Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (14 page)

Bastian felt as if he were five years old again, now being scolded by his unhappy father. He tried not to feel guilty but he couldn’t help it because what his father said was essentially true. He grunted, hanging his head.

“She does not want to be married, either,” he said, grasping at the last straws of justification. “She has not exactly shown me any respect, either.”

Braxton reached up and slapped his son on the side of the head, a gesture he had been doing since Bastian had been a very small boy. It wasn’t enough to hurt but it was enough to get his attention, which was exactly why he did it.

“She is more than likely reacting to your negative disposition,” he admonished. Then, he pointed a finger at him. “You are married to the woman for the rest of your life. She will be the mother of your children, God willing. She should be the most important thing in your life.”

Bastian frowned. “But I do not even know her.”

Braxton’s expression reflected his outrage. “And you will never get to know her with this attitude you are displaying,” he said. “Have you even spoken to her? I would wager to say that all you have done is make sure she is very aware of your displeasure. Do you think that makes her want to be kind to you? Of course not. She probably wants to slug you in the mouth and I do not blame her.”

Now, Bastian felt ashamed of himself. No one else on the planet could do that to him, but his father could. He had always trusted his father’s judgment and wisdom in all things so there was no reason to believe the old man was wrong in this situation, either. After a moment, he shrugged his big shoulders.

“I do not believe either one of us wants to be married,” he said. “We have both said as much. It is true I’ve not spoken to her beyond that, but there truly has not been much of an opportunity. We met at Bella Court, we were married there, and now we are here. It has all happened rather quickly.”

Braxton regarded his son, his broad shoulders now slumped with disgrace. He wanted to take pity on him but he couldn’t, not when he was behaving abysmally. Bastian was the most arrogant man he had ever met and with good reason, but that arrogance was hard to temper sometimes. Still, there was much good in the man, buried deep. Braxton softened his stance somewhat.

“Your mother and I met under much the same conditions,” he said. “We had not met face to face prior to our wedding. I literally saw her for the first time as we stood before the priest to take our vows. After that, her father had a rather large feast that went on for three days and during that time, she spent most of it with her mother. When we finally departed her family home, she wept for days afterwards. At that point, I was ready to slit my wrists and throw myself into the river simply to dissolve the marriage, but I managed to be patient. It was the best thing I ever did. You know how much I loved your mother, Bastian. I pray you know the same love, my son. Be patient with your wife and be kind. The results may surprise you.”

Bastian was looking at his father at this point, mulling over the gist of his wise words. He knew the man was correct but patience had always been a difficult thing for him, especially in a personal relationship. He had a hard time letting people into his world. In fact, very few had ever been there. His father lived there, as had the Maid. She had known him more intimately than most on a spiritual level. Perhaps that’s why her death had affected him so. He realized the thought of letting someone close to him again frightened him. Maybe that was a good deal of his problem.

“I will try,” he said after a moment.

“Swear it?”

“I do.”

Braxton smiled, his big teeth yellowed with age. “Then I am pleased,” he said. “I would like to meet her now.”

Bastian shrugged. “She is probably asleep,” he said glumly. “We rode most of the night to reach here.”

Braxton began tossing off his covers. “See if she is asleep,” he said. “If she is not, I should like to break my fast with her and with you. But if she is sleeping, do not wake her. There will be time to come to know her.”

Bastian rose wearily, absolutely exhausted and now emotionally drained. “I will go and see if she is awake.”

Braxton put his bare feet on the cold floor, struggling to stand. “One more thing, Bas,” he said as his son reached out and pulled him to stand. “Keep her with you always. Separate bedchambers are no way for a newly married couple to sleep. You cannot come to know the woman if you are always separated from her. Put her in your bedchamber and not a guest chamber while you are here. How am I to have any grandchildren otherwise?”

Bastian sighed heavily, nodding his head. There was nothing left for him to do but agree. As his father shuffled about the chamber in preparation for the coming day, Bastian made his way out of the room and hunted down the nearest house servant who told him that Lady de Russe was up on the third floor.

