Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (36 page)

Gisella had heard the alarm, that faint but frantic ringing of a bell. It had awoken her from a deep sleep and as she struggled to sit up in bed, Sparrow came pounding on her door.

“Gigi!” she shrieked. “Open the door!”

Spurred into action, Gisella flew out of bed and unbolted the chamber door. Just as Sparrow ran inside, Braxton entered through the connecting dressing room, for he had been sleeping in the chamber next door.

“Bolt the door!” he hissed. “Hurry!”

Gisella and Sparrow threw the bolt against the heavy door as Braxton raced as fast as his sickly body would move to the windows overlooking the courtyard and gardens below. He caught a glimpse of men running through the gardens under the cover of darkness and saw clearly when they fought with the servants near the kitchen, making their way into the house. Once he saw that, he came away from the windows and grabbed the women.

“With me,” he said. “
Now.
”

Gisella and Sparrow had no choice but to follow the man as he dragged them into the dressing room, cluttered with cloaks and garments, cabinets and vessels for water and washing. There were shoes on the floor and a saddlebag that Bastian had left behind. Braxton dragged them over to a section of the dressing room that held pegs supporting cloaks on it.

Running his fingers along the wall, he came across a knot in the wood, except that it was not a knot at all – it was a lever that, when pushed, released that portion of the wall to reveal a small room behind it. It was a hidden room, a safety measure for just this purpose. Braxton shoved the women inside.

“Stay there and do not utter a sound,” he whispered quickly. “You will not be trapped, as there is a release on the interior of the door, but do not open it for any reason, no matter what you hear. Stay in this room and do not make a sound. Is that clear?”

He went to shut the door but Gisella grasped him. “Wait!” she cried softly. “Come with us, Braxton!”

He shook his head, kissing her hands sweetly before pushing her back into the room. “It is not big enough for me,” he said. “I will be safe, trust me. You must stay quiet!”

With that, he shut the door and the women heard it lock. The sudden silence was terrifying and Sparrow stifled a sob, so very fearful. It was also pitch-black except for two small holes in the wall. One of them peered into the room where Braxton had been sleeping and the other hole peered into the corridor outside.

Gisella went to the hole that opened into Braxton’s room and saw the man lumber across the chamber, moving for a big chest at the foot of the bed. As she watched, he opened the chest and pulled forth an enormous broadsword in a leather sheath. As he pulled the broadsword forth, it glistened in the weak light, wicked and deadly.

“God’s Bones,” she whispered. “He intends to fight. He cannot fight! He is too sickly!”

Sparrow shoved her out of the way so she could take a look. “He is mad!” she breathed. “He cannot fight!”

Gisella pushed Sparrow aside so she could watch Braxton. She was absolutely terrified for the old man but she was smart enough not to make any noise or try to call out to him. She was safe and she would survive unless those who had broken into the manse burned it down over their heads, but she was terribly frightened for Bastian’s father. As she watched him move to the head of his bed, back to the wall as he faced the chamber door expectantly, Sparrow hissed at her.

“Men!” she murmured. She was peering out of the hole that opened into the corridor. “Armed men!”

“Shush!” Gisella warned her. “Not another word!”

Sparrow bit her lip, watching the strange men with big weapons kick down doors and ransack the sleeping rooms, and that included her room across the hall. She held Gisella’s hand in the darkness as Gisella continued to peer into Braxton’s room, waiting and watching to see what would happen next. It wasn’t long in coming.

Someone kicked at Braxton’s door and both ladies instinctively jumped at the sound. Oddly, he hadn’t bolted it and whoever kicked it then lifted the latch and shoved it right open. As Gisella watched the scene unfold from the safety of the hidden room, Braxton faced off against a heavily armed warrior.

She could hear every word.

Le Foix stood several feet away from an old man with a very well made broadsword. He was a big man in spite of his advanced years and from the way he gripped the hilt of the sword, Le Foix could tell he knew how to use it. But le Foix wanted answers more than he wanted to kill anyone and since the majordomo said that de Russe’s father was in residence, le Foix drew the natural conclusion.

“You are Bastian de Russe’s father?” he asked.

Braxton remained motionless, his gaze riveted to the big knight in front of him. He’d learned long ago never to take his eyes off an enemy. “I am,” he replied steadily.

Le Foix nodded, acknowledging the man’s identity, as his focus moved over the old knight as if to acquaint himself with the father of the Beast. Many Frenchmen would have liked to have been in his shoes at that moment. In fact, while the rest of the Armagnacs were ransacking the house and stealing what they could, le Foix shut the door so they would not try to interfere with what he wanted to accomplish. He didn’t want them killing the man before he had his information. When the panel was shut, he faced Braxton once more.

