Chapter Eleven #2
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.
Glancing at Gisella’s beautiful face, he realized that he wanted to tell her his deepest, darkest secrets, even the one involving the Maid.
Already, he was starting to feel that level of comfort with her.
The only person he felt that level of comfort with was his father, a man he knew he could trust, and now there was Gisella.
Someday, when the timing was right, perhaps he would tell her everything, but he also had the great concern that telling her of his mission for the Maid might put her in jeopardy as well.
Tell no one, his father had told him. Perhaps his father was correct.
He certainly didn’t want to put Gisella in danger with what he had done.
“Mayhap,” he said again, softly.
Gisella smiled at him before turning her attention back to the wall of artwork.
Bastian’s attention lingered on her, studying her exquisite profile, the curve of her pert little nose and the way her long lashes brushed against her brow bone.
Gloucester and the Maid rolled over in his mind as he watched her but he pushed those thoughts from his mind because there was no point in debating about either one, at least not at this point. He moved away from the artwork.
“If you will look over here, there are also two very fine tapestries that have been in the family since the first de Russe came over with the conqueror,” he said, pointing up at the walls. “That was a very long time ago.”
Gisella pulled her gaze from the wall of Heaven and Hell and went over to where he was standing. Two beautiful tapestries were next to one another, depicting battle scenes.
“Then your family has been here a very long time?” she asked.
He nodded. “I had an ancestor who was a general for the Duke of Normandy,” he said.
“He was gifted with these lands for meritorious service and, in fact, built this house over the foundations of an old Roman home that still existed here at the time. The floor in the great hall is Roman tile, depicting some sort of pagan event. Mayhap you would like to see it.”
Gisella nodded eagerly and he took her from the reception room, crossed through the entry hall, and into a massively long room on the other side. Sparrow and Gannon trailed after them and, this time, Sparrow went to Gisella as the woman inspected the intricately tiled Roman flooring.
“Look,” Sparrow pointed out. “A sea serpent of some kind.”
Gisella nodded in agreement. The design was spectacular, as there were several images of creatures, as well as people, encircled in bands of terra cotta-colored tiles.
There were tiled images of laurel leaves and of great Roman vases, all of them arranged in delightful patterns. It was all quite stunning.
“Look at this,” Gisella said, pointing. “A winged creature with horns.”
Bastian was standing behind her. “As I said, pagan designs,” he sniffed. “We stand on that particular design quite a bit. We even put tables over it so guests will not see it.”
Gisella grinned. “Are you afraid someone will accuse you of harboring images of the Devil?”
Bastian shrugged. “You never know what people will say,” he said. “It is best not to tempt fate since men are quick to jump to conclusions.”
Gisella laughed softly as she and Sparrow walked the entire floor, admiring the lovely designs. As the women walked about, gasping with delight, Bastian made his way over to Gannon, who was standing back by the entry to the chamber.
“Make sure all of the baggage is in and that Lady Sparrow is settled in a chamber near mine,” he said. “My wife will sleep with me. You may sleep in the house, also, as will Lucas. There is plenty of room for you both in the house.”
Gannon nodded, eyeing the women as they knelt down over one particular design. “My thanks,” he said. “When are you heading to the Tower?”
Bastian turned to look at the ladies as well. “We will eat the nooning meal here and go to the Tower when we are finished, but I expect to sleep here tonight.”
“Do you want both Lucas and I to attend you to the Tower?” Gannon asked.
Bastian shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I will leave Lucas here. You will come with me.”
Gannon nodded. “Something more I should remind you of whilst we are speaking of manpower,” he said.
“If you will recall, we sent the men north to Etonbury with several sergeants in charge. We told them that we would catch up to them in a day or two and clearly, that has not happened. They should be at Etonbury by now. Shall I send word that we are detained in London?”
Bastion pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I thought of that very subject yesterday, in fact,” he said.
“Aye, it would be prudent to send word that we are detained. Inform the sergeant in charge that I am not entirely sure how long it will be before I will be able to visit Etonbury, so tell him to settle the men in and wait for me. Everything is in flux right now until I see the young king and determine when, or how, I can make time to get away.”
Satisfied, Gannon went off to carry out his orders whilst Bastian returned his attention to the room where his wife and her lady were still examining the floor.
The only way he was able to tear them away from the art was by offering to give them a tour of the house, which they eagerly agreed to.
He took them from the great hall to the solar, which was mostly used by the men of the family, to a sitting room meant only for the women, and to a few other rooms on the bottom floor like a sewing room and a flower room where someone was growing lovely flowers in big wooden boxes.