Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (21 page)

London

The main road leading into London was surprisingly overgrown on both sides, with heavy foliage and trees that were damp with the heavy humidity from the river. Insects flew about, buzzing travelers and animal alike. It was also quite busy and busier still as they drew closer to the city proper. Bastian, riding at the head of the party from West Court astride his new white stallion, kept his group to the left side of the road, allowing opposing traffic to pass on the right. It also gave him the advantage with his sword hand to the right, facing approaching movement, should he need to go to arms.

The day was sultry and warm, typical for August, and the knights were sweating rivers beneath their armor. The white stallion, christened Moonshadow by Gisella, had a bit of a rough start but under Bastian’s expert guidance he was calming admirably. Gisella and Sparrow, reunited, rode behind Bastian in a carriage borrowed from West Court, driven by a livery servant with two soldiers also from West Court riding on the rear of the wagon, like footmen. The carriage was open so the capcases had been stored beneath the wagon driver’s bench instead of on the roof.

It was a lovely ride, all things considered, and made a bit fancy by the fact that Lady Beatrice had loaned Gisella her parasol, something Gisella had never seen before. Beatrice’s husband, Hugh, had brought it back with him from his travels into The Levant some years before, and it was quite a marvel. It was essentially a wooden disc covered in silk fabric attached to a small wooden pole that, when held overhead, shielded one from the sun. It wasn’t much good in the rain because the wood and fabric would soak, but it was delightful in the sun. Gisella felt rather fashion-forward holding the red parasol against the rays of the August sun, noting the strange and curious looks from people as they passed by.

Sparrow sat next to her in the carriage, partially shaded by the parasol, too. The women hadn’t spoken much since the trip began, mostly because everything they wanted to talk about was about men and they didn’t want to do it in front of Bastian and his knights, so they limited their chatter to the subjects of the parasol, or people they saw along the road, or London in general. But inside, they were nearly bursting with questions and comments about the past two days. Sparrow, who kept glancing back at Gannon as the man rode at the rear, was practically seething with excitement.

But the subjects were kept quiet, at least for the time being. Instead, the women noticed, with interest, the people passing them, heading west on the road as their party headed east into the city, but it was mostly peasants and farmers moving stock or goods until a group came by with four women on fine palfreys and four big knights, plus several men-at-arms guarding them. Bastian lifted his right hand, flipping up his visor to identify himself to the oncoming party, when the knight just passing him did the same. The knight’s jaw dropped and he came to an abrupt halt.

“Bastian?” he gasped.

Bastian called a stop to his traveling party and the carriage behind him lurched to a halt as he peered curiously at the knight who had recognized him. Dressed in expensive armor, as were the rest of his knights, the warrior seemed particularly thrilled to see Bastian.

“God’s Bones, don’t tell me that you do not recognize me?” the knight declared. “I realize that it has been a very long time, but....”

Bastian abruptly cut him off. “Wellesbourne!” he hissed. “As I live and breathe, Andrew Wellesbourne!”

Sir Andrew Wellesbourne extended a gloved hand in greeting and Bastian took it, holding it tightly, reaffirming the bonds of an old friend. Andrew was a broad man, an imposing sight in his armor, with a toothy smile and big, brown eyes. Those eyes twinkled happily at Bastian.

“It is me, old friend,” Andrew said. “I had not heard you had returned from France. How long have you been back?”

Bastian was thrilled to see the man he’d fostered with, one of his oldest and dearest friends. “Three days ago,” he said. “I disembarked the boat, went to see Gloucester at Bella Court, then went to see my family at West Court, and now I am heading to the Tower. I have been promoted to the position of King’s Protector.”

Andrew’s smile faded. “King’s Protector?” he repeated. “Why on earth would Bedford move you out of the field to watch over the king? There are hundreds of lesser knights that can accomplish that. Why you?”

Bastian’s smile faded as well and he shook his head faintly. “An explanation for another time,” he said quietly. Then, he spoke louder. “Are you heading home, then? Where are you going?”

Andrew pointed down the road. “To Rosehill,” he said. “Remember that big, rambling place? You spent a summer there with me, once, when we were younger.”

Bastian nodded firmly. “I do remember it,” he said. “It is not far from here, as I recall.”

Andrew turned to indicate the women riding palfreys beneath a canopy held aloft by four men-at-arms. “You have not yet met my wife,” he said. “We have been married almost six years. I think you were in battle in France the day we were married so you did not attend the wedding feast. That lovely woman wearing the pink silk is my wife, Lady Josephine.”

Bastian lifted his eyebrows apologetically. “I am sure I would have preferred to attend your wedding,” he said, dipping his head respectfully when he locked gazes with Lady Josephine. “My lady, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

Lady Josephine Wellesbourne smiled coyly, very practiced, and turned to titter excitedly to her women. Andrew’s gaze lingered appreciatively on his wife.

“We have two children now,” he said proudly. “A son, Adam, who is nearly five years of age and a daughter, Livia, who is three. They are wonderful children, truly. When are you going to get married and have children so our sons and daughters may marry? I do not want my son to marry anyone other than a de Russe.”

Bastian grinned, pointing to the carriage containing Gisella and Sparrow. “I was married three days ago,” he said. “The lady with the dark hair is my wife, Lady Gisella le Bec de Russe.”

Adam’s expression rippled with surprise but he managed to bow gallantly. “Lady de Russe,” he said to Gisella. “It is a pleasure to know you. I can see already that Bas is a very fortunate man.”

Gisella smiled prettily, her gaze moving to Bastian. He returned her smile, his gaze riveted to her.

“I am indeed,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

Andrew’s rouncey suddenly threw its head and he struggled with the horse for a moment. The horse was impatient to get moving.

