Page 393 of Historical Hotties
Bastian glanced at his knights, motioning them out of the tent. Although he wanted to humiliate Thomas in the worst way, it was a show of consideration to Suffolk not to have his brother’s humiliation made public. When his knights filed out, leaving only Aramis and Brant in the tent along with Henry and Suffolk, Bastian focused on Thomas.
“It is a lowly and cowardly man who would strike a woman,” he said, his voice quiet and threatening. “Never mind that it was my wife. Any man who takes a hand to any woman is the lowest of the low. With that in mind, mayhap you will remember this punishment the next time you have the urge to strike a woman. If I hear of you doing such a thing again, no matter what woman it is, I will find you and I will punish you again. You are a fool and a pig, de la Pole. Remember this day that your life was saved by a young king who did not want the House of de Russe at odds with Suffolk. Henry has saved your worthless hide.”
With that, he lashed out a massive fist and caught Thomas, unaware, squarely in the face. The man went sailing backwards, crashing into the map table, and collapsing it as Henry shrieked with surprise. In a pile of wood on the floor of the tent, Thomas didn’t move. He was out cold with a broken nose and possibly a broken cheek as well. Blood began to pour out of his nose.
With a heavy sigh, Suffolk went to his brother and rolled him onto his side so he would not choke to death on his own blood. Still amongst the pieces of broken wood, Suffolk looked down at his unconscious sibling before turning his attention to Bastian.
“Satisfied, de Russe?” he asked, some distress in his tone.
Bastian watched the blood leak out of Thomas’ face. “Indeed,” he said. “My debt has been satisfied. My thanks, Lord William, for your complicity in allowing me to seek justice for my wife. I will have some of my men help you return your brother to the keep.”
It was over as simply as that. Bastian went to the tent flap and had Martin send him a few soldiers to assist. Bastian also noticed that Aramis was speaking to a messenger bearing the de Russe colors but he didn’t give it much thought. There were soldiers everywhere bearing de Russe colors. Unconcerned, he stood aside while three of his soldiers came into the tent and lifted de la Pole out of the debris from the table and carried him out into the warm weather day.
Suffolk followed without another word to Bastian or any type of acknowledgement. He simply followed the men as they carried his brother towards the great gatehouse of Wallingford. Bastian watched them go before returning his attention to his tent.
Henry was still standing next to the destroyed table, looking rather shocked at it all. He thought he’d spared Thomas quite a lot by ordering Bastian not to kill him but it turned out that Bastian could do a great deal of damage with his fists. The boy was astonished and, if he thought about it, his respect for Bastian’s skills multiplied. To have such power at his disposal was an awesome thought. Bastian was indeed a worthy protector.
Brant, standing behind the king, was untroubled by any of it. He felt a good deal of satisfaction watching de la Pole suffer. Reaching down, he began picking up pieces of the shattered table.
“I am not sure this is repairable,” he said. “We can use it for firewood tonight.”
Bastian shook his head. “My task is finished here and we will be heading home shortly,” he said. “In fact, go and spread the word to close up the camp. I would like to be moving within the hour if possible. I am anxious to go home.”
Brant nodded, heading out into the bright day beyond. Bastian remained by the tent flap, studying the young king who still seemed overwhelmed by what he had just seen. He thought the boy might need some reassurance that his decisions regarding the situation had been the right ones because, at the moment, he could see the child’s distress.
“Your Grace,” he said softly. “Your wisdom was sound in this matter. I was able to satisfy my debt of honor and Suffolk retained his brother’s life. You should not trouble yourself over this any longer.”
Henry looked at him, his brows knitted together in confusion. “But… you hit him very hard,” he said.
Bastian nodded. “I did. But he is not dead.”
“But he was unconscious.”
Bastian shrugged. “I have been unconscious before,” he said. “It happens. But men heal.”
“Did you hurt your hand?”
Bastian looked at the knuckles of his left hand. There wasn’t a scratch. “Nay, Your Grace,” he said, a twinkle of humor in his eye that the boy should be concerned about his hand. “My hand is uninjured, thank you for asking.”
Henry wasn’t so sure that Bastian’s hand was in one piece or the fact that anyone could recover from a blow like the one Bastian had delivered, but as he opened his mouth to reply, Aramis entered the tent.
“Bastian,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You must return to Braidwood immediately. Something terrible has happened.”
Bastian turned to his uncle, seeing the man looked quite pale. It took Bastian a moment to process what his uncle had saidand fear seized him. Horror on his features, he reached out and grabbed his uncle by the arm.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “How would you know this?”
Aramis looked sick now, his features constricted with grief. “Collins sent a messenger to find us,” he said. “Someone broke into the manse and Braxton… dear God, my brother is dead, Bastian. You must go home now.”
Bastian stared at his uncle as the words sank deep. Then, he swayed away from the man, his hands flying to his head in shock and agony.
“My father?” he repeated, choked. “Someone killed him?”
Aramis was in tears. “I do not know the details.”
Bastian’s emotions erupted. “What about my wife?” he roared. “Is she… Great Bleeding Christ, she cannot possibly be…?”
He couldn’t even finish, too horrified to voice those terrible words. Aramis blinked his eyes, tears on his cheeks now.
