Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (12 page)

Gisella swung the cloak over her shoulders. “What about him?”

“Is he married?”

Gisella snorted. “Gannon?” she said. “Not bloody likely.”

A smile spread across Sparrow’s pink-tinted lips. “Good.”

Distracted from thoughts of de Russe, Gisella laughed at her friend’s coy expression. “You little fox,” she said. “You want to come with me because of my brother. It has nothing to do with being a companion to me.”

Sparrow pranced around, swinging on her cloak. “If I marry your brother and he continues to serve de Russe, we shall be together forever,” she said, pointing out the benefit of such a union. “But we shall be together forever, anyway, as sisters. I shall marry your brother and that will be the end of it.”

Gisella snorted as she donned her own cloak, fussing with the fur-lined collar. “I have not seen my brother in two years,” she said. “He may have other ideas. What if he already has a lady he is fond of? What then?”

Sparrow shrugged. “Then I will make him forget her,” she said confidently. “He will love me and only me.”

“You are hopeless.”

Sparrow giggled in agreement, gathering her capcase, fully prepared to run from Bella Court and never look back. Perhaps it was only because her best friend was leaving and she did not want to be left behind, or perhaps it was partially the adventure of it all. And, of course, Gisella’s handsome brother. Aye, that was more than likely a reason for her eagerness to leave, too. Whatever the true reason, or combination of reasons, she was ready.

So was Gisella, at least by outward appearances. Her capcases were neatly packed and waiting, and she was washed and dressed, waiting for Gannon to come for her. The fear of the unknown was diminished with Sparrow accompanying her, but still, she was fearful of what the night would bring. Perhaps her biggest fear was that she knew men expected relations with their wives on their wedding night and the thought of giving over her carefully-protected virginity to a stranger was rather heartbreaking. He was such a big man, too, tall, muscular… simply
big
. And the rumors of his relationship with the maid were very troubling no matter how much she said she believed her brother about such things.

So many things rolling through her head as she sat down on her bed, next to Sparrow, and waited for the inevitable knock on the door. So much would change after this night, for better or for worse. By the time the knock came, she had worked herself up into a sizable fret.

Sparrow answered the door and Gannon came in with another knight, one that Gisella had seen earlier accompanying de Russe. Introduced as Sir Lucas de Lara, the knight took her baggage while Gisella informed Gannon that Sparrow would be coming as well. Gannon refused and it took another twenty minutes for Gisella to convince her brother that it was right that Sparrow should come. Only after a few sorrowful tears did he agree.

Out in the torch-lit darkness of Bella Court’s courtyard, Bastian didn’t show any reaction at all when Gannon told him his sister would be bringing a lady with her. In fact, he hardly spared a look for his new wife as she was loaded up onto her small brown palfrey. Her great white stallion had been corralled and also formed part of the caravan that departed from Bella Court that night, heading out into the darkness that was lit only from the glow of the big, yellow moon.

As the party of three knights, two ladies, and a Gloucester soldier driving a wagon with the capcases on it took the road, Gisella thought that, perhaps, she had never felt such cold upon the night air. Everything about her was dark and chilled, and she pulled her cloak tighter as she plodded down the road just in front of the wagon. It even smelled of cold, that dampness that invaded nostrils like dark, seeking fingers. It was a scent that was hard to shake.

Gisella was tired, too, exhausted from her eventful day and with the steady plodding of the horse it was difficult to remain awake, but stay awake she did. Her gaze was fixed on the massive knight at the head of the column, her new husband, and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by falling asleep. He already didn’t like her, or want her, and she didn’t want to exacerbate his opinion. So much was at stake here.

The stake of her future – and his.

West Court Manor

Berkshire

Thirty miles west of London

The fortified manor was visible for miles, even in the darkness. Much like Bella Court, the manor house that had been home to four generations of de Russes was a beacon of light and protection in the wilds of Berkshire.

Situated along the Thames, the house was built from both stone and waddle and daub, with fanciful herringbone patterns in brick on the exterior walls. It was three stories in height, with a circular tower on the western side that faced the river, and very tall walls covered by a growth of thorny vines encircled the manor on all sides, including along the river. Nothing was left to chance and protection was at a maximum level. The vines on the walls produced beautiful pink flowers but the thorns were an inch long. No one but a desperate fool would tangle with those vines.

The eastern sky was starting to turn shades of pink and purple, signaling the coming of the dawn, as Bastian and his party rode into the protected courtyard of West Court. He gave particular notice to those thorny vines, as he remembered being caught by their barbs as a child many a time. The vines were a great place to play at times, thick and shielding as they were. They seemed even thicker than the last time he saw them.

The courtyard of the manor home was rather large, containing a row of stables off to the far right, downstream and downwind from the house, as well as trade shacks right next to the stables. There was a small corral for team horses, and then between the house and the stables to the west of the house stood the walled-in kitchen yard. Already, he could hear the roosters.

Bastian’s affectionate gaze moved back to the house even as grooms and a few de Russe soldiers came to meet them. The house had so many memories for him, one of the few pleasures he had left in life, and he found himself looking forward to seeing his father. He saw his father so infrequently that it seemed every successive time, his father grew smaller and weaker. He didn’t like to see that, so part of him was apprehensive of what he would find.