“Are you taking her to London with you?” he asked Bastian.

Bastian nodded. “She will not leave my sight,” he said, finally taking his gaze off of Gisella and focusing on Andrew. “We will be staying at Braidwood. Please come and visit us and bring your children. I should like to meet them.”

Andrew was thrilled, wrestling with his increasingly nervous horse. “We shall be honored,” he said, finally letting the horse have its head and it began to move down the road. “I shall send you word soon and we will arrange it!”

Bastian called after him. “I will look forward to it!”

Andrew waved as his party continued on and Bastian waved back before spurring his heavy-boned charger forward. His party began to move again, heading down the road. Tree branches hung low overhead as they passed, low enough so that Gisella had to lower her parasol.

“Your friend seems very nice,” she called up to Bastian. “Have you been friends for a long time?”

Bastian slowed his horse to allow the carriage to catch up. He rode alongside, glancing down at his wife.

“We fostered together,” he said, his gaze moving from her to the road to the trees surrounding them and then back again. It was evident that he was on the alert, watching for danger. “Wellesbourne and I have shared many an adventure together. He was in France for a time several years ago but was called home when his father became ill. He has been in England ever since, which is a pity. The man is excellent with a sword. I have missed it.”

Gisella smiled up at him, the parasol shading half of her face from the sun and giving her a rather glowing, ethereal appearance. “But surely you fight battles single-handedly,” she teased him. “You are, after all, the Beast. According to the rumors I have heard, you wield a sword of fire and shoot lightning from your nostrils. Isn’t that how you subdued the French at Orleans and then at Rouen?”

He smirked at her, shaking his head reproachfully. “Vous ridicule petit renard,” he muttered.
You silly little fox.

Gisella pretended to be indignant. “Je ne suis pas stupide,” she insisted. “Si vous allez me insulter , puis le faire dans une langue que je ne comprends pas
.” I am not silly! If you are going to insult me, then do it in a language I cannot understand!

Bastian chuckled at her. “Very well,” he said. “What language do you not understand?”

Gisella cocked her head, feigning thoughtfulness. “I am sure I understand more than you do.”

His eyebrows lifted mockingly. “Is that so?” he said. “I will tease you in Italian, then.”

“I can read, write, and speak it.”

He frowned. “Spanish?”

“The same.”

Now, he scowled. “Latin?”

She sighed, taunting him. “Now you are boring me,” she said. “I speak it as well as any priest.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“My, but you are a saucy bit of baggage.”

She grinned brightly at him and he couldn’t help but smile back, laughing softly as he shook his head in resignation. His wife was indeed more educated than he was but he wasn’t sorry about it in the least. He rather liked her brilliance.

His gaze returned to the road, the surroundings, and he noticed that the road was fairly vacant now for as far as he could see, which was at least a half mile ahead. Casting his wife a wink, as sweet a farewell as he could manage, he spurred his warhorse to the front of the party because an oddly vacant road made him nervous. Turning around to Gannon and Lucas, bringing up the rear, he emitted a sharp whistle between his teeth and, using hand gestures, had Gannon ride up next to the carriage while Lucas brought up the rear.

The knights spread out in formation because Bastian was edgy about the stretch of road they were moving in. The hedgerows were very high, the foliage tight, and the road narrow as it dipped downhill for a stretch before rising back up again. Bastian could see water pooling down at the deepest point in the road.

The greenery had grown up all around them at this point, creating a heavy green canopy overhead with the sunlight streaming through. It was also incredibly steamy and the women took to fanning themselves with delicate wooden fans that Aunt Beatrice had provided them for the journey. If the ladies noticed the alert of the knights, they didn’t say anything. They kept quiet, seated side by side in the carriage and enjoying the journey.

Bastian was glad the women didn’t feel the concern that he did. He couldn’t explain his uneasiness other than a stretch in the road like this, heavily shrouded and vacant, would be the perfect place for an ambush. There had been so much traffic heading out of London that he was surprised to see this stretch so vacant. He had the carriage driver pick up the pace and they began to move more quickly through the unnerving stretch of road. The chargers were trotting, kicking up clods of earth and eventually splashing through the water that had gathered on the lowest part of the road. As they began to ascend the slight incline, the bushes around them suddenly became alive and men dressed in rags jumped out, leveling crude bows and arrows at them.

Sparrow shrieked as men jumped out at them, pointing sharp arrows at their heads. Gisella didn’t utter a sound but she was terrified, clutching Sparrow as she looked around at all of the bandits – there were at least ten or twelve of them, all of them pointing arrows at the women and carriage driver. They made no move to point the weapons at the knights, knowing that their crudely-made arrows wouldn’t have a chance against the armor. But they would pierce unprotected female flesh.

The entire party came to a halt as the men with the arrows drew in closer, threatening the women in the carriage. Bastian, at the head of the group, didn’t move a muscle for fear that some fool would take it as a challenge and let the arrows fly. He gazed steadily at a man several feet in front of him who wasn’t holding a bow and arrow. It was that man who seemed to be in charge as he smiled rather lasciviously at the women.

“Good lords and ladies,” he said gallantly, bowing with exaggeration. “My apologies for interrupting your journey, but we were wondering if you would be willing to donate your money and jewels to our cause? We would be happy to take all you can give.”

Bastian remained cool. “You’ll get nothing,” he said flatly. “Just looking at you, I can see that you are not a bright man but this foolish action will be the worst action you have ever committed. It will more than likely be the last thing you remember on this earth and I will tell you why – your arrows cannot penetrate my armor and the second you let one of those things fly, I will have my broadsword out and your head will be rolling in the dirt before you can take another breath. If you do not believe me, try it and see what happens.”

The outlaw’s smile vanished unnaturally fast. “You have a bold tongue.”