Page 400 of Historical Hotties
Bastian’s scowl grew. “You shall know my hand to your backside if you do not stop listening to personal conversations.”
Henry laughed and skipped away, down the front steps where the carriage waited to take them to the ferry. Gisella and Bastian followed, with Bastian carefully escorting his wife to the carriage and helping her into the cab. He made sure she had a piece of bread in her hand before he went off to find his horse.
The white stallion was at the head of the procession along with Aramis and Gloucester. Bastian mounted the horse, unaware that Gloucester was scrutinizing both him and the animal. Gloucester recognized the beast. In fact, he had given it to Gisella a few weeks ago as a token of his admiration for her.
Now, Bastian was riding it. Gloucester wasn’t sure if Gisella had told Bastian about the unnerving attention he’d showedtowards her and he didn’t want to ask. Still, he was quite incensed to see that Bastian was riding a very expensive horse, and one that he had paid dearly for. As Bastian gathered his reins, Gloucester rode his steed alongside.
“Beautiful horse, Bastian,” Gloucester said, trying very hard to be casual about it. “Wherever did you get it?”
Bastian knew very well what Gloucester was referring to. He had expected the man to comment about the horse sooner or later and he had his response well planned. It would be one of those moments he wished he could tell his father about because he knew the man would have had a great belly laugh over it.
“My wife gave it to me as a wedding gift,” he said evenly. “He is quite the magnificent beast but my wife had no use for it. I think some pompous nobleman gave it to her– you know the type– like alley cats looking for the next female cat to mount. Those men are always the worst fools, giving expensive gifts to women who would rather commit themselves to a nunnery than allow the man close to them. But his loss is my gain. Mayhap someday I shall meet this fool and thank him for my lovely horse.”
With that, Bastian lifted his arm and the column began to move, heading towards the great open gates of Braidwood’s courtyard. As Bastian spurred the white stallion forward, he didn’t dare look at Gloucester for fear of bursting into giggles because he had no doubt the man was red-faced and furious behind him. He’d gotten the better of Gloucester and the man couldn’t do a thing about it.
Somewhere above him, he swore he could hear his father’s laughter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Braxton’s mass hadbeen both somber and comforting. Now, in the hours after the service, within the warm confines of the manse that had been in the de Russe family for hundreds of years, Bastian could still see and feel his father everywhere.
They’d opened the house and gardens to the weary soldiers who had marched quickly to Wallingford Castle and then back again, and food and drink flowed freely. Servants were stationed in every room to make sure the drunken soldiers didn’t abscond with anything because of the richness of the home. Inebriation often destroyed one’s good judgment in pilfering the host’s house.
Gloucester was among the guests, as was Aramis and the rest of the de Russe knights. Lady Beatrice and Lady Cynthia had arrived from West Court sometime during the afternoon, deeply saddened at the passing of Braxton, and they sat in the big reception room with Gisella and Sparrow, telling stories of Braxton and Aderyn, reminiscing over warm family memories that gave Gisella some insight into her husband’s childhood. It was a comforting time, listening to the wives of the elder de Russe brothers speak of good times past.
Surprisingly, they were joined by Bastian’s younger sister later in the evening, as she had been notified of her father’s passing earlier in the day by Bastian himself. Lady Elizabetta de Russe le Mon arrived with her four-year-old daughter, Aderyn, and her husband, who was a Tower Guard commander.
Bastian hadn’t seen his baby sister in years and hugged her tightly upon their reunion. Her husband seemed pleasant enough and Aderyn, the child, was not shy in the least. She had blue eyes and curly, honey-colored hair, like her father, and she took to Bastian right away. Softened by his sweet little niece, a spot of joy in a day that had been full of highs and lows, Bastian took great pride in introducing her to Gisella.
Gisella was happy to meet the girl, and Elizabetta and her husband, too. Elizabetta was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and quite beautiful. She seemed particularly thrilled to meet Gisella as the wife of her adored brother. As the men gathered in the dining room with the Roman tiles on the floor and drank to excess, the women gathered in the lovely reception room and spoke on things both trivial and serious.
Knowing his wife was safe and entertained with the women of the family, Bastian remained with the men in the massive dining chamber. He stood right on top of the design with the satanic creature on it purely out of habit, so no one would notice that they had images of the Devil in the home. But no one seemed to notice. Wine flowed freely and they even had a new drink called brandy, from the continent, made from distilled wine. It was sweet, and very intoxicating. Gloucester seemed particularly taken with it, imbibing more than his share as he discussed politics with Aramis. Bastian stood with Worthington, Brant, Martin, and Gannon, watching the older men get drunk and generally making fun of them.
But it was rather like the pot calling the kettle black. Worthington had already ingested too much wine, as hadMartin, making for a rather loud and animated conversation as Bastian and Brant tried to stay out of it. Young Henry was sitting a few feet away, drinking warmed milk with honey and nutmeg, turning around every so often because Martin or Worthington, or both, would be unable to control the volume of their voice. At one point, Bastian slapped Worthington on the back of the head to quiet him down, but the effect was only temporary. Soon enough, he turned all of his loudness in Bastian’s direction.
“You have been back from France for an entire week, Bas, and much has happened during that time,” he said, slapping the man on the arm. “A marriage, your father dying… if I have not told you yet how sorry I am about Uncle Braxton’s passing, then let me express that now. I loved Uncle Braxton very much, you know. I will miss him.”
Bastian had imbibed his share of wine, too, which made him a little less snappish when dealing with his drunken cousin. Worthington meant well and he knew that.
“As will I,” he replied. “But I am glad that I was able to see him upon my return from France and was able spend a few days with him. I am also very glad he was able to know Gisella. That means a great deal to me.”
“What about those who broke into the house, Bas?” Martin wanted to know. “Did you ever find out who they were?”
Bastian wasn’t about to divulge what he knew about the identity of the intruders. It would bring up too many questions with answers he did not want to give. He took another swallow of his tart, red wine.
“Nay,” he said. “We cannot be exactly sure how many there were, but six were killed and the rest got away. Nothing on the bodies of the dead gave any clue to their identities, so I suppose we will never know. What I do know is that my father died defending my wife and I shall ever be grateful to him.”
As Martin and Brant mulled over Braxton’s heroics, Worthington slapped Bastian on the shoulder. “Did your father ever tell you about the threatening note he received not long before you returned from France?” he asked. “Mayhap it was those same men who broke into Braidwood.”
Bastian looked at his cousin. He suddenly didn’t feel so relaxed or drunk anymore. “He never told me about any note,” he said, grabbing Worthington by the arm. “What note, Worth? Who was it from?”
Worthington couldn’t help but notice that Bastian was hurting him. “Ease up, Bas,” he said, trying to pull his arm free. “Uncle Braxton thought it might be the Armagnacs because they had threatened you in the past, too. We did not know for certain. Do you think it was the Armagnacs who broke into Braidwood? Mayhap they were looking foryou.”
Bastian stared at him, his wife’s words, words spoken in anger, coming back to haunt him–you killed your father. He knew she hadn’t meant it but hearing his drunken cousin spout off, now his doubts were multiplied. He felt guilty enough without finding out, quite by accident, that his father had been threatened by supporters of the Maid as well. He yanked on Worthington’s arm.
“Who else knows about the threat to my father?” he snarled.
Worthington frowned. “Bas, let go!”
