Page 335 of Historical Hotties
Braxton was satisfied with the answer. The situation was becoming clearer to him. “Were you in love with her, Bas?”
Bastian shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he said. “Never were my feelings anything other than platonic towards her. But I did feel a great deal of pity for the woman, I will admit that.”
Braxton fell silent a moment, pondering his son’s reply. “Did you ever tell Bedford of your feelings on how the Maid was treated?”
“I did. He ignored me.”
“Then he cannot be happy with your behavior towards her,” Braxton said thoughtfully. “I was wondering why he sent you back to England to play nursemaid to a nine-year-old king. Now I know. Much as the Maid shamed Bedford, you did the same when you took her side.”
Bastian shook his head. “I did not take her side,” he said. “But my opinion of her treatment was well known.”
Braxton cocked his head in a pensive gesture. “So he grants you a title and lands and sends you back to England to watch over the young king,” he said, watching Bastian register mild surprise across his features. “Aye, I knew about the titles and land. Gloucester told us. But it is becoming increasingly clear to me that Bedford sent you back here for a reason. He wants to keep an eye on you yet he does not want you in France with him any longer, at least not until the Maid fades from your memory. If I were you, I would be careful. Do not give Bedford a reason to mistrust you.”
Bastian shook his head wearily. “I have not given him any reason,” he said. “Moreover, if the man was verging on mistrust, why would he assign me to guard the young king? Nay, you are wrong in that account. He still trusts me but I do agree with the fact that he wants me out of France right now. He wants me to forget about the injustice he perpetrated against the Maid.”
Braxton drew in a long, contemplative breath. “You will not.”
“Nay, I will not.”
“You should, you know. You cannot do anything to help her now.”
Bastian scratched his ear. “That is where you are wrong,” he said quietly. “Before she was executed, she asked for my assistance.”
“What was that?”
Bastian averted his gaze, looking off into the fire in the hearth that was now gaining speed. “She said that St. Michael came to her in a vision and told her that her remains must be buried in England,” he muttered, “for at an appointed place and time, she would return to announce to the English that their presence in France would soon end. She asked me to take her remains to Winchester Cathedral and inter her there.”
Braxton’s brow furrowed. “But you do not have her remains, do you?” he asked. “The woman was burned, Bas. Surely there is nothing left of her.”
Bastian shrugged with reluctance. “Bedford believes I cast her remains into the Seine, and I did for the most part,” he said. “But I did keep a small part of her. It was her dying wish, after all. Guilt on how she was treated by the English causes me to fulfill it.”
Braxton didn’t like that thought at all. “Are you mad?” he demanded. “If Bedford discovers that you have brought something of her to England, he will accuse you of being a traitor. He could possibly accuse you of the same heresy she was accused of. How could you do this?”
Bastian could feel his father’s fear in the question and he turned to look at the man. “Because she asked it of me,” he said. “I cannot give you a better answer than I already have.”
Braxton was visibly horrified but he refrained from berating his son further. He could see that Bastian meant what he said. The man had a code of honor few did, an admirable attribute but sometimes a stubborn one. Possibly even a deadly one. After a moment, Braxton sighed heavily and scratched his head as if at a loss.
“I cannot say I understand why you must do this but I will not dispute you,” he said. “But do not let anyone else discover this mission, not even your closest knights. You would pull them into your betrayal if they knew so it is better to keep it to yourself. You must do this to protect them.”
Bastian agreed. “No one knows, save you,” he said. “I must tell you in case this all goes horribly wrong.”
Braxton shook his head, disapproval and sadness in his movements. “I will pray that it does not,” he said. “I lost your mother, Bas. I could not stand to lose you as well.”
Bastian glanced at his father, seeing his pale complexion in the early morning light. The man didn’t look well at all and he reached out, grasping his father’s shoulder gently.
“You will not lose me,” he assured him softly. “Everything will work out as it should. Meanwhile, I have many plans for my stay in England, not the least of which is inspecting Etonbury Castle, my new seat. Mayhap you would like to travel with me to see it?”
Braxton was still lingering on the fact that his son was endeavoring to fulfill a dangerous vow and he struggled not to let his fear overwhelm him. “Etonbury?” he repeated, laboring to focus on the new subject. “In Bedfordshire, isn’t it?”
Bastian nodded. “A two-day ride from here,” he said. “Do you feel up to it?”
Braxton shrugged. “Possibly,” he said. “When do you plan on leaving?”
Bastian removed his hand from his father’s shoulder and rose wearily, making his way to the hearth to stoke it a little more in an attempt to invite a blaze into the cold room.
“I am not entirely sure,” he said as he poked at the embers and threw a couple of slabs of peat onto them. “I told Gloucester I wanted to spend a day or two with you at the very least before heading into London. I have no idea how long I will be there before I make a move to see Etonbury. I would imagine I would need to settle small details in London first, for example, finding suitable accommodations for my wife, and then I will….”
Braxton cut him off. “Yourwife?” he boomed. “What is this, Bas? You married and you call that a small detail?”
