Lords of Darkness and Shadow (100 page)

“He is right,” she said quietly. “You must return to the king and you must allow Gilby to remove me from the Tower. Have no fear; I will be waiting for you at Watford House.”

His indecisive expression was replaced by one of raw longing. “It may be quite some time before I see you again,” he squeezed her hands gently. “I have no way of knowing when I shall come for you.”

It was like a stab to her heart but she fought it. Tears would do no good at the moment; she had what she wanted. She had married him. Now they both knew what needed to be done. Sean had a destiny he needed to fulfill; she could do nothing more than wait for him to fulfill it.

“I understand,” she said as bravely as she could. “However, I may move from Watford House at some point and return home. If I am not at Watford, then I will be at Lansdown. There is nowhere else I will be.”

“Go, Sean,” Gilby urged quietly. “You must not linger here.”

Sean nodded sharply, put both hands around Sheridan’s face, and kissed her strongly.  When he pulled back, his eyes were glimmering with emotion.

“If I never see you again, then know that this brief moment in time has made my entire life worth living,” he murmured. “Nothing else on earth, nothing else I have ever done, can compare. You are my angel and I will love you, and no other, in this life and beyond.”

With that, he was gone. Sheridan didn’t even have the time to reply. She stood there a moment, in shock, digesting his words and unaware of Gilby’s sympathetic gaze upon her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Sean.  She continued to stand for the longest time, gazing at the closed door, feeling hollow.  She wasn’t sure that she would ever see him again and the thought nearly killed her.

Gilby finally encouraged her to gather her cloak so they could leave.  She had to go back into the bedroom to retrieve it, but one look at the raw stuffed mattress where she had experienced her first intimate taste of her husband brought floods of tears.    When Gilby came back into the room to see what was keeping her, he found her curled up on the old mattress sobbing as if her heart was broken.

The old man wished he had a potion to heal such a thing.

“…. in reflection, I should have known what the outcome would be. As opposing armies clash with a mighty cheer, so it seemed that I should also clash with those I had once served ….”

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 - 1215 A.D.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Where have you been?”

It was the first question out of John’s mouth when Sean appeared in the king’s private dining room adjacent to his bedchamber. There were a few retainers present but, for the most part, the king was supping alone. Sean realized it was because of the anticipation of Lady Sheridan; John had not wanted to share her so he had dismissed most of his entourage. But Sean was entering the room alone and instantly, the king’s fury, and distrust, was peaked.

“I was seeking safety for Lady Sheridan, sire,” Sean replied steadily, his clear blue eyes locked with the king’s black orbs. “She is too valuable to the cause not to amply protect. I apologize if I was gone overlong.”

D’Athee stood several feet behind the king, watching Sean with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Truth be told, he was enjoying this; Sean de Lara had been the perfect son for nine long years.  Too long to serve in someone’s shadow.  D’Athee could see that perhaps now there was a chance for him to be the favored retainer of the king. He was pleased with the fact that de Lara’s reputation was fading before his eyes.

John’s gaze lingered on Sean for several long moments; it was clear that his distrust of the man was growing. No matter what he had told him about marriage to the St. James woman, there was more to it. John could feel it. Others had even suggested it and, being a pliable man, John would readily agree. It was sickening to think his Shadow Lord was turning on him, turned by the head of a woman no less. After a properly suspicious pause, he returned to his food.

“I told you to bring her to sup with me,” he said casually. “Why did you disobey?”

“She has fallen ill,” Sean replied. “This day has been too much for her. Rather than tax her further, I have locked her away where she can rest. She will be well enough to entertain you another day.”

John lifted a dark eyebrow at him. “I do not want her another day. I wish to see her today. Go and get her.”

Sean could feel the test of wills coming. It was faster than he had anticipated.   How he handled the king’s demands could very easily dictate the course of his future and the decisive end of nine horrible years. He could not destroy it now, not when all eyes were upon him. But he was facing a situation that he had never before faced; that as a husband protecting his wife. A man protecting the woman he loved. There was something overwhelming about that realization, fierce and crazed yet controlled and deadly. As much as he wanted to snap the man’s neck, he knew that he could not. 

“It must be another day, sire,” Sean replied. “She is in no condition for socializing. If you push her, she will fail, and her health is very weak. She will be no good to us dead.”

John’s black eyes flared. He stood up, knocking over his chair in the process and placing himself up against Sean as if to forcibly intimidate him. But there was a tremendous difference in size and height, and the king merely looked like an angry child standing before a man of Sean’s stature. Sean didn’t flinch as the king thumped him on the chest.

“Since when do you deny my orders?” he snarled.

Sean met him steadily. “I have explained to you my reasons, sire. They are beyond our control and I would ask that you trust me in this matter.”

The king’s cheeks flushed and his mouth began to work; Sean, Gerard and the few other retainers in the room could see that he was working himself up to a fit. It was a fast rise. When his fists began to clench and unclench and the veins on his neck throbbed, they knew the worst was coming.

“I do not believe you,” he hissed. “You have married this woman to keep her all to yourself. I have seen her; she is a beauty. You want her all for yourself!”

“I married her to better serve you, sire,” Sean answered steadily.