Mounting the steps to the floor above, Bastian realized he was actually nervous. What if kindness and patience would not work with her? What if she had an intense dislike for him that could not be mended? What if the harsh words and circumstances back at Bella Court could not be undone? Perhaps this marriage was ended before it truly began.

He wondered.

Worthington watched as Bastian disappeared into the dimly lit home that was cold and still at this hour of the morning. It had been a rather abrupt and rude departure, as if the introduction of his wife had no meaning whatsoever, and Worthington glanced at Gisella apologetically.

“As I said, welcome to West Court,” he said, trying to make amends for his rude cousin. “Please come in and we shall settle you in a comfortable room.”

Gannon took Gisella to the door but didn’t go inside. The house was for family and he had been assigned to the
garconnière
, or bachelor housing, that was on the east side of the courtyard. It was its own separate cottage where visiting men or knights stayed away from the main house and, presumably, away from any women of the family. It was considered proper etiquette.

Gisella felt a bit abandoned when her brother left her at the door as he turned away and headed off into the early morning. She stood there, holding on to Sparrow’s hand and trying not to feel inordinately lost. A new house with a callous new husband... it was a depressing thought but this was what her life was to be now. She wasn’t the type to cry about her circumstances and even if her new husband was behaving badly, she wouldn’t. She would show them what the new Lady de Russe was made out of – what Richmond le Bec’s daughter was made of. She was a le Bec, after all, and proud of the fact. Facing Worthington, she forced a smile.

“Thank you for your gracious welcome,” she said. “If it would not be too much trouble, I would like to rest for a while. We have been riding most of the night and....”

Worthington cut her off politely. “Come along inside and I will see that you are settled.”

Gisella and Sparrow followed him into the entry of the manor. Since this was a home built for comfort and not purely for military purposes or protection, it was much more elaborate and comfortable inside than a castle keep would have been.

The entry was paved with stone floors, cleanly swept, and immediately to the right was a massive reception room with an equally massive fireplace in it giving off smoke and sparks into the room as a servant stoked the morning fire. Decorative carvings of angels and knights decorated the wall and a huge tapestry hung upon one of the walls, floor to ceiling, while the windows they could see, two of them, had precious panes of glass.

Gisella and Sparrow hovered in the entry, curiously observing the opulent surroundings, as Worthington found a house servant, an older man, and they exchanged a few words. Worthington then beckoned the women to follow him.

“Come with me,” he said, directing them up a flight of stairs to their left, stairs of stone with wooden bannisters. “We shall get you settled upstairs.”

Silently, the women followed, heading up two flights of stairs before being led down a darkened corridor and on into a large, dark bedchamber with one big bed in the middle of the room. As Gisella and Sparrow entered, Worthington hissed at a servant sleeping in an alcove nearby and the young serving girl jumped up, rubbed her eyes, and dashed into the room to begin building a fire in the large hearth.

“The room shall be warm shortly,” he assured Gisella. “I will go and make sure a meal is brought to you and I will also make sure your cases are brought up. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

With that, he fled back down the dim corridor, disappearing down the stairs. Gisella watched the man fade away before closing the chamber door. Even with the servant girl working on starting a fire, the room was still fairly dark and she noticed a taper on the table near the bed. Collecting it, she had the serving girl light it with the flint and stone she was using for the hearth. With the soft hint of golden light introduced into the room, they could see just how lavish and comfortable it was.

The bed was tall as well as large, with stepping stools to help one actually reach the overstuffed mattress. It was canopied, with heavy drapes surrounding it, and Sparrow let go of Gisella’s hand to inspect the great heavy curtains around the bed, for they were quite magnificent and a testament to the wealth of the de Russe family. As Gisella noted a particularly fine dressing table near the door, Sparrow gasped softly.

“Gigi,” she called quietly. “Come and feel this fabric. It is velvet!”

