Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (27 page)

But he would have to be careful about any attention he showed her given the fact that her husband was no longer indifferent about her. He knew what the Beast was capable of and didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of Bastian’s sword over his lust for the man’s wife.

“Then I am glad for you,” he finally said. “Shall we return to her and to the king?”

Bastian, glad to be done with the difficult conversation, preceded Gloucester back to the dais but noticed, as he came around a pillar, that Suffolk’s brother, Thomas, was now engaging Gisella in what seemed to be a heated conversation. Thomas’ face was positively red. He watched his wife as she suddenly stood up and slapped Thomas across the face as hard as she could, sending the man staggering, but he also saw when Thomas righted himself and slugged Gisella in the jaw with a balled fist.

After that, the Beast was unleashed.

In spite of Bastian’s reassuring pat on her shoulder, Gisella watched her husband and Gloucester head off into a darkened corner of the hall with some trepidation. She wasn’t exactly sure why she should be nervous about a private conference, but she was. Perhaps it was because Bastian knew of Gloucester’s overtures towards her and she was afraid the subject might come up in spite of the fact that Gloucester told her not to tell anyone. But she did not regret telling Bastian. In fact, she felt better that she had. Now, she had someone to defend her against Gloucester’s lewd advances.

When Bastian and Gloucester disappeared from her view, she turned back to her pewter plate and tried to focus on her food. The music was lovely and people seemed to be enjoying themselves around her, and as she spooned a few boiled beans into her mouth, she noticed the young king sitting to her left. Bastian’s empty chair was between them. The king had eaten his share of meat-filled
hattes
and was now picking at his boiled apples. He didn’t look particular happy or even interested in what was going on around him. He appeared bored and lonely. Feeling sorry for the boy, Gisella scooted over to Bastian’s vacated seat.

“Your Grace,” she said softly. “It is rude of me to address you, I realize that, but I thought you might like to have someone to speak to. My husband said he shared a lovely conversation with you earlier today. He is quite happy to be here with you.”

Henry turned to her, startled that someone had spoken to him. He seemed rather nervous, as if he wasn’t sure he should talk to her, but there was no one to tell him not to, so he did.

“We… we went to look out over the river,” he told her.

Gisella smiled at the anxious boy. “It was a lovely day,” she agreed. “Tell me, Your Grace, do you enjoy playing board games or cards?”

The young king nodded. “Sometimes,” he said. “I play with John and Simon and I always win.”

Gisella cocked her head curiously. “Who are John and Simon, Your Grace?”

Henry looked around the table before finally pointing to two boys back behind the dais who were sitting against the wall, enjoying their meals while sitting on the floor.

“There they are,” he said. “We play games sometimes.”

Gisella nodded in understanding. “What is your favorite game to play, Your Grace?”

Henry was thoughtful. “I like archery,” he said. “But I do not play it too often. My nurses say it is dangerous.”

Gisella shrugged. “It is dangerous only if you are in front of the arrow, Your Grace,” she said, watching the boy grin timidly. “What else do you like to play?”

The young king thought seriously on the question. “I have played Backgammon, although I do not understand it too much,” he said. “I like Chess and Alquerque.”

Gisella feigned great interest in what he was saying. “Do you go outside and ride your horse, Your Grace?” she asked.

He shook his head. “My nurses say it is too dangerous,” he told her, somewhat sadly. “I have a pony that my uncle gave me but I have only ridden him once.”

I wonder if he even has a free will?
Gisella’s own words echoed in her head as she listened to the young king speak. She didn’t have much to say about the dangers of pony riding but she wanted to continue the conversation, to give the young king an opportunity to express himself and speak his mind. He seemed rather gentle and mild-mannered, so she suspected he didn’t get much of a chance to make himself heard, if at all.

“What else do you like to do for relaxation and fun, Your Grace?” she asked politely. “Do you like your lessons?”

The boy was less nervous now as he spoke. “I read the Bible a great deal,” he told her. “There are many great stories. I like the story of Job.”

