Chapter Eighteen #2
Gloucester’s gaze was intense as he looked at her, studying her for a moment. “I have come to see your husband,” he said. “Where is he?”
Braxton answered for Gisella. “He is not here, my lord,” he said. Then, he indicated the chairs that were positioned in front of the massive hearth. “Will you sit? We were about to have supper. Will you join us?”
Gloucester shook his head, to both questions. “Where is Bastian?”
Braxton remained cool and casual. “He has taken a few men and has ridden on to Wallingford Castle for a discussion with Suffolk,” he said.
“You are aware that Suffolk’s brother struck Lady Gisella, of course.
Bastian has gone to speak with Suffolk about the man’s punishment.
The king has gone with him, in fact. Bastian thought it would be a good opportunity for the boy to learn the art of negotiation. ”
Gloucester’s features tensed. “The king has gone to Wallingford?” he asked, anger in his voice. “I did not give him permission to take the king anywhere other than Braidwood.”
Braxton would not be bullied by a man he didn’t have a good deal of respect for.
“Yet you have entrusted my son to be the King’s Protector,” he pointed out.
“Do you not trust him with the king’s life in any case?
If Bastian is with the king, then the king is perfectly safe no matter where they are. ”
Gloucester eyed Braxton. He was finished with pleasantries.
“Let us cut to the meat of the situation, Sir Braxton,” he said.
“I told Bastian to let me handle the situation regarding Suffolk’s brother.
Bastian should have trusted me. Had he waited for my response to his missive from last night, he would have known that Suffolk has agreed to turn his brother over but he will not do it if Bastian comes at him with force. ”
Braxton was listening seriously. “Where is the brother?”
Gloucester threw up his hands in a frustrated gesture. “At Wallingford because it is the residence he uses when he is visiting London,” he replied, irritated. “How did Bastian know to find him there?”
Braxton knew how but he wasn’t going to tell Gloucester for fear of incriminating his nephews, Brant and Martin, who had been more than willing to divulge what they knew.
“I am not sure,” he lied. “But he found out, somehow. Where is Suffolk?”
Gloucester sighed heavily. “Riding for Wallingford as well,” he said.
“The man was in London and now he is heading to Wallingford to speak with his brother. Hopefully he will make it there before Bastian does, but who is to say? More importantly, when Bastian shows his face at Wallingford, Suffolk will more than likely be infuriated and think that I had a hand in it.”
“Then you must ride for Wallingford immediately,” Braxton said, but it sounded suspiciously like a command. “You must be there when Suffolk and Bastian come together, if for no other reason than to calm the situation.”
Gloucester growled as he turned for the door. “Damn him,” he said. “Damn Bastian. I told him to let me handle this situation. Since when did he become so impetuous and so disobedient?”
Braxton was following Gloucester as the man headed out of the room. Surprisingly, Braxton was doing it without help. He was walking unaided as he kept pace with the duke.
“Bastian is trained for war,” Braxton said quietly.
“It is that quality that has seen your French campaign successful. He answers to no man and he waits for no man. You should have known better than to make him wait in this instance. His honor is at stake and you know it. He would not wait to redeem it. Would you have waited under the same circumstances?”
Gloucester paused at the entry door, looking at Braxton with a mixture of frustration and understanding. It was an odd expression, indeed. After a moment, he grunted.
“Suffolk will be lucky to survive this if he challenges Bastian,” he muttered. Then, he pointed a finger at Braxton. “Why did you not go with him? At least he would have had your level head.”
“My brother, Aramis, is with him. He will keep him sane.”
Gloucester appeared horrified. “Aramis de Russe would drown his own mother if he thought there would be gain in it for him,” he said, waving his knights on and the men in armor began running back to their horses in the courtyard.
“If he believes sinking Suffolk will gain him loot or properties, he’ll encourage Bastian to drive his sword into the man’s gullet! ”
With that, he was off, leaving Braxton and Gisella standing in the entryway, watching as Gloucester and his men departed the torch-lit courtyard of Braidwood in the hopes of averting a disaster at Wallingford Castle.
