Page 333 of Historical Hotties
Gisella was tired, too, exhausted from her eventful day and with the steady plodding of the horse it was difficult to remain awake, but stay awake she did. Her gaze was fixed on the massive knight at the head of the column, her new husband, and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by falling asleep. He already didn’t like her, or want her, and she didn’t want to exacerbate his opinion. So much was at stake here.
The stake of her future– and his.
*
West Court Manor
Berkshire
Thirty miles west of London
The fortified manorwas visible for miles, even in the darkness. Much like Bella Court, the manor house that had been home to four generations of de Russes was a beacon of light and protection in the wilds of Berkshire.
Situated along the Thames, the house was built from both stone and waddle and daub, with fanciful herringbone patterns in brick on the exterior walls. It was three stories in height, with a circular tower on the western side that faced the river, and very tall walls covered by a growth of thorny vines encircled the manor on all sides, including along the river. Nothing was left to chance and protection was at a maximum level. The vines on the walls produced beautiful pink flowers but the thorns were an inch long. No one but a desperate fool would tangle with those vines.
The eastern sky was starting to turn shades of pink and purple, signaling the coming of the dawn, as Bastian and his party rode into the protected courtyard of West Court. He gave particular notice to those thorny vines, as he remembered being caught by their barbs as a child many a time. The vines were a great place to play at times, thick and shielding as they were. They seemed even thicker than the last time he saw them.
The courtyard of the manor home was rather large, containing a row of stables off to the far right, downstream and downwind from the house, as well as trade shacks right next to the stables. There was a small corral for team horses, and then between the house and the stables to the west of the house stood the walled-in kitchen yard. Already, he could hear the roosters.
Bastian’s affectionate gaze moved back to the house even as grooms and a few de Russe soldiers came to meet them. The house had so many memories for him, one of the few pleasures he had left in life, and he found himself looking forward to seeing his father. He saw his father so infrequently that it seemed every successive time, his father grew smaller and weaker. He didn’t like to see that, so part of him was apprehensive of what he would find.
He dismounted his charger and strapped a muzzle on the horse before the grooms took it away. Without a hind glance to his new wife or his knights, he charged forward, reaching the stone steps of the entryway with the big de Russe coat of arms overhead. He was back now, in his element and in his world, and he felt better than he had in months. West Court seemed to feed him, regenerate him, and he took a deep breath of the air. It smelled like foliage and the river, and even of earth. It smelled of home.
The heavy front door swung open and he found himself faced with Worthington again. The young knight was sleepy but alert as he grinned at his cousin.
“I thought you had forgotten us, old man,” Worthington said. “You woke the entire house when you rode through the gates just now.”
Bastian cocked a dark eyebrow, loosening up one of his gloves. “It was not intentional, I assure you,” he said. “We have ridden all night from Bella Court. Great Bleeding Christ, I had to get out of the place. It was like being in Purgatory with its endless debauchery and gilded walls.”
Worthington laughed. “I have heard such things about it,” he said. “I have also heard that men disappear inside the place and are never seen again.”
Bastian nodded somewhat ironically. “I would believe that,” he said, pulling the glove free from his hand. “But we are here now and require food and rest, in that order. I have brought de Lara and le Bec with me, and I have also brought my wife and her lady.”
Worthington’s smile vanished and his eyes bugged. “Yourwife?” he repeated. “Is that why Gloucester summoned you? To force you to marry the woman of his choice the very moment you set foot back in England?”
Bastian lifted his eyebrows wearily. “That is exactly why he summoned me,” he said, a hint of disgust in his voice. “Additionally, I am told to make my visit with Father swift because they want me in London immediately. It would seem that young Henry cannot get along without me.”
Worthington nodded but he was distracted by the activity in the bailey. Even though the sun was threatening to rise, it was still rather dark in the early morning hours even with the few torches that were burning in the courtyard. Bastian saw what his cousin was doing and he turned around.
Lucas was nearly upon him but Gannon was back with the women, directing the servants to take their possession inside. Bastian’s gaze settled on the small figures of the women, bothof them rather petite in stature. He’d hardly paid any attention to his wife since the moment they were married and even as he looked at her, approaching on the arm of her brother, he didn’t give her much regard. He turned back around and looked at his cousin.
“Put my wife and her lady in a chamber together,” he said. “The knights can bunk in one of thegarconnièresif any are available for their use.”
Worthington nodded but he was still distracted by the approach of Lady de Russe. “There should be plenty of room for your knights,” he said. “I am more interested in meeting your wife.”
Bastian didn’t say a word. He was loosening the second glove when Gannon and Gisella appeared on the steps. Bastian didn’t look up from his glove as he spoke.
“This is Lady Gisella le Bec de Russe,” he told Worthington. “She will be given all due courtesy as my wife.”
Worthington couldn’t take his eyes off the striking woman with the bright blue eyes. She appeared pale and rather exhausted, but there was no mistaking her blatant beauty. He bowed slightly, a show of respect.
“My lady,” he said. “I am Sir Worthington de Russe and it is an honor to have you here at West Court. The family will be very glad to meet you.”
Clutching Gannon’s arm, Gisella dipped into a polite curtsey. “Thank you.”
Bastian pulled the second glove off and pushed past his cousin, into the house. “Where is my father?” he asked.
Worthington called after him. “In his usual room.”