“You will not need that broadsword,” he said. “I will not kill you provided that you help me.”

Braxton didn’t lower the sword. “Help you with what?” he asked. “From the sounds going on in this house, your men are helping themselves to quite enough. Who are you, anyway?”

Le Foix saw no harm in speaking to the old man because he was probably going to kill him in spite of what he said so whatever he told him would go no further. He smiled thinly at the question.

“I sent you a note a few weeks ago,” he said. “Did you not receive it?”

Braxton wasn’t sure what he meant, if he really meant anything at all. “A note?” he repeated. “What note?”

Le Foix lowered his sword. “All things must come to pass,” he said softly. “Your son has taken the Light from France. Our hope is dim but it is not gone. We are the air, the birds. We are the night. Fear us because we will come for you.”

The light of recognition went on in Braxton’s eyes. “So it was you,” he murmured. “You sent that threat to me. I see you have finally come.”

“I have.”

“You are an Armagnac?”

“How would you know that?”

“Because they are the staunchest supporters of France and, in particular, the Maid,” Braxton replied. “You have threatened my son for not saving her and I naturally assumed it was you who had threatened me as well. Also, your symbol is a bird in flight and you mentioned a bird in your note. Am I wrong in my logic?”

Le Foix was impressed. “You are not,” he said. “Excellent deduction.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

Le Foix already had respect for de Russe’s father. The man was showing no fear in the face of overwhelming odds. Lesser men would have folded. There was a chair in the room and le Foix went to sit on it, his back to the wall just as the old knight’s back was to the wall. It was a habit most knights employed so they didn’t have worry about someone sneaking up behind them to slit their throat.

“What is your name?” le Foix asked. “I should like to address you by your name.”

Something heavy crashed and broke in Gisella and Bastian’s chamber next door as the room was raided but Braxton didn’t flinch. The women were safe and that was all he was concerned with.

“You may call me Sir Braxton,” he told le Foix.

Le Foix nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Sir Braxton, it has come to my attention that your son was close to Joan of Orleans. Did you know this?”

Braxton was careful in his reply. “He was close to her by nature of his position,” he said. “He was her jailor.”

Le Foix was patient. “He was more than that,” he said. “It is common knowledge that your son was not only her jailor, but some have called him her companion in the last months of her life. Mayhap he was even her friend. Whatever the case, it is also common knowledge that he was with her when she died. Did you know this?”

Braxton still wasn’t sure what the man was driving at so he continued to be careful, and as neutral as possible, in his reply.

“My son has been home for less than a week,” he said. “We have spoken of much during that time but we have not spoken specifically about the death of the Maid.”

Le Foix leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. It was an oddly casual position considering the seriousness of the situation. It was evident that he was thinking on Braxton’s answer.

“Sir Braxton, I would like to reiterate that I do not wish to hurt you,” he said. “But I am seeking something which Sir Bastian is rumored to possess. I have been told by someone who witnessed the Maid’s death that, when it was over and her remains were being cast into the Seine River, Sir Bastian took a piece of her remains. He has a relic of the woman, if you will. I want it. He has not told you of it?”

The reason behind the assault on Braidwood was now made clear and Braxton felt as if he’d been hit in the belly. His breath left him and he struggled to remain on an even keel. He had feared that the relic Bastian had taken from the Maid’s ashes would get him into trouble and now it was here in front of him. Trouble had indeed arrived. If Bastian had been standing in front of him at that moment, he would have punched him in the nose. Braxton suspected, at that moment, that denial wouldn’t get him very far. It might even get him killed. Therefore, he was moderately truthful because he was coming to wonder if the Armagnac in front of him was an answer to his prayers. As odd as it seemed, he wondered if the man could help him.

“May I ask who told you of this relic?” he asked.

Le Foix was studying the old man’s face for any sign of truth in the matter, but Sir Braxton was better than most at maintaining an emotionless face. It was one of the marks of a good knight.

“An English soldier who was there,” he replied truthfully. “The man was running about London spouting that Sir Bastian had betrayed England because he had taken a relic from the Maid. How many people believed him, I would not know. We came into the information quite by accident but if it is true, then it is very important to us. Our cause is to save France from England just as you would want to save England if France was trying to claim lands that did not belong to her. Has your son told you of this relic?”

