Page 353 of Historical Hotties
Bastian was cool and steady. “If you want to live, you will,” he said. “But if you are too stupid to do so, would you like to know who you are about to face in battle?”
The outlaw laughed again. “Please, tell me,” he begged. “I am eager to know the name of the man who will cause my death.”
Bastian didn’t hesitate. “They call me Beast because I have the bloodlines of seven great houses running through my veins,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “I am a beast of a warrior, the finest England has ever seen. If the entire French army could not destroy me, a band of stupid outlaws certainly cannot. Now, get out of my way before I destroy you and all of your cohorts. This will be your one and only warming.”
The grin on the outlaw’s face vanished. His confident manner seemed to grow incredulous. “Beast?” he repeated. “Aye… aye, I have heard of you. We have all heard the name. But how do I…?”
Bastian suddenly spurred his charger forward, unexpectedly, and caught the man off-guard in mid-sentence. The wicked broadsword carried by Bastian, the one that was bigger and heavier than the usual weight of a battle sword, was unsheathed and in a split second, the outlaw’s head was lying in the dirt just as Bastian had predicted. It was a swift and brutal action.
Seeing the bloodied head of their leader on the road caused the other outlaws to panic and in that moment of chaos, the carriage driver whipped his horses and began tearing down the road. Bastian and the other knights followed at breakneckspeed as Gisella and Sparrow threw themselves to the floor of the carriage for protection. They were expecting arrows to come flying at them at any moment and Gisella held on to Sparrow, who was in a ball on the floor of the carriage.
But the hail of arrows didn’t come, fortunately, and it was a wild ride out of the heavily foliaged part of the road, a rapid pace that went on for at least a mile until Bastian called the party to a halt. As the carriage rocked to an unsteady stop, Bastian went straight to the seat where his wife had been sitting. As he came alongside, he could see Gisella and Sparrow picking themselves up off of the floor of the cab.
“Are you well?” Bastian demanded, throwing up his visor to get a clear look at his wife. “Were you injured at all?”
Gisella was stunned but not injured. She shook her head as she sat back on the bench and pulled Sparrow with her.
“I am not hurt,” she told him, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. She sighed heavily as she fixed him with her startled gaze. “God’s Bones, but that was… exciting.”
Bastian was vastly relieved to see that Gisella wasn’t injured. He was also quite pleased to see that she wasn’t hysterical about it, which struck him at that moment as being an impressive quality in a woman. On the other side of the carriage, Gannon and Lucas rode up to see to the ladies’ welfare also. Bastian glanced at his knights.
“Were either one of you injured?” he asked his men.
The knights shook their heads. “Nay,” Gannon said. “But Lucas’ horse caught an arrow in the rump.”
They all turned to look at Lucas’ big brown rouncey. There was indeed a small arrow sticking out of the horse’s behind and Lucas reached back and yanked it out. The horse nickered a bit and shifted around, disturbed by the pain, as Lucas dismounted and took a look at the puncture.
“It is not too bad,” he announced. “It is a clean wound. I will dress it once we reach London. For now, I suspected we’d better keep moving.”
Bastian nodded, glancing back at the direction they had come from. He didn’t see anything but that didn’t mean they weren’t being stalked. He’d killed their leader, after all. It was best if they made it to the safety of London as quickly as possible.
“Indeed,” he said. “I am sure they have not taken kindly to the death of their leader. Let us get a move on. We will stop at Braidwood first. In fact– Lucas, you will ride on ahead and announce our imminent arrival. That way, you can tend to your horse sooner rather than later.”
Lucas nodded, mounted his horse, and took off at a canter. Bastian watched him go before returning his attention to the Gisella. His gaze softened as he looked at her.
“Are you sure you are well?” he asked, his voice quiet.
Gisella nodded. “I am, thank you,” she said gratefully, but her gaze moved to the floor of the carriage and she gasped softly. “But your aunt’s lovely parasol did not survive.”
She lifted it up by the stem, looking at it forlornly, and Bastian could see that the wooden disc had broken in half. He took it from her, inspecting it.
“I will see if I can have it repaired,” he told her. “Do not fret over it.”
He could see it was a useless thing to say because she was already fretting over it. She reached out, taking it from him, gingerly touching the broken wood. She sighed.
“It was so lovely,” she said sadly. “But I suppose it is a small price to pay for our lives.”
Bastian smiled faintly. “I would rather have the parasol broken than you,” he said, ushering the carriage driver on with a wave of his hand. “We should see London within the hour, so let us move on.”
He moved back to the head of the group but Gisella was still lingering on what he had said.I would rather have the parasol broken than you.He’d given her a wonderful compliment and he probably wasn’t even aware of it.
They were the sweetest words she had ever heard.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Braidwood House
London
