Page 404 of Historical Hotties
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Village of East Stratton
Four miles north of Winchester
Bastian was up,pulling on his boots, preparing to go downstairs and order some food for his wife. She was sleeping soundly now, just before dawn, and he was loathe to wake her, but they were so close to their destination that he was eager to reach it.
It had been two days of riding at a clipped pace, starting before dawn and ending well after dark. Bastian wanted to make it to Winchester within three days and Gisella, to her credit, hadn’t complained once. They’d ridden through sun and rain, and she had been strong and determined through it all. Bastian couldn’t have been prouder of her or more impressed. This woman he had married, this lovely woman he had fallen in love with, was stronger than he could have imagined.
He had tried to bring her comfort at night when they stopped, finding the best inn he could and securing the best room available. Gisella had been provided with a hot bath each night and an abundance of food and drink. The bath had been gratefully accepted, as had the food, but she had been soexhausted that she had literally fallen into bed with her clothes on twice.
Bastian had gently removed her shoes before wrapping her up in the coverlet and climbing into bed beside her. There hadn’t been the opportunity for intimacy during this trip, to express the plethora of emotions that were swamping them both, but he had not been troubled by it. They had the rest of their lives to know each other as husband and wife, again and again, and he was greatly anticipating what was to come.
On this third morning after leaving Braidwood, Bastian headed downstairs to the common room of the rather large inn on the edge of a village called East Stratton, not far from Winchester. There were people sleeping all around the room. It looked as if it were a room full of dolls, all cast aside in every possible position. Snoring filled the air as well as the occasional fart or cough. It was fairly dark but for the fire in the big, dirty hearth and the glow coming from the kitchen area to the rear of the structure.
Bastian headed into the kitchen area and found the innkeeper as he and his baker churned out loaves of cheaply made brown bread for the day. He ordered a meal brought up to his room so that he and Gisella could eat and quickly be gone, and as he was leaving the kitchen, the innkeeper and a serving wench were putting together a substantial morning meal of bread, cheese, and porridge. Now, his thoughts moved to the day ahead and of what was to come, of the task he must complete. His mind on other things, he headed for the stairs.
Near the staircase was a small table, leaning, and someone was sitting in the chair beside it, their upper body splayed out over the tabletop. It was dark and as Bastian passed by, he accidentally bumped the table. He didn’t give it much thought until the person’s head came up, startled, and he heard a sleepy groan. His boot was on the first step, preparing to go upstairsto his wife, but something made him stop. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about that groan that sounded oddly familiar.
Bastian turned to peer closely at the person at the table, sitting in almost complete darkness, and he came off the stairs. Moving closer to the table, he strained to see who it was and why that groan had seemed so very familiar. As the figure lifted its head and some of the ambient light in the room fell upon the features, it was Bastian’s turn to groan. God help him, he nearly shouted.
It was Henry.
Bastian lashed out a big hand and grabbed the boy’s arm, startled speechless by the sight. He could hardly believe it. Henry, on the other hand, had no idea who was grabbing him and opened his mouth to yell but Bastian slapped a hand over the great gaping royal lips.
“Henry!” he hissed. “It’s Bastian. Look atme!”
Henry did, his eyes widening with recognition and surprise. Before the boy could say another word, Bastian removed his hand and yanked the boy up from the chair, dragging him up the stairs and into the chamber he shared with his wife.
Gisella was still sleeping when Bastian pulled the king into the room and shut the door, bolting it. He let the boy go but he was gazing at him with such surprise that Henry nearly lost his courage. He was afraid Bastian was very angry with him but up until this point, he had shown a great deal of courage in what he had done. He had been confident and surprisingly resourceful for such a sheltered lad. But now, looking at Bastian’s expression, his courage began to waver.
“I had to come,” Henry said quickly. “I told you I had to come and even though my uncle said that I could not, Ihadto. It is important to me, Bastian. Please do not be angry.”
Bastian wasn’t angry but he was quite astonished. And frightened if he was to admit it to himself. He could see that the boy was verging on tears so he reached out to grasp him again, perhaps in a comforting gesture even though he really didn’t want to comfort him. He wanted to beat him.
By this time, Gisella had been awoken by the noise and she rolled over, gasping aloud when she saw the young king.
“Henry!” she cried softly, struggling to sit up in bed. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Henry looked at Gisella, feeling progressively panicked. Gisella and Bastian did not appear particularly happy to see him and he was terrified that they were going to return him back to London before he could help them complete their task. Even though Bastian had him by the arm, he began to back away.
“I had to come,” he said again, looking between the two of them. “It was not right of my uncle not to allow me to come. He does not understand why this is so important to me and I will not tell him. I promised Bastian that I would never tell about the Maid’s heart, and I will not. But I must help you bury her heart. It is something Imustdo.”
Astonished, Gisella looked at Bastian for his reaction, but he was looking at the boy with a mixture of disbelief and resignation.
“Howdid you get here, Your Grace?” he asked, trying not to sound as if he was demanding.
The boy struggled not to appear too contrite, as if he hadn’t been terribly disobedient. “I followed you,” he said. “I took a horse from Braidwood and I followed you. I have been following you for two days.”
Bastian’s eyebrows lifted. “And I never noticed you? Impossible.”
Henry nodded firmly. “It is true,” he insisted. “You are riding a white horse and I could see him in the distance. I rode inthe trees or in the grass. I stayed off the road because I was afraid someone might try to harm me if I remained in the open. I hid a lot. When you stopped at night, I found your horse in the livery. It was not difficult. The first night, I slept with your horse and ran away when you came to collect it. But last night, the innkeeper let me sleep inside because I helped him carry firewood.”
Bastian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The King of England was sleeping in stables and carrying firewood. Although struggling with his outrage, he was more than amazed that the timid, shy king had actually had the courage to follow his heart and pursue Bastian and Gisella even though he had been denied permission to travel with them. He’d often wondered if this lad, this only son of a great and brave king, had something of his father in him. Now, there was no doubt in Bastian’s mind that he did. The lad did indeed have his father’s courage. Still, he’d made the situation very bad, indeed.
“Henry,” he said, sighing heavily. “You have shown overwhelming courage and determination, something that would have made your father very proud. But you have also shown recklessness and disobedience. What do you think Gloucester will say to all of this? The man is undoubtedly looking for you and, quite possibly, even believes I somehow abducted you. Did you ever think about that?”
Henry frowned. “I will tell him that you did not abduct me,” he said. “I wanted to come with you!”