Gisella hustled over to the bed, running her fingers over the band of fabric that secured the drapes to the canopy post. “Lady Gloucester had a dress made out of fabric such as this, do you recall?” she said. “It is quite fine and quite expensive.”

Sparrow rubbed it against her cheek. “I would wish for all of my dresses to be made of this fabric,” she said. “Does your brother have enough money to keep me supplied in velvet dresses?”

Gisella shrugged. “If he takes up highway robbery as a career, it is possible.”

Sparrow giggled, moving from the velvet to the bed coverlet, which was beautiful, blue damask. Climbing up the little stool, she flopped down onto the bed, which had a feather mattress. It was so soft and fluffy that it nearly smothered her as she sank into it.

“I am so sleepy,” she said, yawning. “I fear I could sleep forever.”

Gisella went to the bed, putting her hands on it and feeling its softness. “Me, too,” she sighed. “Hopefully food will be sent to us soon and we can eat and retire.”

Sparrow rolled onto her side, watching her friend in the dim light. “I am sure you never expected to spend your wedding night with me,” she said softly. “I make a terrible husband. I am sorry you have to spend the first night of your married life with me.”

Gisella shrugged weakly. “It is of no matter,” she said, running her hand over the damask coverlet. “I am glad, actually. I am in no mood to spend this night with a man who has no use for me. I had always hoped... or, at least, I had always assumed that my husband would want to pay attention to me and at least be friendly with me. It would seem that de Russe has no intention of even being civil.”

Sparrow reached out and squeezed her hand. “It is not your fault,” she said. “It is Gloucester’s fault. If de Russe is to blame anyone, it is Gloucester for forcing this marriage down his throat.”

Gisella sighed gently. “I am sure my husband sees it as a duty, as do I,” she said, sadness in her tone. But that sadness was quickly gone as she forced a smile. “At least I have you.”

“I told you, I am
not
a handsome husband.”

Gisella laughed softly. “Nay, you are not,” she said. Her smile faded as she eyed Sparrow rather hesitantly. “He…he
is
rather handsome, isn’t he?”

Sparrow nodded. “Verily,” she agreed. “Quite handsome, I would say.”

Gisella thought on the stranger that was her husband with his long, dark hair and pale blue eyes. “It is a pity his manners do not match his beauty,” she said. “I suppose I am not surprised. Men with comely looks are usually the arrogant sort and de Russe is no different.”

“I suppose not.”

“What should I do?”

“There is nothing you
can
do. You must accept the man for what he is or you will go mad trying to change him.”

There was nothing more to say to that. The fire in the hearth began to blaze and Gisella sent the serving woman for warmed water so they could wash their hands and face. She and Sparrow proceeded to strip off their cloaks and gloves, settling in, when there was a knock on the door and two servants delivered their capcases.

As the room warmed up and the sun rose over the countryside, the women hunted around for their sleeping shifts. With the warmth of the room and with their possessions around them, they began to relax and feel a bit more comfortable. Light chatter bounced around with Sparrow telling another one of her funny stories from her childhood, something about stealing hard-boiled eggs from the cook who, when the thievery was discovered, tried to chase Sparrow down but ended up falling into the pig trough instead. It was enough to bring a smile to Gisella’s lips.

When the serving wench finally brought warmed water with rose petals floating in it, the ladies helped each other wash away the dirt and stress of the night’s ride. Gisella sat in front of the dressing table as Sparrow pulled a wooden comb out of the smaller capcase and unbraided her long, dark hair. Running the comb through the wavy tresses, she combed and combed until they shined.

By now, the stress of the night’s events had faded completely and by the time food was brought, most of the unhappiness and uncertainty was forgotten, at least for the moment. There was porridge with honey and raisins, tart white cheese, warm bread with herbs in it, and eggs baked with cream. It was quite a delicious fare and the women delved into it hungrily, eating until there was nothing left. There was also warmed wine watered down with fruit juice, which filled their bellies and made them very sleepy.