He dismounted his charger and strapped a muzzle on the horse before the grooms took it away. Without a hind glance to his new wife or his knights, he charged forward, reaching the stone steps of the entryway with the big de Russe coat of arms overhead. He was back now, in his element and in his world, and he felt better than he had in months. West Court seemed to feed him, regenerate him, and he took a deep breath of the air. It smelled like foliage and the river, and even of earth. It smelled of home.

The heavy front door swung open and he found himself faced with Worthington again. The young knight was sleepy but alert as he grinned at his cousin.

“I thought you had forgotten us, old man,” Worthington said. “You woke the entire house when you rode through the gates just now.”

Bastian cocked a dark eyebrow, loosening up one of his gloves. “It was not intentional, I assure you,” he said. “We have ridden all night from Bella Court. Great Bleeding Christ, I had to get out of the place. It was like being in Purgatory with its endless debauchery and gilded walls.”

Worthington laughed. “I have heard such things about it,” he said. “I have also heard that men disappear inside the place and are never seen again.”

Bastian nodded somewhat ironically. “I would believe that,” he said, pulling the glove free from his hand. “But we are here now and require food and rest, in that order. I have brought de Lara and le Bec with me, and I have also brought my wife and her lady.”

Worthington’s smile vanished and his eyes bugged. “Your
wife
?” he repeated. “Is that why Gloucester summoned you? To force you to marry the woman of his choice the very moment you set foot back in England?”

Bastian lifted his eyebrows wearily. “That is exactly why he summoned me,” he said, a hint of disgust in his voice. “Additionally, I am told to make my visit with Father swift because they want me in London immediately. It would seem that young Henry cannot get along without me.”

Worthington nodded but he was distracted by the activity in the bailey. Even though the sun was threatening to rise, it was still rather dark in the early morning hours even with the few torches that were burning in the courtyard. Bastian saw what his cousin was doing and he turned around.

Lucas was nearly upon him but Gannon was back with the women, directing the servants to take their possession inside. Bastian’s gaze settled on the small figures of the women, both of them rather petite in stature. He’d hardly paid any attention to his wife since the moment they were married and even as he looked at her, approaching on the arm of her brother, he didn’t give her much regard. He turned back around and looked at his cousin.

“Put my wife and her lady in a chamber together,” he said. “The knights can bunk in one of the
garconnières
if any are available for their use.”

Worthington nodded but he was still distracted by the approach of Lady de Russe. “There should be plenty of room for your knights,” he said. “I am more interested in meeting your wife.”

Bastian didn’t say a word. He was loosening the second glove when Gannon and Gisella appeared on the steps. Bastian didn’t look up from his glove as he spoke.

“This is Lady Gisella le Bec de Russe,” he told Worthington. “She will be given all due courtesy as my wife.”

Worthington couldn’t take his eyes off the striking woman with the bright blue eyes. She appeared pale and rather exhausted, but there was no mistaking her blatant beauty. He bowed slightly, a show of respect.

“My lady,” he said. “I am Sir Worthington de Russe and it is an honor to have you here at West Court. The family will be very glad to meet you.”

Clutching Gannon’s arm, Gisella dipped into a polite curtsey. “Thank you.”

Bastian pulled the second glove off and pushed past his cousin, into the house. “Where is my father?” he asked.

Worthington called after him. “In his usual room.”

Bastian heard his cousin’s reply as he headed into the entry of the manor house and took the flight of stairs to his left. They were big stone steps with carved wood bannisters, and he remembered once as a child getting his head stuck between two of the carved balustrades. His father had actually been forced to remove one of them so Bastian could get his head out and the replaced balustrade had never been the same. These days, it leaned slightly as a testament to Bastian’s childhood follies.

Such fond memories in this house invaded his thoughts as Bastian made his way to one of the chambers on the second floor. It was very dark on this level and very quiet, as people were still sleeping in the dawn hour. Bastian hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the house until he set foot in it. He felt like he was home again and when he reached his father’s door, he opened it without even knocking.

The room was nearly pitch-black and the heavy oilcloths were covering the windows. Embers glowed in the sooty hearth, just enough to ward off the chill, and the room smelled of urine. In the darkness, Bastian headed to the bed, his hands reaching down to feel for his father. The moment he located the warm body, however, he felt the tip of a very sharp weapon against his torso, poking through the gaps in the armor he wore.

“One more move and I will shove this through your belly,” came the threat.

Bastian snorted. “Good morning to you, too, Father,” he said. “No wonder you have no friends if this is any indication of your standard greeting.”

Sir Braxton de Nerra de Russe gasped at the sound of his son’s voice. “Bastian?” he whispered in awe. “Is it truly you?”

Bastian was grinning in the darkness as he put a very big hand on Braxton’s head, leaning over to kiss the man on the forehead. “It is truly me,” he said, fumbling away from the bed until he came across a taper on the table next to the bed. “Were you expecting someone else? A lover, mayhap? Father, I am shocked at such a thing. Do you really have a lover?”

He was teasing his father as only he could do. Anyone else would see Braxton’s fists flying. Even now, Braxton struggled to sit up in bed as Bastian moved to light the taper in the embers of the hearth.