Gisella tried not to show her surprise to the fact that he liked a very sad and tragic story. “Job endured quite a lot,” she said. “Why do you like his story so much?”

Henry was warming to the conversation now, as he was on a subject he was comfortable with. “Because he had great faith and he did not complain,” he said seriously. “God appreciates men who do their duty and do not complain. I believe it is what He would like us all to do.”

Gisella moved to reply but she was interrupted by a loud voice off to her right. She turned sharply to see Thomas de la Pole standing on the opposite side of the table, already quite drunk for it being so early in the evening. His dark gaze was fixed on her, the rancor of his thoughts evident on his face.

“Lady de Russe,” he said loudly. “You had no right to say to me what you did. You said terrible things and it was not your place. Do you know why? Because your husband has had some terrible things said about him, too. No one here is innocent of gossip being spread about them.”

Gisella stiffened. “Get out of here,” she hissed. “You are drunk. Remove yourself from the presence of the king before I have you thrown out.”

Thomas slapped a hand on the table. “I will
not
,” he said, eyeing the young king. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but this is between Lady de Russe and me. I do not mean to offend you.”

Gisella stood up, moving away from the king to divert Thomas’ attention away from the boy. She was seriously wondering if Bastian was close enough to hear any of this because she found herself praying that he would quickly return. Carefully, she resumed her original seat, her eyes never leaving the young lord. If she had learned anything at Lady Gloucester’s court, it was never to take your eyes off an opponent or a rival, and Sir Thomas was definitely an opponent.

“You are making a mockery of yourself,” she whispered harshly, looking to see if he had any men with him, which he seemed to. There were a few other young lords at the end of the table, watching everything closely but no one was making a move to stop it, which infuriated her. She returned her focus to Thomas. “Get out of here before I throw you out myself. You are unworthy to be at the king’s table with your wicked words and terrible manners.”

Thomas frowned terribly. “You have no right to speak to me like that,” he said. “Your husband is far more wicked than I could ever be. The stories about his brutality are legendary. Why do you think he is called Beast? Because he kills men without civility and he is hated throughout France. And then there is the matter of the Maid – he raped the woman, did you know that? He deflowered her and then he burned her. He is a man of pure evil!”

Fury surged through Gisella, an unusual state for her. She was usually quite controlled but as the young lord slandered Bastian, she found she had no control whatsoever. It was a struggle not to fly across the table at him, something, she suspected, which would not be well-met by either her husband or the impressionable young king.
Stay calm!
She told herself.

“Evil is a man who pays to abuse young boys,” she hissed. “Evil is a man who steals from the Duchess of Gloucester and sells objects that do not belong to him. How many other lords have you stolen from and how many lords have unknowingly paid for your unnatural lust against children? You call my husband evil simply to divert the attention off of you but if you say another word about him, I swear that you will not like my reaction.”

Thomas sneered. “What could you possibly do, worthless chit?” he said. “Doesn’t it bother you to know that the same man who will father your children has given himself body and soul to the witch who called herself the Maid? She was not a Maid at all. She was de Russe’s whore!”

Before Gisella could stop herself, she bolted to her feet and slapped Thomas as hard as she could across the face. Startled, the man tipped sideways, hand to his cheek, before righting himself. Gisella saw the fist flying at her and she tried to move clear but she didn’t quite make it. Thomas’ fist clipped her on the chin and she tumbled backwards, off the dais and onto the floor. But it didn’t stop her. Aching chin and all, she scrambled to her feet and was preparing to launch herself after Thomas when a big body suddenly blew past her. Realizing it was Bastian, she grabbed on to his leg because she was still on her knees.

“Bastian, no!” she cried softly, trying to be somewhat discreet about it because she didn’t want her screaming to draw any more attention than the situation already had. “Not in front of the king!”

Bastian had to come to a halt because Gisella was hanging on his leg. He had little choice at that point. But his deadly gaze was on Sir Thomas as a few of his friends began dragging him away from the table, shoving at the man, running from the hall before the Beast could catch them and kill them all.

