Page 408 of Historical Hotties
Bastian smiled faintly, perhaps part of that knowing smile in the situation that still remained. “I know.”
Henry’s mouth popped open in surprise. “Do you think the lady meant you?”
“Anything is possible.”
Henry was astounded that a saintly golden woman should speak of Bastian. Perhaps that made Bastian holy, too. As he mulled over the situation, rationalizing it in his young mind, Gisella leaned into her husband.
“What is he talking about?” she whispered.
Bastian leaned down to her. “I will tell you later,” he muttered. “Henry had a vision. I will explain another time.”
Gisella lifted her eyebrows in surprise, glancing at Henry, but she kept her mouth shut. As they neared the door at the end of the nave, her thoughts turned to what would come now, returning to Gloucester and attempting to explain where they had been and what they had done. The most difficult part of this trip had yet to come and she wasn’t hard-pressed to admit that she was apprehensive. As the three of them quit the church and turned in the direction of the livery, a group of men nearly bowled them over. The first thing Gisella saw was Gloucester’s face.
Startled, she gasped and came to a halt as Bastian immediately put himself between Gloucester and his wife and the king. It was a shocking reunion but, in hindsight, not a surprising one. Gloucester had resources other men did not and if he truly wanted to find someone, he had the means. Still, it was a most unwelcome and shocking sight.
“Bastian,” Gloucester scolded. “What on earth are you doing in Winchester? You said you were going to Etonbury. And what is Henry doing with you? I told you that you could not take him along on your journey! Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
He was agitated, weary from what had undoubtedly been a harried trip to pursue Bastian and the king, and yelling at Bastian in public for all to hear. As Bastian faced the man, he could see that this was going to be an uphill battle. Gloucester had brought his knights with him, men that could arrest him, although it would be a fight. Mentally, he was already sizing up his odds.
From what Bastian could see, there were at least six knights and four times that number of men-at-arms. It was a big group, meant to regain the king from his protector. Bastian knew that if he didn’t think of a logical explanation immediately, the situation could get quite ugly. He wasn’t keen on spending any time in jail and he certainly wasn’t keen about his wife being punished. As he opened his mouth to speak, Henry abruptly stepped forward and interrupted him.
“I made him bring me here,” Henry said in a tone that neither Bastian nor Gloucester had ever heard from him. “When he left Braidwood, I escaped and ran after him and I made him bring me here. Do you know why? You do not even know, do you? You are so wrapped up in your petty desires that you do not even know this is the anniversary of my father’s death. My father died nine years ago today and I wanted to come here to say a prayer to him. I did not ask you because I knew you would not let me come, so I ordered Bastian to take me.”
Gloucester stared at his nephew, somewhat taken aback by the boy’s tone and accusation. Whatever rage had been building in him against Bastian was now in danger of being dousedcompletely by an angry young king. Gloucester struggled to reply to the boy.
“Your Grace, had I known what you wanted, I most assuredly would have brought you here myself,” he said, trying to defend himself. “But you never said…”
Henry cut him off, surprising for the normally docile boy. “I should not have to remind you when it is the day of my father’s death,” he said, pointing a finger at his uncle. “You should already know. He was your brother, after all. You should ensure that every thirty-first day of August that there is a special prayer said for my father, but you did not! You are too greedy and worried about yourself to care about a dead man!”
He was nearly shouting and Gloucester had no idea how to respond. He looked at Bastian, at Gisella, seeing that they were somewhat surprised by the king’s rage as well. Or, at least he thought they were surprised by the boy’s rage. In truth, they were merely shocked because the boy had leapt to their defense the way he had. It was with passion and bravery that he spoke. Flabbergasted, Gloucester returned his attention to Henry.
“I am truly sorry, Henry,” he said softly. “I did not know it meant so much to you. But… but why Winchester?”
Henry frowned at his uncle. “Do you not even know?” he asked. “It is because this is the last place he ever saw me, at my christening. I wanted to be closer to him here when I offered prayers for him. Listen to me, uncle– you will not be angry with Bastian for coming here. I ordered him to come and he could not disobey my order. We will return to London now but you will never again forget the day of my father’s death. Next year, we shall have a great feast in his honor.”
Gloucester was having a difficult time accepting that the young boy he’d spent years governing had somehow grown up and was now beginning to give orders, to him no less. And in front of witnesses. Unless he wanted to get himself into serioustrouble and throw the entire monarchy into conflict, he had no choice but to obey. His nephew had a mind of his own and it was starting to come forth. He wondered if the lad would make a good king. Good or not, Henry was implying that he would soon be ready to rule, which would diminish his own power greatly. It was not a welcome thought. With a heavy sigh, Gloucester simply nodded.
“As you say, Your Grace,” he said. “Are you finished with your prayers? Can we return to London now?”
Henry nodded firmly, casting a rather nervous glance at Bastian and offering the man a tremulous smile. Bastian simply shook his head, fighting off a grin as he realized that Henry had, quite cleverly, explained away their trip to Winchester. In a stunning show of kingly determination, Henry had saved them all.
As the young king integrated himself into Gloucester’s armed group, Bastian and Gisella hung back, watching the king and the Duke of Gloucester retreat in the direction of a herd of Gloucester horses that were corralled to the south side of the cathedral. As the group walked away, Gisella turned to Bastian.
“Well?” she asked softly. “Do we go with them?”
Bastian eyed the cluster of men. Before he could reply, Gloucester, realizing that Bastian was not following, turned around and waved to the pair.
“Bastian!” he called. “Are you coming?”
Bastian thought on that question a moment. Then, with a half-grin, shook his head. “Nay,” he called in return. “I believe I would like to spend a few days alone with my wife before returning to London to resume my duties as King’s Protector. Can I assume that I still have duties to return to?”
Gloucester sneered at him, knowing he could not blame the man for the king’s abduction in any case. Henry had made his role in what had happened quite clear.
“Aye,” he said begrudgingly. “But I intend to send you back to France as soon as I can. You are too difficult to control, Bastian. I would send you back to my brother and let you be his problem.”
Bastian’s grin bloomed. “Do not send me back too soon,” he said, looking at Gisella. “At least, not until I’ve had a chance to spend time with my wife.”
As Gisella smiled sweetly at her husband, Gloucester waved an impatient hand to them both. “You two deserve each other,” he said, turning for his men. “I will see you back in London.”
