Chapter Six #4
Everyone was conversing now with each other and the focus was off of her for the most part, although Braxton would ask her a question about her father now and again.
Bastian had been correct. All the man wanted to speak of was Richmond le Bec but Gisella didn’t mind.
She liked talking about her father. However, the richness and quantity of the food coupled with no sleep the night before had her increasingly drowsy, so much so that she kept having to stifle yawns as Beatrice and Cynthia chattered on either side of her.
She was trying very hard not to fall asleep sitting up.
Bastian was watching his new wife, wedged in between his aunts as they overfed her with nearly everything on the table.
He was unable to look at anything other than her, watching her when she spoke, when she smiled, noticing the big dimples she had in each cheek and finding the dimples infinitely appealing.
He could also see from the course of the conversation that she was as intelligent as Lady Gloucester had said she was, and her manners were impeccable.
She was highly educated and highly trained, as one would have expected coming from the court of Lady Gloucester. She was also incredibly exhausted.
As the morning deepened and Gisella had ingested her fill of food, Bastian watched as she struggled not to fall asleep.
She was still part of the conversation, engaging his aunts in a detailed conversation about Leeds wool, but he could see how weary she was.
She kept putting her soft, white hand over her mouth to cover the yawns.
He knew he should do the polite thing and remove her from the eager clutches of his family, but he couldn’t seem to do it.
All he could do, for the moment, was watch her.
He was becoming increasingly fascinated as he watched her move and listened to her speak.
Her movements were very graceful and he noted, as he listened to her, that she had a very slight lisp.
He liked it very much. The more he observed, the more he liked what he saw and the more guilty he felt for treating her so terribly when they first met.
True, he didn’t want to be married, but the more he saw of her, the more he thought that perhaps being married to her wasn’t such a bad thing.
At least, he hoped not. He hoped that she wasn’t putting on airs to impress him.
She seemed genuine enough but he’d seen many women in his lifetime that had seemed genuine.
Still, it wasn’t fair to judge her, at least not yet.
He didn’t know enough about her but he intended to find out.
Finally, he took pity on the woman as she struggled to stay awake and he moved to the bench where she sat between Cynthia and Beatrice.
Carefully, he pulled her seat away from the table.
“Lords and ladies,” he announced, “my bride and I have been up all night and in case you have not noticed, she is struggling to remain awake. I am therefore taking her to sleep and you may continue your interrogation of her this evening after she has had the opportunity to rest.”
Gisella was startled when he’d pulled back her seat but was quickly very grateful.
Bastian collected her elbow, politely helping her from the table as the collection of aunts and uncles and cousins bid her a fond farewell.
Beatrice called after her, wanting to know if she had everything she needed for her stay at West Court, and Gisella assured the woman that she did.
She then waved courteously as she thanked them for a lovely meal, all the while being led from the great hall by Bastian.
When they finally emerged out into the corridor beyond the hall with the main staircase directly ahead, Gisella turned to Bastian.
“I hope they did not think me rude to leave in the middle of their meal,” she said, “but you have my deepest gratitude for removing me when you did. I swear that I was about to fall asleep at any second. That would have been horribly embarrassing had I pitched forward and planted my face in that lovely dish of eggs and mustard.”
Bastian grinned. “Embarrassing, aye, but quite humorous,” he said. “They would never have let you forget the incident.”
Gisella fought off a smile. “If they are anything like my family, they would have used it to torment me.”
“Then we must have the same family for that is exactly what they would do.”
Gisella laughed softly, her hand in the crook of his elbow as they began to take the stairs.
This time, Bastian didn’t remove her hand for easier maneuvering and she didn’t remove it, either, so taking the stairs was rather slow going as they tried to walk them together.
Bastian was very careful with her, making sure she didn’t step on the hem of her long surcoat, and when they reached the landing on the second floor, he began to lead her down the hall but she hesitated.
“My chamber is on the next floor,” she said, pointing overhead.
Bastian looked down his nose at her. “I know,” he said. “I am taking you to my chamber.”
Gisella felt a quiver in the pit of her stomach at that declaration.
So many things rolled through her mind at that moment, not the least of which was the fact that he was apparently intending to claim his husbandly rights at the earliest opportunity, which was evidently now.
She wasn’t ready for intimacy of any kind with him but she stilled herself, knowing that it was indeed his due.
She could not refuse him in any case, as he was her husband.
She belonged to him. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to calm her nerves.
“As you wish,” she said, trying not to sound nervous. “But my capcases – all of my clothing and possessions – are in the chamber upstairs.”
“I will send a servant for them.”
Gisella wasn’t sure what to say to that so she kept silent as they moved down the corridor, which was bigger on this level and had a finely woven carpet that overlaid the wood-planked floor.
Rugs were rare and precious accessories but she had seen them at Bella Court and now she was seeing them at West Court.
The de Russes had wealth and means, and they displayed both.
Do not tell anyone that my uncle bought himself a dukedom.
She was coming to believe, given the display of riches around her, that the statement was close to the truth.
Bastian’s chamber was at the far end of the corridor, facing the river.
As Gisella entered the bower that smelled heavily of mustiness and smoke, she realized that her shared chamber with Sparrow was directly over Bastian’s room.
The chamber was dark due to the oilcloths over the windows, and cold, and she could see Bastian moving around in the darkness.
The first thing he did was strike a flint and light two slender tapers that were on an iron sconce near the bed.
That brought a bit of pale light into the room as he knelt down before the hearth, tossing in a few slabs of peat and then piling wood atop it.
He lit the wood, watching it smoke and spark, before tucking a few of the burning pieces of kindling beneath the peat to ignite it.
It didn’t take long for the material to begin smoldering and the earthy, tangy scent of burning peat began to fill the room.
“The room will warm up shortly,” he said.
Gisella smiled weakly in acknowledgement as he moved to the chamber door and called for a servant.
A man appeared shortly and Bastian sent him running for Gisella’s capcases.
When the servant fled, he shut the door and began fumbling with the pieces of plate armor on his body, unfastening the leather straps that held them in position.
Sections of armor began coming off and he laid them carefully on a small table near the door.
Gisella watched him as he began to undress, curious about what he was doing, about the man in general.
“Do you need help removing your armor?” she asked. “I have never done it before but if you tell me what to do, I would be happy to help.”
He looked up from a twisted strap of leather on his breastplate. “Your offer is kind,” he said. “Over the years, however, I have learned to do this all myself. It is faster, and simpler, with a squire or two for assistance, but I can manage quite ably alone.”
Gisella watched him fuss with the twisted strap. “Do you have a squire?”
He nodded. “I have seven lads between the ages of twelve and seventeen who squire for me and my knights,” he said.
“They have been sent north with my army to Etonbury for now. I am not exactly sure how long I will be in London so it is best to send them to my seat for now. I can always recall them later if I need them.”
Gisella wasn’t following his line of thought. “When are you going to London?” she asked. “Are you not staying here?”
Bastian finished with the strap and carefully pulled off his steel breastplate, placing it on the table with the other pieces of armor.
It occurred to him that he had never discussed his future plans with his wife.
Up until an hour ago, he didn’t consider it her business but now, he thought it would be the polite thing to do.
She was to come with him, after all. It was only fair to tell her what the future held for them both.
Their futures, from this point forward, would be intertwined.
He indicated the chair that was at the foot of the bed.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Sit. It would appear we have much to discuss.”
Obediently, Gisella planted herself in the cushioned chair, facing him expectantly. Bastian went to work on the vambrances, or steel protection, on his forearms.