Bastian watched them run, disappearing from the hall just as Gisella pulled herself to her feet. His attention then shifted to his wife and he grasped her by the arms, his expression shifting from one of deadly intent to that of a concerned husband.

“Are you injured?” he demanded softly. “Did he hurt you?”

Gisella shook her head even though there was a red welt on the left side of her jaw. “He did not hurt me,” she insisted, mostly because she was trying to calm the man. “I am well enough.”

Bastian opened his mouth to speak but Henry appeared beside them, his young face full of concern as he looked at Gisella.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked earnestly. “Why did he hit you?”

Bastian wanted to know the reason as well so he looked at Gisella, expecting an answer. As Gisella was trying to think on something that would be believable, for she surely didn’t want to tell the truth, Gloucester joined their little group, looking at her with the same concern that Bastian and Henry were exhibiting.

“God’s Bones,” Gloucester exclaimed. “What would cause that idiot to hit you the way he did?”

Bastian still had Gisella in his grasp as he turned to Gloucester. “I want him banned from court,” he told him in a tone that dared not be disobeyed, “and I want him brought to me for justice.”

Gloucester could see how enraged Bastian was, which frankly surprised him. Rage like that was usually fed by emotion, of which Bastian evidently had a lot of where it pertained to his wife. Gloucester agreed because he was afraid of what Bastian would do if he did not.

“I will ban him from court, of course,” he said. “His actions against your wife and my niece are inexcusable. But you will let me handle the situation and deal with Suffolk. You are not to confront or contact the man.”

Bastian looked at him. “I said that I want de la Pole brought to me for justice.”

Gloucester tried not to let Bastian’s anger intimidate him. “I will find him,” he assured him. “But we must find out what caused his reaction. It does not excuse it but for Suffolk’s sake, we owe his brother that courtesy.”

Bastian’s jaw flexed angrily. “I owe him nothing except my sword to his belly,” he snarled. “The man struck my wife. He will pay. If Suffolk does not produce him, then I will track his brother down and do what I must to get to him.”

Gloucester sighed faintly, knowing that Bastian meant every word. He would tear down half of England to find the man who had wronged his wife because that was how Bastian thought. That kind of thinking had served them well in France, but now that he was home and in a different environment, they needed to be more careful and tactful about such things.

“Bastian,” he said quietly. “Let me mediate this. I cannot have my warlords attacking one other.”

Bastian didn’t say anything. He was too angry to carry on a rational conversation and his level of rage surprised him as well. He had nothing short of murder on his mind and surely would have killed Thomas had Gisella not intervened. Struggling to calm his fury, he focused on his wife.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice considerably softer. “Why did you strike him?”

Gisella met his gaze, trying to phrase her response carefully. “He was extremely offensive,” she said. “We will speak of it in private, please. At the moment, I am sure you are famished so let us return to our meal and forget this nonsense.”

Bastian wanted to force her to tell him why, exactly, she had hit the young lord, but he refrained. It must have been rather personal and rather sordid if she did not wish to speak of it in public, so without another word, he escorted her and Henry back to the table, helping the king to sit before he helped his wife.

As Gloucester took a seat on Henry’s left, Bastian regained his seat between Henry and Gisella. He was still on-edge over his conversation with Gloucester and then the subsequent event with Gisella, so he labored to calm his nerves and his mind. But he would not forget de la Pole’s offense against Gisella. As far as he was concerned, the man would pay and pay dearly no matter what Gloucester said. No man would strike the Beast’s wife and get away with it.

The feast passed rather slowly from that point on. Bastian, brooding, spent his time watching the room and making small talk with his wife, who was sporting a lovely bruise on her chin now. Every time Bastian saw the mark, it enraged him a little more until by the time they were ready to depart, he’d built up a substantial burn. He’d also made plans for de la Pole’s demise without even knowing the reasons behind his actions. As far as Bastian was concerned, it didn’t matter. De la Pole was a dead man and if Gloucester tried to stop him, then he would feel the Beast’s wrath, too.

The de Russe war machine would soon be called forth.