Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (43 page)

Braxton’s mass had been 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 had Martin, 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 for
you
.”

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!”

“
Who else
?”

Worthington pointed at Aramis. “My father knows,” he said. “But that is all. Uncle Braxton told no one else.”

Bastian let go of his cousin, suddenly feeling edgy and unhappy and apprehensive. The heart of the Maid, that tiny, blackened thing that was upstairs in his saddlebag was now in his thoughts more than ever. He knew without a doubt that he could not wait any longer to take it to Winchester. He had to get the thing away from him, bury it in the floor of the church. Outside of consecrated ground, it was a curse of some sort, driving him to his doom. Perhaps the same doom that had followed the Maid, that had carried her to the fire of death, was somehow grabbing at him as well. But buried within the footprint of the church, it would be where it belonged and it could no longer harm anyone. The doom would be ended and all would be forgiven.

He had to get rid of it.

Leaving his cousins, he went over to Gloucester as the man held an animated conversation with Aramis. Gloucester was describing a particularly nice ship he had sailed on once when he caught a glimpse of Bastian. His description came to a halt.

“Bas,” he greeted, although he still hadn’t forgiven him for his earlier comments about the origins of the white stallion. “I was mentioning to Aramis that I would like to have another mass said for Braxton, one that all of the nobility can attend. His burial today was so swift that not even your sister was able to attend it. I should like to do something more elaborate for him.”

Bastian looked at Aramis, who shrugged. “I like the idea,” he said. “My brother was well-liked, Bas. It would be nice to allow people to pay their respects.”

Bastian wasn’t entirely against it. “I am sure my sisters would appreciate it,” he said. “But, if you do not mind, I would like to get out of London for a few days and try to relax. So much had happened in the past week that I was thinking of taking my wife and traveling to Etonbury for a few days. I could see my property and clear my mind a bit before returning to London to resume my duties. In fact, I would like to take Henry with me. I think it would be good for him travel and see new things. My father was keen on the idea of accompanying us to Etonbury but, alas, that will not happen. I would like to take Henry anyway and complete the journey that my father and I had planned.”

Gloucester’s expression was full of doubt. “I would not deny you an opportunity to rest following the tragic death of your father, Bas, but taking Henry with you is an enormous undertaking,” he said. “Mayhap it would be best to return him to London. There are people to watch over him while you take a few days and enjoy your new wife.”

Bastian shook his head. “Henry and my father were developing quite a relationship,” he said, trying not to sound too bullying. “I fear that Henry is traumatized by his death. Gisella and I will take him with us on our trip. We will only be gone a few days but I believe it will do him good.”

Gloucester sighed heavily, glancing at Aramis to see what the man might be thinking. The entire family was traumatized by Braxton’s death. Gloucester could see that. He wasn’t so sure that it was a good idea for the young king to travel with a knight who was grieving the loss of his father. He was fearful that Henry would not be given the attention and protection he deserved if Bastian was too distracted with his own sorrows. After a moment of deliberation, he finally shook his head.

“Nay, Bas, I cannot allow it,” he said. “Henry will return with me to London. We will see you upon your return.”

It was a final decision and Bastian didn’t counter. Any more reasoning and it would sound as if he were begging. So he let it go, wondering how Henry was going to take the news. Going to Winchester had been very important to him. Bastian knew how disappointed the lad would be. Excusing himself from Gloucester, he made his way over to Henry.

The young king was still sitting next to the hearth, sipping on the last of his warmed milk when Bastian approached him.

“Come with me, Your Grace,” he said softly.

Henry immediately set his warmed milk aside and ran after Bastian as the man cleared the room. The two of them ended up in the reception room as Bastian headed for his wife. Seeing Bastian and the king coming, Gisella stood up to greet them.

“Your Grace,” she greeted Henry.

Henry truly liked Gisella. He immediately took her hand as Bastian’s gaze moved over his wife, the king, and finally to the ladies seated in their comfortable chairs, who were now standing because Gisella was. They had met the king earlier.

“Ladies,” Bastian addressed his aunts and sister. “I fear it has been a very long and tiring day for us all so I will excuse my wife and me for the night. Elizabetta, I will call on you in the future so that we may spend some time together. Mayhap I shall bring Henry so that he and Aderyn can socialize.”

He mentioned that because his niece had already sidled up to Henry, eyeing the boy and also eyeing Gisella as Henry held the woman’s hand. It was clear that she was very interested in him while Henry mostly frowned when he looked at her. Aderyn was not deterred as she laid her head against Henry’s arm, gazing up at him rather sweetly. Terrified, Henry looked at Bastian for help.

“Sir Bastian…?”

Elizabetta was the one to pull her daughter away as Bastian grinned, finding humor in the young king’s terror.

“She admires you a great deal, Your Grace,” Elizabetta said. “She is very friendly and very bright. She loves to play games if you should ever like to do so.”

Henry wasn’t sure about playing games with a young girl. He had rather liked playing games with an old man who had let him win. Unsure how to respond, he simply turned to Bastian, gazing up at the man and expecting him to answer for him. But Bastian’s gaze was steady and encouraging.

“You should thank my sister for her gracious offer, Your Grace,” he said.

Henry turned back towards Elizabetta, although he was still frowning. “I… I only like to play games with Sir Braxton,” he said. “And Lady Sparrow, too. I do not like to play baby games.”

It wasn’t a gracious statement at all and Bastian cleared his throat softly, narrowing his eyes with disapproval as the young king turned to look at him.

“I am afraid our king is quite exhausted after a busy day,” he said by way of an apology. “In fact, we will all retire for the night. Good sleep to you all.”

Elizabetta hugged her brother tightly, as did Lady Beatrice. Elizabetta even hugged Gisella.

“I do hope we get to know one another better,” Elizabetta said. “I am looking forward to having another sister.”

Gisella’s weary smile turned genuine. “As am I,” she said. “I hope to see you very soon.”

Elizabetta squeezed her hands, letting go as her brother took both his wife and the young king upstairs. Indeed, it had been an eventful and exhausting day for all.

It was quiet and somewhat dark upstairs. The broken doors and window frames had been mostly repaired by the local carpenters while the family had been attending Braxton’s funeral. The smell of fresh wood from the carpenter’s repairs was heavy in the air. Bastian took Henry into the chamber that had been occupied by Braxton, one that had been considerably cleaned up when they had been away for the mass.