Donning their sleeping shifts, they climbed into the massive bed as the sun began to rise over the landscape and the manor of West Court began to come alive as servants and residents went about their business. Their chamber was facing the river, away from the courtyard, so the noise was minimal. Sparrow began snoring the moment her head hit the pillow and Gisella was almost asleep as well when a heavy knock at the chamber door interrupted the promise of dreams.

Sparrow remained sound asleep and snoring, which mean Gisella had to answer the door. With a grunt of frustration, Gisella tossed off the covers and climbed out of bed, shuffling exhaustedly to the chamber door. It was bolted and she threw the bolt and yanked open the panel, fully prepared to snap at whoever had interrupted her attempt at sleep. But the moment the door opened, the unexpected stood in the corridor outside.

Bastian had arrived.

Startled, Gisella opened her mouth to speak but ended up choking on her own saliva. Coughing, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“My lord,” she said, sputtering discreetly. “How… how may I be of service?”

Bastian gazed down at her. He was visibly weary and sporting a growth of beard, coming in quite dark. His gaze trailed to the interior of the room, seeing Sparrow dead asleep in the big bed. He cleared his throat softly.

“You will come with me,” he said. “My father wishes to meet you.”

Gisella was clutching the top of her shift as if trying to cover up the exposed flesh of her shoulders in an attempt to preserve her modesty.

“N-now?” she stammered.

Bastian nodded. “Aye,” he said firmly, but then reconsidered. The lady looked as exhausted as he felt. “Unless… unless you would rather not. I can tell him that you are asleep.”

Surprised he should make such an offer, Gisella nodded thankfully. “I would be very grateful, my lord.”

He nodded his head and averted his eyes, turning away from the door, but then he suddenly paused as if remembering something.

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” he said.

He didn’t give her the opportunity to respond as he turned away again and took a few steps down the darkened corridor. Gisella watched him, the rather smooth and stalking gait he had, and she quickly reconsidered his offer. She didn’t know why she should, but she did. Perhaps it was because he had been so polite about asking and in offering to lie to his father for her by way of offering up an excuse. There was something about the man that was far more courteous than he had been since they met. Re-thinking her decision not to join his father for a meal, she called after Bastian.

“Wait,” she said, watching him come to a halt and face her. “I… I am awake, after all. I can always sleep this afternoon. I would be delighted to join your father for his morning meal. I shall only take a few moments to dress.”

Bastian’s gaze lingered on her. “Are you certain?” he asked. “It would be no trouble to visit with him this evening. He knows that we have been traveling all night.”

Gisella shook her head quickly. “I would be happy to meet him now,” she assured him. “I will only be a moment, I promise.”

She shut the door and bolted over to her capcases. Flinging open the lids, she began yanking out garments, searching for one appropriate to meet new family members in. She came across a pale blue surcoat with long, belled sleeves and a square neckline, and a matching angel-soft, white shift to go with it. Quickly, she pulled off her sleeping shift and donned the white shift and blue surcoat. Fortunately, she chose garments that she could fasten herself and she pulled the fastens tight at the waist, securing the garment. The surcoat was quite lovely and gave her a delicious silhouette with her tiny waist and full bosom.

The next step was running a comb through her hair, rapidly, and braiding it into an elegant braid that draped over her right shoulder and trailed to her thighs. Her smaller capcase contained cosmetics and creams, and she quickly ran a rouge-tinted lip balm over her lips. Against her pale skin and in contrast to her dark hair, the slightly-red lips were positively stunning. Gazing at herself in the small polished mirror of precious glass that was part of the dressing table, she thought she looked rather acceptable for such a quick dressing job. Bolstering her courage for what she was about to face, she prayed that she would make a good impression as she quit the chamber.

Bastian was still standing where she had left him, about halfway down the corridor. As she approached him in the dim light, their gazes locked and she forced a smile.