As quickly as they had come, they departed, leaving an odd and tense silence in their wake.
But Braxton had a smirk on his face as he watched the man go even if Gisella wasn’t quite so humored. She was positive that Bastian would be thrown in the Tower once Gloucester caught up with him. She turned to her father-in-law.
“Bastian is in a great deal of trouble,” she said fearfully. “What do you think will happen when Gloucester catches up to him?”
Braxton shrugged as he closed the entry door. “It will be most terrible.”
Gisella looked stricken. “Why?” she demanded. “What will happen?”
Braxton reached out and put his arm around her slender shoulders, leading her back to the reception room with its stack of painted cards and roaring blaze.
“Gloucester will catch up to Bastian and throw a fit,” he said, “whereupon Bastian will listen to the man but he will not agree. Suffolk will enter into it and the three of them will sit around and get raging drunk, and then Suffolk will agree to flog his brother on behalf of Bastian. Bastian will hardly care at that point and they will have a wild party all night long. How does that sound?”
Gisella was grinning reluctantly by that point. “You jest when I am serious,” she said. “I know Gloucester. He is a vengeful and spoiled man. I am worried that he will punish Bastian.”
Braxton shook his head as they reached the fireplace and he directed Gisella to sit in one of the warm chairs nearby.
“He will become angry but I doubt he will punish him,” he replied.
“He understands Bas. More than that, he needs the man. To punish him or lock him up would put the wars in France at great risk. Never forget that Gloucester and Bedford need Bastian far more than he needs them. Everything will work out in Bastian’s favor, Lady de Russe. You must have faith.”
Gisella could only hope that he was correct.
Collins brought supper in at that point, followed by Sparrow and a few kitchen servants, and a lovely meal was set upon the massive table in the center of the reception room.
A delicious beef and barley stew was presented along with fish with mustard, stewed figs and stewed carrots, and big hunks of freshly baked bread.
While Braxton and Sparrow ate their fill and threatened each other with a good-natured beating over the Chess board that Collins finally brought forth from the solar, Gisella sat in front of the fire and picked at her bread, her thoughts lingering on Gloucester now riding off to intercept Bastian.
No matter what Braxton said, Gisella was fretful over the meeting.
Bastian’s journey to Wallingford was dangerous enough without the added threat of Gloucester riding to stop him.
Braxton had said that Gloucester needed Bastian more than Bastian needed him. Truth was, Gisella needed Bastian more than the crown did. They were newly married and the thrill of discovering one another was only getting better. She never wanted it to end.
As the moon rose in the black velvet night above, Gisella found herself praying for her husband.
*
The man appeared at the gates of Braidwood sometime before midnight.
He was limping, holding his torso, and groaning of an attack near the waterfront.
He begged the men on guard at Braidwood to let him in, pleading for their mercy, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
The sentries in the small gatehouse of Braidwood watched the man crumple at the base of the gatehouse, crying miserably.
They had been left instructions by Sir Bastian not to open the gates to anyone they did not recognize and trust, and the weeping man against the gates did not fit that decree.
The wind was picking up a bit now, blowing dark clouds in from the east that were beginning to cover up the moon in intermittent bursts, but the sentries of Braidwood continued to ignore the pleas of the man in front of their big iron gates.
As the night deepened and the clouds rolled, they took to ignoring the cries.
The shift changed just after midnight and four guards came on at the gatehouse, replacing the six that had been there throughout the day.
There were other guards on duty but they were at one of the six small towers that lined the walls, one man per tower, with a total of ten men on duty from midnight to sunrise.
The outgoing shift headed to the bunkhouse on the south side of the complex, a small structure that was dormitory-like in nature and could sleep up to seventy men at time.
As those men tucked in for the night, the four guards at the gatehouse watched the stranger at the gates as he pleaded for help.
But this shift of guards largely ignored him as well, all except for one young guard who hadn’t yet learned to harden his heart where it pertained to the world around him.
He hadn’t learned those difficult lessons of life yet and when his three companions sat down on the ground floor room on the south side of the gatehouse and began to roll Bones for money, the young guard wandered back up to the top floor to watch the man at the gates below.