Chapter Fifteen #2
Bastian came to a halt several feet away because the fire was so damn hot. “Indeed,” he said, eyeing his father. “Why have you come? I told you I would send for you once my wife and I were settled.”
Braxton shrugged, not particularly interested in his son’s disapproving tone. “I was bored,” he said. “West Court holds no excitement for me so I thought I would follow you here.”
Bastian peered at him. “You did not come alone, did you?”
Braxton shook his head. “I brought ten men with me. They are out in the soldier’s lodgings.”
At least he hadn’t struck out alone, which wouldn’t have surprised Bastian in the least. Not knowing what else to say, Bastian glanced at Gisella, who was standing to his left. He pursed his lips irritably in response to his father’s declaration of boredom, but she grinned.
“Of course you are welcome to be here with us,” she assured the old man. “Pay no attention to your son. He is irritable this evening.”
Braxton smiled at his new daughter. “I like you very much, Lady de Russe,” he said. “You are very gracious.”
Gisella giggled, biting her lip and pretending to wipe away the smile when Bastian frowned at her. But he couldn’t hold it for long and ended up cracking a grin.
“Of course you are welcome, Father,” he said. “I did not mean to intimate that you were not. In fact, I would like you to meet someone. This is good King Henry and he will be our guest tonight.”
Braxton turned his attention to the boy, peering intently at him as the boy gazed back at him with some trepidation. In fact, the young king appeared quite stiff and afraid. Braxton shifted in his chair.
“Your Grace,” he said evenly. “I apologize that I am not standing to greet you. It is difficult for me these days.”
The boy simply looked at him, unsure what to say. Then he lowered his gaze, looking at the floor. Braxton studied the tense young man carefully.
“Are you afraid, Henry?” Braxton asked, completely disregarding protocol.
Henry nodded after a moment’s hesitation. He glanced up at Bastian nervously, fearful he that he should say more, possibly to explain himself, but he was unable to. He was in a rare situation where there weren’t ten people speaking for him so he truly had little idea on how to behave.
Braxton could see the unrest, the anxiety.
The lad had been a king since nine months of age and in that time he’d never been allowed to be anything other than a figurehead.
Everyone spoke for Henry. Everyone made decisions for Henry.
Like Gisella and Bastian, Braxton could also see what damage had been done to this child and, like his son and daughter-in-law, the seeds of pity sprouted.
“Henry, come here,” Braxton said, not unkindly.
Terrified, Henry looked to Bastian for direction and the man nodded encouragingly. “Go to him,” he said. “He will not harm you. He is my father and he is a very wise man.”
Timidly, Henry took a few steps in Braxton’s direction. Even though his eyes were on the boy, the old man spoke to his son.
“Bastian,” he said. “Bring a chair for young Henry. Let him sit by the fire and be comfortable.”
Bastian pulled up a padded leather chair for the young king, who gingerly planted his skinny bottom on it. Perched on the edge of the chair, he looked at Braxton rather anxiously.
Braxton’s gaze was steady upon the king, thinking on the rather pitiful young boy, but he began to realize that the reception room was full of people hovering about; Bastian, Gisella, an old man he didn’t know, and five knights, including Brant who had just entered the room.
No wonder the boy was nervous. He was being watched by people he didn’t really know as well as being in a strange place.
It was probably a nightmarish situation for him. Braxton glanced at Bastian.
“You and your knights have duties to attend to, do you not?” he said. “The king and I shall become acquainted. And send Collins in here when you go.”
Bastian could see that his father was very interested in young Henry but not because he was the king.
Braxton really didn’t care much about that.
Braxton was quite fond of children but his were all grown up.
He had a granddaughter but Bastian had no idea how often he saw her, so Braxton simply wanted to sit and talk to the boy.
It was one of the things Braxton did best. Bastian smiled faintly, remembering the times he had spent with his father as a child.
They were still the best times of his life.
Quietly, he turned to Gisella and extended an elbow to her. She accepted it, allowing her husband to lead her out of the room, sweeping the others along with them as they went. In a group, they filed out of the room, leaving young Henry seated by the fire with the old knight.
