Page 344 of Historical Hotties
Bastian shrugged. “I do not know,” he said. “It was beneath some embers, and protected by a piece of charcoal… I truly have no idea how it survived but it did.”
Braxton thought seriously on that. “Then it was divine providence that it was left intact,” he said with some awe in his tone. “God must have a purpose for it, Bastian. I do not know what it is, but mayhap he will speak to you since you have possession of it.”
Bastian shook his head. “God has never spoken to me and I do not expect him to start now,” he said. “The Maid asked me to take her remains to Winchester Cathedral, which I refused. But finding her heart in the ashes, I decided to fulfill her request.”
His father’s gaze lingered on him, hesitantly. “You said you were going to inter it,” he ventured. “If you do this, you will have to tell the priests what it is. Do you not think they will tell Gloucester or Bedford if the question arises?”
Bastian averted his gaze, looking to the parchment sent by Gloucester. “I did not intend to tell the priests,” he said quietly. “I was going to scrape away some of the dirt floor inside Winchester and quietly bury it. As you and I discussed yesterday, this is my mission and mine alone. I do not intend to pull anyone into this.”
“But what of your wife?” Braxton wanted to know. “If you are suspected… surely Gloucester will believe she knows something. Mayhap the man will want to interrogate her purely for being married to you.”
Bastian glanced at his father. “Gloucester is her uncle,” he muttered, watching surprise register on his father’s features. “Her mother was a bastard of Henry of Bolingbroke. She is of royal blood, Father. Gloucester will not touch her.”
Braxton was clearly shocked. “You did not tell me this yesterday,” he said. “You say she is a granddaughter of Henry?”
Bastian nodded, sighing gently when he thought of his new and lovely wife sleeping so soundly across the hall. “Aye,” he replied. “Henry had a liaison with a Welsh princess which resulted in Gisella’s mother. Why do you think le Bec married the woman? He was very close to Henry and I am sure Henry wanted his daughter well taken care of.”
Braxton was stunned by the revelation that his son’s new wife was related to Gloucester and Bedford. “It makes a great deal ofsense now,” he said. “Le Bec was quite old when he married. He was waiting for Henry’s daughter to come of age.”
“Indeed.”
Braxton mulled it all over for a few more moments, reconciling himself to the connections, before finally shaking his head. “It makes perfect sense now why Gloucester forced a marriage between you and Lady Gisella,” he said. “He wants to be linked to the House of de Russe through marriage. That way, he knows we can never deny him troops or money or properties ever again. We have family ties now.”
Bastian shrugged. “I am sure that crossed his mind but I am equally sure that is not the only reason,” he said. “Gisella was of marriageable age and they wanted to provide her with a suitable husband. I am worth something more than just the de Russe name, you know.”
Braxton’s old eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Not much you are,” he jested. Then, he sobered. “Back to the subject at hand, Bas– as far as Gloucester is concerned, you must answer this summons. He will want answers. If I were you, I would send him a missive immediately denying any basis for this rumor he speaks of. Demand to know who told him. Be incensed. If Gloucester thinks you are angry about this, it is more than likely he will let it go. It is not safe to rile the Beast.”
Bastian sighed as he picked up the parchment from his father’s coverlet and looked at it once more. “No need to send a missive,” he said. “I am expected in London as it is. I will see him for myself.”
“Will you leave today?”
“Aye.”
Braxton was clearly disappointed. “Where will you stay?”
“At the Tower, I would assume.”
“Bah,” Braxton spat. “No one is staying at Braidwood. You and your bride settle there. It is a half-hour walk to the Tower.You can be close but nottooclose. You may want your privacy, lad.”
Braidwood House was the de Russe townhome situated very close to the Tower of London to the east. One could see the river from the top floor, as the home was on a parcel of land that was raised. It was surrounded by a lush, park-like garden and a very tall wall. Bastian remembered it as a child but he hadn’t been there in years.
“I haven’t thought of that place in a very long time,” Bastian said. “Does anyone even use it?”
Braxton tilted his head with thought. “I think your cousin Brant did last year,” he said. “He and Martin lived there for quite some time. Martin is still there, I believe, but he’ll flee when he sees you.”
Bastian gave his father a half-grin. “He still owes me a horse.”
“He swears that he did not take that horse from you, lad. Mayhap you should believe him.”
Bastian didn’t reply other than to lift his shoulders and Braxton yawned, turning his focus to the windows to see that shades of sunrise were beginning to appear. A new day was dawning, bright and pure, and it was time to rise. Having Bastian around always made him feel young and healthy but, more than that, there was something more to focus on other than his failing health.
As he gazed at his son, he began to recall the threat he had received just before Bastian had returned from France. Aramis knew of it, as did Worthington. When Braxton found out his son was coming home from France, he was sure the first words out of his mouth to Bastian would be about the threat.From the Armagnacs,Aramis had surmised. Supporters of the Maid who believe Bastian was responsible for her death.
But now, knowing Bastian’s involvement in the Maid’s demise as he did, Braxton couldn’t bring himself to burden hisson with the threat he had received. Bastian had enough on his mind without knowing that cowards were threatening his father. He hoped they would be something that faded away as memory of the Maid faded and time marched on. If not, if they didn’t go away, then he would have to deal with them when the time came, but for now, Bastian was not to know. Braxton would make sure of it.
“Well,” he said briskly, as if to focus on something new. “Call for Elred, Bas. I must rise and dress. Will you let me break my fast with your wife? I should like a chance to see her before you take her off to London.”
Bastian stood up from the chair. “What about me?” he wanted to know. “Am I permitted to eat with you also, or is this an invitation strictly for Lady de Russe?”
