Chapter Thirteen #2
Bastian didn’t hesitate. He lifted his hands, cupping her face between his big palms and swallowing up her entire head.
Tilting his head slightly, his lips slanted over hers in a warm, sweet, and utterly delicious kiss.
It was brief, for he did not want to make a spectacle of himself or of her, but he couldn’t resist. She was asking for him to kiss her, as a man kisses a woman, and he could not refuse her in any case.
After a few moments of his tender, tantalizing kiss, he drew back to look at her.
“How was that?” he asked huskily.
Gisella was close to swooning. She had no idea how to answer him because he seemed to have sucked all of the thoughts right out of her head.
Instinctively, she licked her lips, tasting him upon her flesh, and Bastian’s warm expression faded.
Now, it was filled with lust. He dropped his hands from her and abruptly looked away.
“Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “I wonder if anyone would notice if we were to leave at this moment?”
Dazed, Gisella blinked rapidly a few times, struggling to collect herself. “What… what do you mean?”
He meant that he wanted to go home and consummate this marriage that was becoming increasingly agreeable to him.
He didn’t want to be here, sitting next to a boy-king, pretending he wasn’t upset that he’d been pulled off the battlefield to play nursemaid.
He wanted to return to Braidwood with his wife and do what he should have done the night they were married.
But, in a sense, he was glad they hadn’t consummated it.
Now, it would mean something to him because she was coming to mean something to him.
She was coming to mean a great deal to him, in fact. He was a fortunate man and he knew it.
“I suppose I would rather go back to Braidwood than be here,” he finally said, turning to look at her. “I would rather be brawling with Martin. And I would rather spend time with you.”
Gisella laughed softly and started to reply when there came a commotion over by the hall entry. Their attention turned towards the source of the disturbance in time to see Gloucester emerge from the shadowed entry followed by several of his men.
Like a returning prince, Gloucester made his way into the great hall that was full of diners and servants, greeting friends and fellow diners as he approached the dais.
He soaked up the adoration in the room, the royal respect, perhaps pretending it was all for him.
As the brother of a king and also the uncle of a king, he had always hoped for such veneration.
As he approached the king’s table, he spied Bastian seated next to the king and his attention never wavered. It was fixed upon the knight.
“Bastian,” he said as he came upon the table. “I am pleased to find you here. How long have you been in London?”
After what Bastian had been told about Gloucester and his advances towards Gisella, he was feeling distinctly less magnanimous about him but he kept his manner even. Still, it was a bit of a struggle.
“We arrived earlier today, my lord,” he replied.
Gloucester took an empty cup and poured some wine into it. “And your father?” he asked. “How is he?”
Bastian watched the man drink. “Better than I had been led to believe,” he said. “He wants to come to London now. I told him he must wait until I settle into my duties here.”
Gloucester drained the cup, smacking his lips. “It would do Braxton good to come to London,” he said. “As it is, he is moldering away at West Court. Let him come to where the action is.”
Bastian wriggled his eyebrows in disagreement. “The last thing he needs is action,” he said. “But I would agree that coming to London might be beneficial for him. Moreover, I could spend some time with him. Seeing him so briefly made me realize just how much I have missed him.”
Gloucester poured himself more wine. “Then you should spend more time with him, of course,” he said, his attention shifting to young Henry. He smiled at the boy. “Good evening, Your Grace. Have you and Bastian become well acquainted?”
Henry’s mouth was full of cheese. “He knew my father,” he said, chewing. “We talked about my father this afternoon.”
Gloucester pretended to be interested. “Is that so?” he said. “Indeed, he knew your father well. He could probably tell you much that you did not know about your father.”
Henry looked at Bastian, who smiled faintly at the boy. But his mouth was full so he turned back to his food and Gloucester returned his attention to Bastian.
“Bas, do you have a moment?” he asked, indicating for Bastian to follow him. “I must speak with you. Briefly, of course. I will not keep you over long.”
Bastian stood up, patting Gisella on the shoulder, before following Gloucester away from the table and into a corner of the hall. It was darker in the corners, away from the brightly burning torches.
