Page 323 of Historical Hotties
Lucas and Gannon sped after him, following him as he made his way deeper into the room, on the hunt for the Duke of Gloucester. Diners, noting the enormous, dirty knights in their midst, began to whisper and point, but Bastian didn’t notice and even if he did he would not have cared. He was singularly focused on finding Gloucester in the midst of the chaos. As he rounded the corner of one of the tables, his gaze came to rest on the man himself.
Gloucester was several feet away in conversation with someone Bastian didn’t recognize. Bastian hadn’t seen Gloucester in a year, however, and even though he recognized the man, he noted how badly he had aged during that time. The brown hair was turning shades of gray.That’s what a wife will do to you, he thought. Without reserve, he marched up on Gloucester and made sure the man saw him.
Gloucester couldn’t help but see Bastian, a man at least a head and shoulders taller than even the tallest man in the room. His enormous, imposing presence filled up all air and space. Gloucester was so surprised that he nearly dropped the goldenchalice in his hand when he realized Bastian was in his midst. His thick lips opened in surprise.
“Bastian!” he gasped. Then, he laughed loudly and grasped Bastian by the arm. “By God’s Holy Rood, the Beast himself. I had heard your ships had docked in London but I truly did not expect to see you until tomorrow, old friend.”
Bastian was impatient and exhausted, a bad combination. It was a struggle to be polite. “Your Grace,” he greeted evenly. “I received word that you wanted to see me immediately. I did not delay.”
Humphrey of Lancaster, Duke of Gloucester, displayed all the signs of a man who was truly thrilled to see Bastian. He beamed at him and Gloucester was not a beaming man. Congenial at times, loyal, courageous, and scholarly, Humphrey embodied what a well-rounded prince should be. As the youngest son of Henry IV, he was close with his brothers, with his nephew the young king, and consequently close to the men who served them. He was particularly fond of Bastian.
“It is very agreeable to see you again,” Gloucester said. “You seem healthy and whole enough.”
Bastian nodded. “Indeed I am, Your Grace,” he said. “I am relieved to be back in England and hope to see my father very soon. He has not been well.”
The smile on Gloucester’s face faded somewhat. “I know,” he said. “Braxton de Russe was a very great knight, once. He served my father and then my brother flawlessly. I am sorry for his troubles.”
Bastian dipped his head in thanks. “As am I,” he replied. “Therefore, I should like to see him as soon as possible. If you would not mind coming to the point of your summons right away, I would be grateful.”
Gloucester was already in motion, complying with the request. He pulled Bastian along with him as he moved. “Comewith me, then,” he said. “I shall not take much of your time, but it is important that we speak.”
Bastian directed Lucas and Gannon to remain in the hall with a simple hand gesture, following Gloucester as the man pulled him along, introducing him to guests as he went, pointing out the great de Russe knight known as Beast and watching the expressions on the diners’ faces. Soon enough, everyone was whispering about de Russe and pointing in his direction as Gloucester dragged him through the well-lit, fragrant hall. As they passed by the last long table in the “U” formation, Bastian pointed to the actors still on the floor before them.
“May I ask what goes on, Your Grace?” he asked the duke. “My knights and I were attempting to figure it out.”
Gloucester paused, a sly grin on his lips as he watched what had once again become mock combat. “Do you not know King Richard and the fall of Acre when you see it?” he asked, lightly done. “My wife enjoys entertainment, so nearly every night we have some manner of performance. Tonight, it will be a re-enactment of Richard’s victory over Saladin. This will go on for most of the night. Count yourself fortunate that you must leave.”
Bastian glanced at the duke and, seeing that the man was smiling, he gave the man a half-grin. “I am very sorry I will miss it, Your Grace.”
“Nay, you are not.”
“Nay, I am not.”
Gloucester snorted. Then, he pointed to the performance as a wooden ship of some kind, brightly painted, emerged from a corner of the room. There were men walking the ship into the hall, men who were also dressed as the ship’s crew, and they began firing mock arrows at the men in mortal combat.
“That isnotwhat happened,” he said flatly. “Acre wasnota naval battle. I told my wife this but she does not want to listen. She directs these plays, you know. It is her passion.”
Bastian merely nodded his head, cocking an eyebrow at the ridiculousness of it when someone in the ship stumbled and the entire ship fell down and the actors with it. The crowd laughed loudly at the spectacle as the men with the ship struggled to stand up with the ungainly wooden ship frame around them. Gloucester rolled his eyes.
“Idiots, all of them,” he sighed. “But I will say that my sympathy is with them. My wife does a new play every night, so they have little time to prepare. Speaking of prepared, did you see the angel hanging from the gallery above them?”
He was pointing again, now to the woman who was still suspended over the crowd. She was still singing, a faint tune now, alluring and sweet. She was also still spinning in a slow circle as men reached up, trying to touch her hands which were always slightly out of reach. Bastian watched the woman at a distance.
“Aye,” he finally said. “Le Bec said it was his sister.”
Gloucester nodded. “That is Lady Gisella le Bec, daughter of the mighty Richmond le Bec,” he said. “She is one of my wife’s favorite courtiers. She is cultured, skilled, intelligent, and wildly beautiful. Every man at Bella Court is in love with her to some degree, but she is a very reserved young woman. She shuns them all. I heard rumor there was a knight who had her heart but he was killed in France. You probably know him. In fact, I believe he was a distant cousin of yours. Maxim de Shera was his name.”
Bastian looked at him in surprise. “Indeed, I knew him,” he said. “He was killed during the Siege of Orleans two years ago. He took an arrow meant for me.”
Gloucester nodded. “I heard,” he said grimly. “A fine knight, I was told, but I must say that I would rather have him take the arrow than you.”
Bastian thought back to the knight, a second cousin, who had been a handsome man, skilled, with a French whore whofollowed him everywhere. He had at least three children with the woman and they were, for all intents and purposes, a married couple. Scratching his neck, Bastian returned his attention to the young woman hanging from the gallery.
“He was quite skilled,” he said, deciding not to make any mention of the camp whore or the children. “I felt his loss deeply. You say that Lady Gisella was in love with him?”
Gloucester nodded, seemingly mesmerized by the twirling lady in the distance. “That was the rumor,” he said. “But I do not know any more than that. In any case, the lady has kept herself quite pure and quite removed from any suitors within my wife’s court. She is well respected, and much liked, and that is why my wife and I decided she needed a husband of some wealth and prestige. She will make you a fine wife, Bastian. Congratulations.”
Bastian knew Gloucester had been leading up to the marital contract as he watched his betrothed hang rather provocatively from a silken cord. He sighed deeply. “Does her father approve of this union?” he asked, knowing it would be of no avail to argue for his right to bachelorhood. “The last thing I want is an angry Richmond le Bec after me.”
