Page 339 of Historical Hotties
The next step was running a comb through her hair, rapidly, and braiding it into an elegant braid that draped over her right shoulder and trailed to her thighs. Her smaller capcase contained cosmetics and creams, and she quickly ran a rouge-tinted lip balm over her lips. Against her pale skin and in contrast to her dark hair, the slightly-red lips were positively stunning. Gazing at herself in the small polished mirror of precious glass that was part of the dressing table, she thought she looked rather acceptable for such a quick dressing job. Bolstering her courage for what she was about to face, she prayed that she would make a good impression as she quit the chamber.
Bastian was still standing where she had left him, about halfway down the corridor. As she approached him in the dim light, their gazes locked and she forced a smile.
“I am ready, my lord,” she said pleasantly. “Thank you for waiting.”
Bastian couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d never seen her properly dressed, or groomed, and he had to admit that, at this moment, she took his breath away. She was an exquisite creature and he was positive his father would think so, too. In fact, he was rather speechless as he looked at her. All he could think to do at that moment was extend his elbow, which she graciously accepted. He began to lead her towards the stairs.
“My father will be pleased,” he finally said. “He is an old man and I do not believe he has left this house for at least a year, probably longer. Visitors are very important to him and you, in particular, are of great interest. He will more than likely wish to discuss your father, so be prepared. He will have many questions.”
Gisella was lingering over the thought of how big his elbow was in her hand. She’d seen her share of men, including her father who was extremely tall, but she’d never seen a man with not only Bastian’s height but also his breadth. It was truly something to behold. Lingering on his size, she had a difficult time concentrating on his statement.
“Fortunately, I am an expert on all things Richmond le Bec,” she said, shaking off her reflection of his bulk. “I would not be surprised if your father knows him. Most older knights do, you know.”
Bastian took her hand off his elbow politely as he preceded her down the stairs. “I met your father, once, a very long time ago,” he said. “Would it be impolite to say that he was old even back then?”
Gisella giggled. “It would not,” she said. “My father was fifty and one years of age when I was born, which makes him sixty years and nine right now. All things considered, he is quiteold but still moderately healthy. He says my mother keeps him young and fit.”
Bastian politely took her elbow as they came to the second floor landing and moved to the next flight of steps that would take them to the ground floor.
“I’ve not met your mother,” Bastian said. “Your parents have been married for many years, have they not? I seem to remember hearing that, once.”
Gisella nodded. “My mother is an illegitimate daughter of Henry of Bolingbroke,” she said. “Her mother was a Welsh princess, a cousin to Owen Glyndower. My father was assigned as her protector from the time she was very small and they ended up falling in love when she came of age. My mother had just turned eighteen years when she married my father, who was forty years at the time. She is, therefore, a good deal younger than him. That is why my father says that she keeps him young.”
Bastian struggled not to appear too shocked or too impressed by her admission. “Then you are a granddaughter of a king,” he said. “That makes you related to young King Henry as well as Bedford and Gloucester.”
Gisella nodded. “Didn’t Gloucester tell you that?” she asked. “His father is my grandfather, which makes him my uncle on my mother’s side.”
Bastian couldn’t help the look of both surprise and exasperation. “He did not tell me any of this.”
By this time, they were at the bottom of the steps, now in the entry of the great manor. The great hall was directly in front of them and, already, the smells of food wafted in the air. But Gisella wasn’t paying attention to the sounds and smells of the morning meal. She was focused on Bastian and their conversation.
“It is true,” she said. “But my father does not particularly like the royal circles so he has raised us modestly. He says he doesnot like the direction the monarchy is taking right now, but I do not think Gloucester knows that. You probably should not tell him.”
Bastian was still reeling with the fact that he had married a bride of royal blood and was now essentially related to Gloucester, but when he looked down at her after her last sentence, he could see that she was smiling up at him in a playful manner, as if she had let him in on a great family secret. Seeing the impish grin on her face caused the corners of his lips to twitch. He simply couldn’t help it.
“Your father’s opinion is safe with me,” he said. “Mostly because I cannot disagree with him. Shall we go in and greet my father?”
Gisella nodded, her heart fluttering when he collected her hand and tucked it gently into the crook of his elbow. She had no idea what had brought about such a change in the man, from rude one moment to polite the next, but she wasn’t going to question it. She was, in fact, enjoying it more than she cared to admit.
The great hall of West Court was a massive room that ran nearly the length of the house. There were long, thin lancet windows that faced the river, allowing for the wonderful river breeze to infiltrate the hall. The walls were lined with what looked like family crests, made out of pieces of colored wood, and there was elaborate woodwork near the ceiling that was very dark in color. It was polished, or waxed somehow, because the sheen brought out the rich color of the wood.
There were several feasting tables in the hall, eight in total, and each one seated up to eight people. The tables were long, heavy, and well-used, but only three of these tables were in use at the moment and there were several people seated at them, eating their share of the morning meal. Smells came from thesetables, laden with food as they were, and dogs hovered beneath them, waiting for the scraps.
Bastian led Gisella over to the corner of the room where the meal was going on, crossing the floor that was made from pieces of gray slate and, oddly enough, swept clean. No rushes, no straw to absorb the droppings of diners– it was literally swept clean and that was very unusual. They passed by a stone hearth that five big men could have easily fit into. It was sectioned off with a fire burning in one corner and another corner that had an iron table on it and iron arms that were built into the wall of the fireback. One arm held an iron pot full of something bubbling and there was still another iron pot on the iron table that was steaming. It was a very functional hearth and the servants milled around it, bringing forth the steaming pots to the diners.
Gisella found it all quite interesting as Bastian took her over to a table tucked near the corner. As she approached, a big man with a head of silver hair and a silver and black beard rose. As she drew near, he opened his arms to her.
“This must be Lady Gisella,” the man said, putting his ham-sized hands on her shoulders and kissing her loudly on each cheek. When he released her, he was smiling broadly. “Bas, you did not fully impress upon me just how beautiful your new wife truly was. All of the angels in Heaven surely must be jealous of her.”
Bastian smiled faintly at his overly-dramatic father. “I told you she was exquisite,” he said, turning his attention to Gisella. “My lady, this is my father, Sir Braxton de Russe.”
Gisella had assumed that even before the introduction and dipped into a polite curtsey. “My lord,” she greeted. “It is a delight and an honor to meet you.”
The rest of the family was crowding around now; Uncle Aramis, Braxton’s older brother, and Worthington, too. Two women, over at the other table, rose to join them. As Gisellastood there, it seemed as if the entire de Russe clan was gathering around her. Bastian began pointing people out.
“Standing next to my father is my Uncle Aramis, Duke of Warminster, and his son, Worthington,” he said, moving from one person to the next. “Worthington is a troublemaker, however, so avoid him at all costs. The lady standing next to Worth is his mother, the Lady Cynthia, and the lady next to her is my aunt, Beatrice. My father has three brothers and Beatrice is married to the youngest, Hugh. They have two sons, Brant and Martin, and I’ve not seen Martin in years, not since he stole a horse from me and I threatened to cut off his… well, I threatened to cut off something very valuable to him so we shall leave it at that.”
The relatives tittered and Beatrice, a thin woman with dark eyes, reached out a hand to gently take Gisella’s.
