Page 357 of Historical Hotties
“I am sorry if we startled you,” he said to her. “This is my cousin, Martin, whom I’ve not seen in a few years.”
Gisella wasn’t quite sure how she felt about all of that wrestling, which had seemed more like fighting to her. It had been rather frightening as she looked to Martin, now picking himself up off of the slate floor.
“Ah,” she said. “The horse thief. I have heard of you, Sir Martin. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I think.”
Martin stood up, brushing off his elbows, both of which were now bruised. He was big, more muscle than flab, with a head of curly dark hair. He was also younger than Gisella had first thought. The man was in his early twenties at the very most. He had a rather cherubic face.
“Lady de Russe,” Martin greeted. “Bas just told us of his marriage. Welcome to the family, although you picked the wrong de Russe to marry. You should not have married such a wretched, violent man.”
Gisella smiled. “I would rather marry the wretched de Russe than the thief,” she teased, turning her focus to Bastian. “Is this how you always greet your cousin? By wrestling him to the ground?”
Bastian nodded as if that was the most normal thing in the world. “Of course,” he said. “Don’t you?”
Gisella laughed. “Not usually,” she said, moving towards her husband when he extended a hand to her. She took it, experiencing the warmth around her small appendage and feeling giddy with the sensation as she faced Martin. “I suppose the only way you can avoid this in the future is to admit that you stole his toy horse. Otherwise, you will both look very foolish as elderly men trying to wrestle each other to the ground.”
Martin shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, inspecting her more closely. “God’s Teeth, Bas, she’s a beauty. Why on earth would she agree to marry the man called Beast?”
Gisella and Bastian looked at each other and they both ended up chuckling. “Trust me when I say that she did not agree at first,” Bastian said. “I am not even entirely sure if she agrees now, but we are married and it is finished. Now she must make the best of it.”
Gisella squeezed his hand. “I am satisfied.”
Bastian smiled warmly at her, causing her giddiness to increase and her knees to tremble. It was a wholly remarkable feeling and she would have been quite content to bask in it had they both not been distracted, for now entering the reception room was a second man, almost as tall as Bastian and built nearly the same. He was quite handsome with a long, straightnose and smoky gray eyes. As he walked into the room, looking at the carnage, his head wagged back and forth reproachfully.
“You two are going to destroy this house some day with your antics,” he said, his focus settling on Gisella. He dipped his head in a gallant bow. “I heard the introduction. Lady de Russe, I am Brant de Russe, Martin’s brother. Welcome to Braidwood.”
Gisella smiled at the man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with a rather regal manner about him. She curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Brant,” she said. “Am I to understand that you do not greet Bastian the way your brother does?”
Brant’s lips flickered with a smile. He seemed a bit more controlled and austere than Martin did. “Nay, my lady, I do not,” he said. “I leave that greeting to this pair, for they surely cannot overcome their difference of opinion and have not been able to since they were about six years of age. Bastian says that Martin stole his toy horse and Martin denies it. It is quite a dilemma for them.”
Bastian grunted. “One day I shall wrest a confession from him,” he said. “Mark my words.”
Martin’s dark eyes flashed. “Never!” he hissed. “I hate you and your stupid horse, do you hear? God’s Bones, I am famished. Has the nooning meal been served yet?”
The subject changed swiftly but it was completely natural, as if the wrestling between them was of no consequence and it was on to more important things. Bastian shook his head to his cousin’s question.
“Not yet,” he said. “We only just arrived here less than an hour ago. We will eat with you before departing to the Tower. There is much to tell you both. Much has happened since we last met.”
Martin turned to bellow for Collins, demanding food, as he began removing his heavy leather gloves. Both he and Brant were in pieces of plate armor, not the full regalia that Bastianwas dressed in. Their dress was far more casual but they were wearing the same tunics– bright blue with a shield of red upon it. They began throwing gloves and cloaks onto the table in front of them as they engaged Bastian in conversation about the situation in Rouen. It was all military talk, however. Surprisingly, no one brought up the Maid, as they seemed more interested in the situation in general and Bedford’s military plans. They were detailed battle plans, coming from Bastian mostly, and the younger cousins soaked it up.
Gisella learned, from the conversation, that both Martin and Brant served Richard de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, and had therefore spent their time in either London or Cirencester, where the young king was based, as de Beauchamp was in charge of the young king’s schooling. They also knew that Bastian had been given the title of King’s Protector, something that confused them greatly and they demanded to know what Bastian had done to have Bedford relegate him to the king’s nursemaid. Listening to them speak, it was as if Bastian was the greatest warrior on the planet, now consigned to watching over a young boy in what was surely a greatly humiliating demotion. It was then that the subject of the Maid was introduced.
As Collins and a few house servants brought trays of food into the reception room and set it upon that beautiful, big table with the pewter candlesticks, Bastian remained silent with regards to the subject of the Maid. He wasn’t about to say anything in front of the servants, even trusted de Russe servants, so he kept his mouth shut on the matter and neither Brant nor Martin pressed him. Lucas and Gannon eventually joined them in the reception room and the focus shifted to the nooning meal.
There was a huge amount of edibles presented and Gisella was impressed with the culinary talents of Braidwood’s cook because she saw many things that she’d seen on Lady Gloucester’s table, or at least variations of it. There were littledoughy cakes filled with almond paste, baked in honey and wine, as well as a very large knuckle of beef with a good deal of meat on it. More pastries lined the table including boiled figs slathered in honey and small, hard cakes also basted in butter and honey. There were cheese tarts, beans and onions, and big hunks of yellow bread with a thick, brown crust.
All things considered, it was a great feast and Gisella and Sparrow sat at the table with Gannon and Lucas, the women eating from the same trencher, as Bastian and his cousins ate standing up, food in hand, speaking on mostly family-related matters. Gisella wasn’t paying much attention to Bastian because at this particular moment, Gannon and Sparrow had her attention.
Sparrow was clearly enamored with Gannon and kept glancing at him, but her brother was being stubborn and refused to look at the woman. It was an odd stand-off with Gannon clearly uncomfortable and Sparrow being about as obvious as she could possibly be. As Bastian and his cousins got into a heated discussion over something that had to do with Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, Gisella fixed on her brother.
“Gannon,” she said, picking at the cheese tart. “Are you planning on going back to France soon or will you be remaining in London with Bastian?”
Gannon looked up from his beef. “I am assigned to Bastian, so where he goes, I go,” he said, looking back to his meal. “But I have had enough of France, to be truthful. I think we all have.”
Gisella watched him pull apart a big, fatty piece of meat. “Has it been terrible, then?” she asked.
He shrugged, shoving a piece of stringy meat into his mouth. “I have spent far too much time there,” he said. “I have been fighting in France since the Battle of Vernueil almost seven years ago. It feels like a lifetime.”
Gisella wasn’t unsympathetic. “What will you do now that you are home and have no more wars to fight?”
