Page 388 of Historical Hotties
Someone kicked at Braxton’s door and both ladies instinctively jumped at the sound. Oddly, he hadn’t bolted it and whoever kicked it then lifted the latch and shoved it right open. As Gisella watched the scene unfold from the safety of the hidden room, Braxton faced off against a heavily armed warrior.
She could hear every word.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Le Foix stoodseveral feet away from an old man with a very well made broadsword. He was a big man in spite of his advanced years and from the way he gripped the hilt of the sword, Le Foix could tell he knew how to use it. But le Foix wanted answers more than he wanted to kill anyone and since the majordomo said that de Russe’s father was in residence, le Foix drew the natural conclusion.
“You are Bastian de Russe’s father?” he asked.
Braxton remained motionless, his gaze riveted to the big knight in front of him. He’d learned long ago never to take his eyes off an enemy. “I am,” he replied steadily.
Le Foix nodded, acknowledging the man’s identity, as his focus moved over the old knight as if to acquaint himself with the father of the Beast. Many Frenchmen would have liked to have been in his shoes at that moment. In fact, while the rest of the Armagnacs were ransacking the house and stealing what they could, le Foix shut the door so they would not try to interfere with what he wanted to accomplish. He didn’t want them killing the man before he had his information. When the panel was shut, he faced Braxton once more.
“You will not need that broadsword,” he said. “I will not kill you provided that you help me.”
Braxton didn’t lower the sword. “Help you with what?” he asked. “From the sounds going on in this house, your men are helping themselves to quite enough. Who are you, anyway?”
Le Foix saw no harm in speaking to the old man because he was probably going to kill him in spite of what he said so whatever he told him would go no further. He smiled thinly at the question.
“I sent you a note a few weeks ago,” he said. “Did you not receive it?”
Braxton wasn’t sure what he meant, if he really meant anything at all. “A note?” he repeated. “What note?”
Le Foix lowered his sword. “All things must come to pass,” he said softly. “Your son has taken the Light from France. Our hope is dim but it is not gone. We are the air, the birds. We are the night. Fear us because we will come for you.”
The light of recognition went on in Braxton’s eyes. “So it was you,” he murmured. “You sent that threat to me. I see you have finally come.”
“I have.”
“You are an Armagnac?”
“How would you know that?”
“Because they are the staunchest supporters of France and, in particular, the Maid,” Braxton replied. “You have threatened my son for not saving her and I naturally assumed it was you who had threatened me as well. Also, your symbol is a bird in flight and you mentioned a bird in your note. Am I wrong in my logic?”
Le Foix was impressed. “You are not,” he said. “Excellent deduction.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
Le Foix already had respect for de Russe’s father. The man was showing no fear in the face of overwhelming odds. Lesser men would have folded. There was a chair in the room and le Foix went to sit on it, his back to the wall just as the old knight’s back was to the wall. It was a habit most knights employed so they didn’t have worry about someone sneaking up behind them to slit their throat.
“What is your name?” le Foix asked. “I should like to address you by your name.”
Something heavy crashed and broke in Gisella and Bastian’s chamber next door as the room was raided but Braxton didn’t flinch. The women were safe and that was all he was concerned with.
“You may call me Sir Braxton,” he told le Foix.
Le Foix nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Sir Braxton, it has come to my attention that your son was close to Joan of Orleans. Did you know this?”
Braxton was careful in his reply. “He was close to her by nature of his position,” he said. “He was her jailor.”
Le Foix was patient. “He was more than that,” he said. “It is common knowledge that your son was not only her jailor, but some have called him her companion in the last months of her life. Mayhap he was even her friend. Whatever the case, it is also common knowledge that he was with her when she died. Did you know this?”
Braxton still wasn’t sure what the man was driving at so he continued to be careful, and as neutral as possible, in his reply.
“My son has been home for less than a week,” he said. “We have spoken of much during that time but we have not spoken specifically about the death of the Maid.”
Le Foix leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. It was an oddly casual position considering theseriousness of the situation. It was evident that he was thinking on Braxton’s answer.
