Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (33 page)

Gannon, Brant, Lucas, and Martin were in a group plus two additional knights that belonged to Wellesbourne. They were all standing around a piece of dirt in the courtyard that someone had drawn a map upon. It was a map of Wallingford Castle because one of Wellesbourne’s soldiers had been stationed at Wallingford when crown troops had been kept there, as it was a royal property, and the man had drawn out a detailed plot plan of the site. Now, the knights were studying it and, with the soldier’s input, were establishing where best to establish their lines.

Including Gisella in the planning process was supposed to ease her mind but all it did was give her a real sense of a battle march. Bastian was a master tactician, having lain siege many a time to a variety of properties in both England and France, so his solution was logical. Wallingford was surrounded on the east and north by a series of berms as well as being very close to the river, so the plan was to station men lightly near the berms and heavily near the breaks in the berms, preventing de la Pole from being able to escape from the castle easily or unseen.

Wellesbourne had brought two siege engines that would be positioned near the road where Suffolk could see them. They would be out of range, implying that they would not be readily used, but the message would be clear – that Bastian had war machines and he could use them if he had to. In truth, it had been rather fascinating listening to the man known as Beast actually plan an attack, even as small of an attack as there would be on Wallingford Castle, because everything Bastian did was carefully, and expertly, thought out.

It was a glimpse into the mind of a military genius, which helped Gisella come to understand him just a bit more. Her comments earlier, on how they didn’t really know one another’s minds was true for the most part, but now she was coming to see his and it was a curious and interesting journey. She could see how Bastian achieved his reputation as a mastermind and the pride she felt for it was something she had never experienced before. This man that she was married to and who clearly adored her, was perhaps the most respected knight in the realm, and for good reason. She was coming to respect him, too.

As Bastian continued to speak to his men, Gisella found herself simply staring at his mouth as he spoke. Those lips, so full and beautiful, belonged to her, as did the rest of him. He was as perfect as God had intended for Man to be. Fear eased, attention focused, she spent the last few moments before Bastian departed for Wallingford remembering the feel of those lips upon her flesh the night before and struggling not to let her feelings show.

She realized at that moment, that she did indeed love him.

“What do you suppose all of those men are here for?” Henry wanted to know. “Is there something terrible about to happen?”

Seated across the table from Braxton going on their second hour of playing Bone Ace, Braxton glanced up from his cards as the young king spoke. Frankly, he was surprised it had taken the boy this long to comment on all of the soldiers in the courtyard. There were military stirrings afoot.

“Nothing to worry over,” Braxton said casually. “It is your play, Your Grace.”

Henry threw down a card and took another. “What is happening?” he asked. “Will you tell me?”

Braxton was inspecting his cards, knowing he was about to lose another hand to a nine-year-old boy unless he had help from divine intervention. But that was unlikely, so he resigned himself to the approaching defeat. As he anticipated his complete destruction in the card game, he pondered Henry’s question carefully.

“Sir Bastian is having a bit of trouble,” he said after a moment. “He is going to take care of it.”

“What trouble?”

“Trouble with Suffolk’s brother.”

Henry fell silent a moment, contemplating. “Sir Thomas?” he asked.

Braxton nodded, threw down a card, and took another. “Aye, Your Grace,” he said. “It would seem that Sir Thomas struck Lady Gisella and Sir Bastian must see that the man is punished.”

Henry was looking at his cards but his mind was elsewhere. “I saw Sir Thomas strike Lady Gisella,” he said. “Sir Thomas said terrible things about Sir Bastian.”

“So I heard, Your Grace.”

Henry set down his cards. “I want to speak with Sir Bastian now, if you please.”

Braxton gazed across the table at the boy. “Would you at least wait until we finish our game?” he asked. “I am close to getting beat again but I do not wish to concede yet.”

Henry reluctantly picked up his cards again, eyeing them with disinterest. “What is Sir Bastian going to do?”

“What he must do in order to retain his honor.”

Henry wasn’t even sure what that meant, which upset him. He was used to his advisors giving him vague answers about situations and about the state of the country in general. Sir Braxton had been very open with him since they met last night, leading Henry to believe that the man might be more forthcoming with him. He was looking upon the old man as a friend, someone he liked very much. He was disappointed to realize that Sir Braxton was like the other men in his life, all of them trying to keep the truth from him. He sighed heavily.

“Sir Thomas was very mean,” he said, throwing down a card. “He yelled at Lady Gisella and said terrible things about Sir Bastian. He said that Sir Bastian was evil, but I know that he is not. I also know that I am young and I do not know much about the way of the world, but I will never learn if no one will tell me the truth. Will you please tell me the truth about what Sir Bastian is doing? Mayhap I can help.”

Braxton glanced at the physician, still standing behind Henry, and noted the man’s concerned expression. But he was not moved by it. The physician was part of that group of men Henry spoke of, men who thought the best way to protect him was to keep things from him. Then his focus moved to the king, a young man who had warmed quickly to him last night. It was evident that the boy had been given little emotional comfort in his life and, in spite of his position, little attention. At least, little attention where it mattered. Henry was a smart young man but he had led a very protected and sheltered life. Perhaps the lad was right. He would never learn the ways of the world around him if people were constantly withholding information. Braxton set his cards aside.