Braxton saw no reason not to tell the man. In fact, he might be able to convince the man to fulfill the Maid’s dying wish as Bastian was planning to do. Truth be told, Braxton didn’t want his son involved in anything that had to do with the Maid. If he turned the relic over to the Armagnac, then it would become their problem and cease to be Bastian’s issue. That was the help that he would seek from this man who desperately wanted what Bastian had. With that in mind, he proceeded carefully.

“I seem to remember a conversation with my son that pertained to the Maid,” he said thoughtfully. The broadsword in his hand lowered as he sat heavily on the bed. His strength was nearly gone. This entire circumstance had put too much strain on him and his chest felt tight. His left arm also felt strangely numb but he struggled through the discomfort that he’d felt before. “He mentioned that before she died, she wished for anything that remained of her to be buried in Winchester Cathedral because it is the seat of the Cardinal of Winchester. From what I understand, he was one of her chief inquisitors.”

Le Foix was very interested in what the old man had to say. “I had heard that as well,” he said. “What more did your son say about it?”

Braxton leaned back against the headboard, struggling to catch his breath. “She asked that my son take her remains and bury them at Winchester,” he said. “Of course, when she was burned, there wasn’t much left, you see. But something evidently did remain.”

Le Foix was hanging on every word. “What?”

Braxton took a deep breath. The pain in his chest seemed to be increasing. “He said that he was having his men sweep her remains into the river when he came across her heart,” he said softly. “He took it to bury at Winchester. I do not know where it is, or where he keeps it, but if I can find it, I will give it to you. If his commanders knew he had it, he would more than likely be brought up on charges of treason, if not complicity with the Maid of Orleans. I do not want this end for my great son.”

Le Foix was stunned. “He has her
heart
?”

“That is what he told me.”

Before le Foix could respond, they heard great crashes downstairs and the sounds of sword against sword. It was evident that Braidwood’s guards had made it into the house and now there was a massive battle going on. Le Foix stood up, hearing the fighting, knowing that his time with Sir Braxton was short. But now he was so close to what he had come for that he couldn’t leave. He was seeking answers that no one seemed to know.

“Sir Braxton,” he asked, almost beseechingly. “Was your son more than a friend to
la Pucelle?
Did... did he love her? It seems to me that only a man in love would do such a thing for a woman.”

Braxton shook his head. He was feeling lightheaded as the pain in his chest grew. “I do not know,” he said softly. “But he kept her heart. Isn’t that the most precious thing of all?”

The fighting was drawing closer. They could hear it at the top of the stairs and le Foix was on his feet. Braxton wasn’t oblivious to the sounds of men fighting and dying but he realized that he didn’t want le Foix to leave before they could finish their business.

“Tell me where to look for it,” le Foix demanded anxiously. “I will look now.”

Braxton shook his head. “I would not know where to start,” he said. “Go, now. Send me word on where to reach you and I will do my best to find what you seek. I do not want my son to have it, you see. In his hands, it makes him a traitor. In your hands, it makes you a patriot. Will you take this heart, then, and bury it at Winchester as the Maid asked my son to do?”

Le Foix wasn’t sure that he would but he agreed. He would do anything to get his hands on the relic. “I will, I swear it.”

“You must be careful, of course,” Braxton said quietly. “Eyes may be watching but better you to bury it than Bastian. I am asking you to save my son and I do not even know your name.”

“Armand,” le Foix said without hesitation. “Armand le Foix.”

Braxton waved him on weakly. “Go now,” he said. “Out in the corridor, go to the left. You will come across a small staircase. Take it and it will lead you to a door that will take you out of the house. From there, you can flee.”

Le Foix made his way to Braxton, putting his hand on the man’s arm. The old man didn’t look well but he didn’t give it much thought. He was too concerned with gaining the relic.

“Swear to me that you will give it to me,” he begged softly.

Braxton gazed up at him. “On my oath as a knight, I will find it and give it to you,” he said. “But you will never tell anyone who it came from, is that clear? No mention of my son will follow this relic around.”

“You have my vow.”

“I believe you. Now, get out before the guards catch you.”

Le Foix fled without another word. The noise of battle was in the corridor now as men fought for their lives on the stairs and into the hallway. Braxton listened to the sounds of fighting but he didn’t particularly care. He was thinking on saving his son from himself, of giving the Maid’s relic to her supporters who so badly wanted it. To get the relic as far from Bastian as he possibly could. Aye, he would save his son.

With an aching chest and a numb left arm, Braxton closed his eyes and hoped that the pain would soon subside. But it was not to be. As Braxton passed away peacefully in his bed, le Foix made it as far as the courtyard before a de Russe soldier with a crossbow caught him in the back.

With him died the hope that the Maid’s relic would end up back in the hands of the French.