian couldn’t help the look of both surprise and exasperation. “He did not tell me any of this.”
By this time, they were at the bottom of the steps, now in the entry of the great manor.
The great hall was directly in front of them and, already, the smells of food wafted in the air.
But Gisella wasn’t paying attention to the sounds and smells of the morning meal.
She was focused on Bastian and their conversation.
“It is true,” she said. “But my father does not particularly like the royal circles so he has raised us modestly. He says he does not like the direction the monarchy is taking right now, but I do not think Gloucester knows that. You probably should not tell him.”
Bastian was still reeling with the fact that he had married a bride of royal blood and was now essentially related to Gloucester, but when he looked down at her after her last sentence, he could see that she was smiling up at him in a playful manner, as if she had let him in on a great family secret.
Seeing the impish grin on her face caused the corners of his lips to twitch. He simply couldn’t help it.
“Your father’s opinion is safe with me,” he said. “Mostly because I cannot disagree with him. Shall we go in and greet my father?”
Gisella nodded, her heart fluttering when he collected her hand and tucked it gently into the crook of his elbow.
She had no idea what had brought about such a change in the man, from rude one moment to polite the next, but she wasn’t going to question it.
She was, in fact, enjoying it more than she cared to admit.
The great hall of West Court was a massive room that ran nearly the length of the house.
There were long, thin lancet windows that faced the river, allowing for the wonderful river breeze to infiltrate the hall.
The walls were lined with what looked like family crests, made out of pieces of colored wood, and there was elaborate woodwork near the ceiling that was very dark in color.
It was polished, or waxed somehow, because the sheen brought out the rich color of the wood.
There were several feasting tables in the hall, eight in total, and each one seated up to eight people.
The tables were long, heavy, and well-used, but only three of these tables were in use at the moment and there were several people seated at them, eating their share of the morning meal.
Smells came from these tables, laden with food as they were, and dogs hovered beneath them, waiting for the scraps.