Seated by a warm fire and eventually given a cup of warm milk with honey and nutmeg, young Henry would, in later years, look back upon this night as one of the best times of his life, too.
*
“Will your father put Henry to bed?” Gisella asked as Bastian escorted her up the stairs. “It is not too much of a burden on him to leave the king with him, is it?”
Bastian shook his head as he mounted the stairs.
“Nay,” he said. “That is what he wants, why he told us to leave. You must understand that my father rarely leaves West Court, so the advent of new people to talk to, especially a frightened young boy, appeals to him greatly. Henry is in excellent hands.”
Gisella nodded. “I am sure he is,” she said. “I did not mean it the way it sounded. I simply meant that your father is obviously quite exhausted after his trip to Braidwood. He looked rather pale. Mayhap it is too much of a burden for him to be responsible for the king tonight.”
They had reached the top of the stairs and Bastian turned right, heading down a dimly lit corridor that had wood-paneled walls.
“I understand your concern,” he said. “Truth be told, my father’s appearance concerns me as well but he simply needs rest. Speaking to Henry before the fire will not tax him. Moreover, I will go down there in a while to check on them both.”
Gisella felt rather foolish voicing her concerns when Bastian already had everything planned out, so she kept quiet as he led her down the hall until he reached a heavy, carved door with a hunting scene etched into it. Opening the door, he ushered Gisella into the chamber beyond.
There was a fire in the hearth, illuminating the richly appointed chamber.
There was a massive four poster bed against the wall with heavy curtains hanging from the top of the frame, at least two comfortable chairs near the hearth that Gisella could see, plus a table and four frame chairs around it.
The room was large enough to support both a sleeping and eating area, another example of the de Russe wealth.
As she moved more deeply into the room and Bastian went to light the tapers near the bed, she noticed that her capcases were lined neatly against the wall.
There was also a doorway to her left, on the opposite side of the bed, and she strained to catch a glimpse of what might be beyond the doorway.
As her gaze lingered on the dark room beyond, Bastian finished lighting two fat tapers. The room began to glow.
“This will be our chamber for the duration of our stay here,” he told her.
“There is a dressing room attached that we share with the chamber next to us, one that the king will be sleeping in. I had Lady Sparrow put on this floor although I am not entirely sure which room she is in, but I will find out. I have some business to carry out with my knights at the moment but I will return shortly. I will have warm water brought up to you so that you may wash if you wish.”
Gisella faced him, watching him as he spoke, realizing she rather liked the shape of his lips.
They were full, warm, and wonderful. She remembered quite well the kisses they had deposited on her hands and that fluid, giddy feeling began to fill her again as she thought of what might lie ahead for the night.
A bed, two newly married people, and nothing to interrupt them.
“Thank you,” she said. Then, somewhat hesitantly, she spoke again. “Do you wish to know why I slapped Sir Thomas tonight? We are alone now and I will tell you. I simply did not want to tell you back at the Tower with everyone listening.”
Bastian’s gaze was steady upon her. “It does not matter why you slapped him, in truth,” he said. “What matters is that he hit you in full view of me. That cannot and will not go unanswered. When I return, you may tell me the whole story behind it.”
A warning went off in Gisella’s head. Certainly, she expected Bastian to punish the young lord but the tone in his voice, and given his reputation, she wondered if punishment would be something terribly big, indeed.
“Will you please tell me what you intend to do?” she asked softly.
Bastian turned for the door. “There is no need,” he said, pausing with his hand on the latch. “Do you require a physician to look at your jaw?”
Gisella shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I hardly feel it.”
He smiled faintly at her bravery. “Then I shall return.”
With that, Bastian quit the chamber, shutting the door softly behind him and leaving his wife, more than likely, puzzled by his response.
But that didn’t matter at the moment. He was more concerned with how to answer de la Pole.
It had been weighing heavily on his mind since it happened and there was no doubt he would do something about it.
In earnest, he went to seek out his knights.