Before Gloucester even opened his mouth, Bastian knew the topic of conversation.
Gloucester knows, he had told his father.
There was no doubt in his mind the subject that was going to be presented, which gave Bastian a few moments of preparation time before engaging.
Deny it, Braxton had said. Now that the moment of truth was upon him, Bastian wondered if he would.
He was a truthful man and not one given to lies, but in this case… .
“Did you receive my missive at West Court?” Gloucester asked as they settled into a darkened corner. “I sent it two days ago. You should have received it.”
Bastian folded his big arms across his chest. “I received it.”
Gloucester was looking for more of an answer than that. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”
Bastian fixed the man in the eye. “And?” he repeated. “Did you want to know just how deeply you have offended me with such a question?”
Gloucester’s expression wavered somewhat.
“Why should such a thing offend you?” he wanted to know.
“I came into possession of a missive from a priest at Westminster who said that one of my brother’s soldiers had come to him for confession and stated that he saw you take a relic from the Maid’s funeral pyre. ”
Bastian now understood how Gloucester came into such information but he was also very suspicious about it. “Who was the missive addressed to?”
Gloucester was unapologetic. “There was an envelope addressed to me that contained two items,” he said. “There was a note to me asking me to forward the enclosed missive to you. I thought it might be something important so I opened it. It was indeed important, very important.”
Bastian was displeased. “So you opened a private missive addressed to me?”
Gloucester had to accept responsibility for his actions but he wasn’t beyond defending himself. “I told you that I thought it might be important,” he said. “What is the truth of this, Bastian? Did you truly take a relic?”
Bastian considered his answer carefully.
“What I fail to comprehend is how you could even expect me to dignify such a rumor,” he said.
“You and your brother have trusted me with your lives, on numerous occasions, and you have also trusted me in planning battles against the French. This entire situation with the Maid has turned everyone into suspicious old women. Have I ever caused you to question your faith in me? Have I ever given you any reason to doubt that I am loyal to England until my death?”
Gloucester was struggling with his guilt because everything Bastian said was both reasonable and true. He shook his head. “You have never given me any reason to mistrust you,” he assured the man. “But let us be honest – there have been rumors involving you and the Maid for months.”
“Rumors, aye,” Bastian spat. “But there was never an ounce of truth in them. I am shocked and insulted that you would question me over rumors.”
Gloucester’s sense of guilt began to take on a life of its own, but still he struggled to defend his questions. “Then tell me the truth now and I shall believe you,” he begged. “Tell me what really happened between you and that girl.”
Bastian shook his head firmly. “Nothing happened,” he said. “I swear upon my oath as a knight and my fealty to England that there was nothing between me and the Maid. I was her jailor and nothing more.”
“But… but you were sympathetic to her.”
“Aye, I was,” Bastian fired back softly.
“I felt pity for her. You were not there during the trials, my lord. You did not see how they manipulated her, twisted her, until they had their answers, right or wrong. It was a reprehensible display of justice and I was truly ashamed to have been a part of it, but at no time did my dedication to duty waver. I did what I was told to do, as I have always done.”
Gloucester’s gaze was intense upon Bastian as he pondered his words. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “You are loyal to the bone, de Russe,” he agreed, sounding defeated and submissive. “I have never doubted you, not ever.”
“Then do not ask me again if I took a relic from the Maid’s pyre. I will not answer you because it is beneath my dignity to do so.”
“Then I apologize.”
Bastian’s gaze lingered on the man, knowing he didn’t mean it.
This was not the end of the subject. Of that, he was certain.
“I accept your apology,” he said. “But I want you to make sure everyone else understands the truth as well. I did not bed the Maid. I was not in coercion with her. I was her jailor and I felt sorry for the way she was treated, and that is all. I realize that I am not allowed to have feelings towards the enemy but, in this case, I did. It will not happen again.”
Gloucester was now the one feeling as if he was getting a scolding, as if he had done something wrong. He put up his hands in supplication. “I believe you,” he said. “I will put an end to the rumors, I promise.”