“Sir Bastian is going to march on Wallingford Castle where he believes de la Pole is hiding,” he said. “He will ask Suffolk to turn his brother over to him to face punishment but in the event Suffolk refuses, Bastian is prepared to lay siege to Wallingford Castle.”

Henry absorbed what he’d been told, the big, brown eyes seriously considering the situation. “But Wallingford Castle belongs to me,” he said. “The Earl of Suffolk was made the custodian a short time ago, but the castle still belongs to me. If I tell Suffolk to open the castle and let Bastian in, he will have to do it.”

Braxton nodded, hesitantly, because the boy had a point, as improbable as that point was. “I cannot see Suffolk simply turning his brother over to Bastian, Your Grace,” he said. “In theory, you are correct – if you order him to turn de le Pole over to Bastian, then Suffolk should comply, but the truth is that he more than likely won’t.”

Henry frowned. “Then I will take back Wallingford Castle and he cannot have it,” he said, standing up, his body tense with anger. “Take me to Sir Bastian, please. I would speak with him about this situation.”

Braxton was rather impressed that the timid young man he’d met only the day before seemed to be displaying some courage. For a child who had every decision since birth taken away from him and made by others, he was showing distinct signs of being able to make decisions for himself. He only needed the opportunity. When he was not surrounded by those who controlled his every move, it was clear there were the makings of a king. Braxton smiled faintly at the lad.

“Aye, Your Grace,” he said, holding out a hand. “But you will have to help me to stand. My legs do not work well these days.”

“Wait,” the physician spoke up. “The king would be much more comfortable here, out of the sun. It is not good for his health to be out in such heat.”

Braxton knew that wasn’t the reason why the old physician didn’t want Henry leaving the manor. The old physician was part of the group that controlled the king even though the physician had often been the one to show the boy more compassion than the others. The old physician simply wasn’t used to allowing the young king much freedom under the guise that it would compromise his safety. Braxton waved the old man off.

“Nonsense,” he said. “We will only be a minute. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”

Henry was already on his feet, nodding seriously. “I will speak to Sir Bastian briefly,” he said, looking at the physician. “You will wait here for me. I shall return.”

Before the physician could lodge further protests, Braxton held out his hand to the boy, asking for assistance. Henry was more than happy to comply because it made him feel useful, something he rarely felt. He held tight to Sir Braxton as the man shuffled his way out of the reception room and to the entry to the manor, both of them moving slowly into the bright, humid sunshine beyond as the old physician unhappily remained behind.

There were more men in the courtyard now than there were earlier. The smell of horses was strong in the air as was the steady buzz of conversation coming from a rather large crowd. Braxton was shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun as a familiar figure walked towards him, separating himself from the crowds of soldiers. As Braxton’s hand shaded the sun blinding him, Aramis came into his line of sight.

Fully armored, the Duke of Warminster did not appear inordinately happy. In fact, he appeared quite frustrated. “Brax,” the man said as he approached. “What goes on here? What is Bastian doing and why does he want one thousand of my men sent to him from Deverill Castle?”

Braxton remained calm in the face of his brother’s irritation. “Did he not explain the situation to you completely in the missive he sent to you?” he asked. “He must have been somewhat clear or you would not be here with a contingent of men from West Court.”

Aramis frowned. “He told me that he expects trouble with Suffolk and needs strength in numbers,” he said. “I would not be here but Worthington insisted, so here I am. I do not want to enter into a conflict with Suffolk, Brax. He is an ally of Gloucester and I do not want my dukedom taken away again by the man who granted it to me. What is really going on that Bastian would call upon me?”

Braxton cocked an eyebrow. “Would you provide him with men if it meant confiscating what Suffolk has?” he asked. “If there was money or property involved, would you give him manpower so easily?”

It was a shot straight to the heart of a man who was a bit of a mercenary. He backed down somewhat. “Mayhap,” he said, confused by the question. “
Is
there money or property involved?”

Braxton ignored the question. He didn’t want to particularly enter into a family squabble in front of the king and indicated the boy beside him.

“Will you please greet the king before you continue, Aramis?” he said. “Henry is our guest.”

Aramis looked at the young lad with the big, brown eyes and it took a moment for the information to register. When it did, he struggled with his surprise. To see the king without his entourage and not surrounded by a dozen crown soldiers was not only disorienting, it was shocking.

“Your Grace,” he said, bowing to the boy. “Forgive me, for I did not recognize you. You have grown quite a bit since last I saw you.”

Henry appraised the big man with the graying hair. He looked between Aramis and Braxton. “He is your brother?” he asked Braxton.

Braxton nodded. “I had three brothers, Your Grace,” he said. “Trenton was the eldest but he died a few years ago without a son, so the dukedom passed to Aramis. I am next in line and then we also have a younger brother, Hugh.”

Henry thought on the de Russe brothers. “Where is Hugh?”

Aramis spoke. “We have properties on the Marches, Your Grace, and Hugh has been at our castle of Clearwell because of some unrest along our stretch of the Marches,” he said. “Whenever there is trouble, we like to send Hugh because he is the meanest of us all. The Welsh would not dare tangle with him.”

As Aramis and Braxton grinned, sharing a private joke about their very nasty but very dedicated younger brother, Henry merely looked thoughtful.

“If he is so mean, why has he not gone to France?” he asked.

Braxton’s smile faded. “Because France has Bastian, and he is the greatest knight of us all.”