Page 371 of Historical Hotties
Henry was rubbing his neck where the big knight had grabbed him. He didn’t say a word. He simply scooted backto Bastian’s side. Bastian frowned deeply at Martin, who was appalled by what he had done. Bastian pushed past his cousin, focused on the fact that his father was inside. He was both curious and concerned about the man’s premature visit.
It was warm inside the entry of Braidwood and relatively bright thanks to several banks of expensive tallow candles that were burning. The oily smell of their flame hung in the air but Bastian knew the candles were alight because his father was not particularly fond of dark rooms. With Henry following him closely, nearly plastered against him, Bastian entered the big reception room and immediately located his father.
Seated by the blazing hearth, Braxton was warming his old bones by sitting as close to the flame as he possibly could without igniting his clothing. He looked up when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, his gaze falling on Bastian as the man entered the room with a young boy at his side. Braxton’s old eyes twinkled.
“Ah,” he said. “So you have returned from the Tower.”
Bastian came to a halt several feet away because the fire was so damn hot. “Indeed,” he said, eyeing his father. “Why have you come? I told you I would send for you once my wife and I were settled.”
Braxton shrugged, not particularly interested in his son’s disapproving tone. “I was bored,” he said. “West Court holds no excitement for me so I thought I would follow you here.”
Bastian peered at him. “You did not come alone, did you?”
Braxton shook his head. “I brought ten men with me. They are out in the soldier’s lodgings.”
At least he hadn’t struck out alone, which wouldn’t have surprised Bastian in the least. Not knowing what else to say, Bastian glanced at Gisella, who was standing to his left. He pursed his lips irritably in response to his father’s declaration of boredom, but she grinned.
“Of course you are welcome to be here with us,” she assured the old man. “Pay no attention to your son. He is irritable this evening.”
Braxton smiled at his new daughter. “I like you very much, Lady de Russe,” he said. “You are very gracious.”
Gisella giggled, biting her lip and pretending to wipe away the smile when Bastian frowned at her. But he couldn’t hold it for long and ended up cracking a grin.
“Of course you are welcome, Father,” he said. “I did not mean to intimate that you were not. In fact, I would like you to meet someone. This is good King Henry and he will be our guest tonight.”
Braxton turned his attention to the boy, peering intently at him as the boy gazed back at him with some trepidation. In fact, the young king appeared quite stiff and afraid. Braxton shifted in his chair.
“Your Grace,” he said evenly. “I apologize that I am not standing to greet you. It is difficult for me these days.”
The boy simply looked at him, unsure what to say. Then he lowered his gaze, looking at the floor. Braxton studied the tense young man carefully.
“Are you afraid, Henry?” Braxton asked, completely disregarding protocol.
Henry nodded after a moment’s hesitation. He glanced up at Bastian nervously, fearful he that he should say more, possibly to explain himself, but he was unable to. He was in a rare situation where there weren’t ten people speaking for him so he truly had little idea on how to behave.
Braxton could see the unrest, the anxiety. The lad had been a king since nine months of age and in that time he’d never been allowed to be anything other than a figurehead. Everyone spoke for Henry. Everyone made decisions for Henry. Like Gisella and Bastian, Braxton could also see what damage had been done tothis child and, like his son and daughter-in-law, the seeds of pity sprouted.
“Henry, come here,” Braxton said, not unkindly.
Terrified, Henry looked to Bastian for direction and the man nodded encouragingly. “Go to him,” he said. “He will not harm you. He is my father and he is a very wise man.”
Timidly, Henry took a few steps in Braxton’s direction. Even though his eyes were on the boy, the old man spoke to his son.
“Bastian,” he said. “Bring a chair for young Henry. Let him sit by the fire and be comfortable.”
Bastian pulled up a padded leather chair for the young king, who gingerly planted his skinny bottom on it. Perched on the edge of the chair, he looked at Braxton rather anxiously.
Braxton’s gaze was steady upon the king, thinking on the rather pitiful young boy, but he began to realize that the reception room was full of people hovering about; Bastian, Gisella, an old man he didn’t know, and five knights, including Brant who had just entered the room. No wonder the boy was nervous. He was being watched by people he didn’t really know as well as being in a strange place. It was probably a nightmarish situation for him. Braxton glanced at Bastian.
“You and your knights have duties to attend to, do you not?” he said. “The king and I shall become acquainted. And send Collins in here when you go.”
Bastian could see that his father was very interested in young Henry but not because he was the king. Braxton really didn’t care much about that. Braxton was quite fond of children but his were all grown up. He had a granddaughter but Bastian had no idea how often he saw her, so Braxton simply wanted to sit and talk to the boy. It was one of the things Braxton did best. Bastian smiled faintly, remembering the times he had spent with his father as a child. They were still the best times of his life.
Quietly, he turned to Gisella and extended an elbow to her. She accepted it, allowing her husband to lead her out of the room, sweeping the others along with them as they went. In a group, they filed out of the room, leaving young Henry seated by the fire with the old knight.
Seated by a warm fire and eventually given a cup of warm milk with honey and nutmeg, young Henry would, in later years, look back upon this night as one of the best times of his life, too.
*
