Chapter Twenty-Two #3
Henry nodded seriously. “I will not tell them if you let me go with you to bury her heart.”
Bastian’s eyebrows lifted at a clear threat, only Henry didn’t see it that way.
He more than likely saw it as a bargain, as he’d undoubtedly heard thousands of bargains from men around him throughout his young life.
Bargain or not, Bastian could see how badly the boy wanted to go. He sighed faintly.
“It is out of the question,” he said. “You cannot go.”
Henry appeared stricken. “But why?” he asked. “Please, Sir Bastian, you must take me. I must go with you.”
Bastian shook his head. “It is madness, Your Grace,” he said. “I cannot remove you from London, first of all, without permission from Gloucester. He would want to know where we were going. He would want to send along a guard.”
Henry shook his head furiously, grabbing hold of Bastian’s arm.
“You would not have to tell him the truth,” he insisted, then appeared dismayed that he had suggested subversion.
Still, he didn’t back down. “Tell him you are taking me somewhere else. You once wanted to take me to your castle of Etonbury, didn’t you?
I remember the name. We can tell him that you are taking me to Etonbury. ”
Bastian simply didn’t understand why Henry thought it so imperative to accompany him to Winchester. In fact, he seemed almost frantic about it.
“Why is it so important to you?” he asked softly.
Henry nodded without hesitation and his expression took on a pensive cast. “Mayhap… mayhap if you let me help you bury her heart, God will forgive me for killing her,” he said quietly.
“My armies in France are there for me, to keep my properties. Men like you. You kill in my name. My uncles have killed in my name so I am afraid that God will think I killed her. I suppose I really did.”
It was an extraordinarily mature way to look at the situation, something that touched Bastian deeply.
I wonder if he even has a free will? That question kept rolling over in his mind, a question Gisella had once asked him.
It would seem the boy was growing up before their eyes, a new found maturity that came with the confidence others placed in him.
Being with people who respected him and did not try to control him, accomplished that in some small way.
In fact, Bastian turned to his wife to see what her reaction was to all of this.
Surprisingly, Gisella didn’t appear as panicked as she had earlier when she realized Henry had been listening in on their conversation. She met Bastian’s gaze, suspecting he was looking for her opinion on the matter.
“Mayhap it would ease his mind,” she suggested quietly. “It seems very important to him.”
Bastian’s gaze was soft on her. “Mayhap it would ease yours, too,” he said.
“Will you come? My father would chastise me for taking you along, but… but mayhap it is important to you, too. We can bury it together and be done with it. Burying the past, so to speak, because I do not want my past clouding our future together.”
His statement had a double meaning. Not only would he be completing the task asked of him by the Maid, but he would be proving to his wife that the Maid had only been a task and nothing more.
It was important for them both, in many ways.
Where the heart of the Maid had once threatened to tear them apart, burying it would unite them more deeply than ever before.
It was a hope he had. You shall be rewarded, the Maid had told him.
He hadn’t realized until now that her statement could mean many different things.
Perhaps his greatest reward would be a bond with Gisella, stronger than ever.
“Bas,” Wellesbourne was suddenly in the doorway, breaking them from their conversation. When three pairs of eyes turned to him, Andrew focused on Bastian. “The carriage is ready. We are prepared to depart.”
Bastian nodded in acknowledgement, extending a hand to his wife and helping her from the chair.
The subject was closed, at least for the time being.
But Gisella was weak, and exhausted, and she clung to his arm as he walked her and Henry from the room.
Bastian could feel how heavily she was leaning against him and it concerned him.
“What is wrong?” he asked softly as they made their way to the door. “Why are you so weak?”
Gisella shrugged. “I have not eaten much lately, I suppose,” she said. “Nor have I slept. But I will be all right. Do not fret.”
Bastian frowned. “Sparrow is bringing food in the carriage,” he said. “I will make sure she knows that you are to eat something.”
“I will make sure she eats something,” Henry said. He was hearing every word spoken. “I am riding in the carriage, too. I will give her food.”
Bastian looked at the boy with a mock frown. “Can I not have a private conversation with my wife without your interference, Your Grace?”
Henry grinned, looking between Gisella’s pale, smiling face and Bastian’s bad attempt at a scowl. “Nay,” he said. “I am the king. I must know everything.”
Bastian’s scowl grew. “You shall know my hand to your backside if you do not stop listening to personal conversations.”
Henry laughed and skipped away, down the front steps where the carriage waited to take them to the ferry.
Gisella and Bastian followed, with Bastian carefully escorting his wife to the carriage and helping her into the cab.
He made sure she had a piece of bread in her hand before he went off to find his horse.
The white stallion was at the head of the procession along with Aramis and Gloucester.
Bastian mounted the horse, unaware that Gloucester was scrutinizing both him and the animal.
Gloucester recognized the beast. In fact, he had given it to Gisella a few weeks ago as a token of his admiration for her.
Now, Bastian was riding it. Gloucester wasn’t sure if Gisella had told Bastian about the unnerving attention he’d showed towards her and he didn’t want to ask.
Still, he was quite incensed to see that Bastian was riding a very expensive horse, and one that he had paid dearly for.
As Bastian gathered his reins, Gloucester rode his steed alongside.
“Beautiful horse, Bastian,” Gloucester said, trying very hard to be casual about it. “Wherever did you get it?”
Bastian knew very well what Gloucester was referring to.
He had expected the man to comment about the horse sooner or later and he had his response well planned.
It would be one of those moments he wished he could tell his father about because he knew the man would have had a great belly laugh over it.
“My wife gave it to me as a wedding gift,” he said evenly.
“He is quite the magnificent beast but my wife had no use for it. I think some pompous nobleman gave it to her – you know the type – like alley cats looking for the next female cat to mount. Those men are always the worst fools, giving expensive gifts to women who would rather commit themselves to a nunnery than allow the man close to them. But his loss is my gain. Mayhap someday I shall meet this fool and thank him for my lovely horse.”
With that, Bastian lifted his arm and the column began to move, heading towards the great open gates of Braidwood’s courtyard.
As Bastian spurred the white stallion forward, he didn’t dare look at Gloucester for fear of bursting into giggles because he had no doubt the man was red-faced and furious behind him.
He’d gotten the better of Gloucester and the man couldn’t do a thing about it.
Somewhere above him, he swore he could hear his father’s laughter.