“Liar!”  John screamed, spittle flying from his lips. Reaching out, he slapped Sean across the face, hard. “You are keeping her from me and I shall not have it. Do you hear me? I shall not have it! Bring her here if you value your life, de Lara. You will not disobey me!”

The slap hadn’t hurt in the least but Sean was beginning to sweat. He was starting to lose his patience against a madman and that was not a good sign.

“A dead heiress will do you no good,” he repeated as evenly as he could manage. “Bear in mind that I have lied, killed and absconded for you for over nine years. I know for what purpose you wish to see Lady Sheridan and it is not simply to talk to her. I know you well, sire, and I tell you now that whatever you have planned for her will kill her. She will not be able to handle it in her present state. Is that what you want? To kill her?”

The king lashed out again and hit Sean with a balled fist, once on the arm and once on the jaw. It was hardly enough to take notice and Sean watched as the king began to foam at the mouth.  

“You are sworn to me, de Lara,” he sputtered, backing away from the mountain of a man.  He jabbed a crooked finger at him. “You are sworn to me and must do what I command. And I command you to bring the woman!”

Sean’s face did not change expression. “I regret that I must deny you, sire.”

John emitted something that sounded like a strangled scream as he whirled to d’Athée, a few feet away. He gestured at the man with claw-like hands.

“Go and get her, Gerard,” he commanded in a strangled voice. “Get her and bring her to me.”

“Do this and I will kill you,” Sean said to Gerard from across the room. “Do you understand?”

Gerard’s amusement from the beginning of the conversation had faded. Now he was in the middle of it, confused and edgy. He immediately unsheathed his sword at Sean.

“Make no threats to me, Sean,” he growled. “I am armed. You are not.”

Sean lifted an eyebrow at him. “I have no reason to arm myself unless you do not do as I ask. If I arm myself, you will die.”

John screamed again, this time in pure frustration. His body was beginning to contort. “Will no one do as they are told? I said get the St. James woman. I meant it.  Gerard, go this instant if you value your life!”

Gerard was cornered but he was also stupid; he did not think for himself and was only able to do as directed. As much as he feared Sean, he was sworn to the king.  If the king ordered him to do something, then he would do it.  He swung the sword in a deadly series of arcs to prove to Sean that he meant business.

“Where is she, de Lara?” he asked in a low voice. “If you do not tell me, then I will tear this place apart looking for her and when I find her, it will not be pleasant.”

Sean didn’t react at first; he simply stared at the man. He could see where this was leading.  After a moment, he turned his back on both men and walked to the entry to the room; two guards waited there, watching the happenings of the room with wide-eyes. Sean reached out and unsheathed the sword strapped to the side of one of the men; it was a smaller sword, more ceremonial than functional, but it was sharp and strong. It would have to do. Sword in hand, Sean turned in d’Athee’s direction.

“Now,” he said in a tone that caused most men to run in terror. “If anyone is to experience unpleasantness, it will be you. You will not go anywhere near Lady Sheridan. She is out of your reach.”

“You see?” John screeched. “He is trying to keep her from me!”

Gerard’s lip twitched menacingly. “Once the king is done with her, I will take my fill and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

Gerard had just signed his death warrant; Sean knew that he meant his threat.  Only death would stop him and Sean fully intended to kill him to protect his wife.  Any control over the situation had fled and now it was deadly. Sean intended that he and Sheridan would survive it.

“Aye, there is,” he rumbled. “I will end your miserable life before you leave this room.”

“You can try.”

Sean’s sword went up.

***

Guy was very surprised to see Sheridan.  When she and Gilby entered the old man’s tiny rooms that were inconspicuously lodged in a corner of the barracks, Guy nearly leapt out of the bed with joy.  But his broken ribs and cracked collar bone prevented it.  He lay there with an amazed smile on his face as she came near the bed and greeted him warmly.  When he reached out to take her hand, she let him.   He was obviously very glad to see her and she was genuinely touched by his concern.

But there was no time for the polite reunion. Gilby needed Sheridan’s help to move Guy and the old man hustled around the room, gathering things they would need and rattling instructions.

“My lady, I need for you to assist young de Braose,” he said as he threw items into a satchel and collected an old black bag shoved under a table. “He cannot walk without assistance.”

Sheridan took a closer look at Guy; she had a suspicion why he was lying in bed looking as if he had been run over by a stampede. The last time she had seen him, he was being taken away by the king’s guard. She bent over him, inspecting the enormous bruise on the right side of his head.

“Oh… Guy,” she breathed, stopping short of actually touching the wound. “What did they do to you?”

Guy smiled, lop-sided from the swelling on his face. “Beat me within an inch of my life,” he said, almost proudly. “But they could not make me tell them anything.”

“What did they want to know?”

Guy tried to shrug. “Everything. Our strength and strategy, mostly. I seem to remember Walter Clifford doing some of the interrogating, I am sure, to seek revenge against my father. They are old enemies, you know. My father will be furious when he finds out.”

“But you told them nothing? Not even Clifford?”

Guy shook his head. “Not a word. No matter how hard they beat me, which was quite hard at times.”

He seemed rather casual about the entire thing but Sheridan was horrified.  “I am so sorry,” she whispered sincerely. “Can you at least stand? You may lean on me.”

He nodded, moving extremely slowly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and grunting with pain as his ribs moved around. Sheridan had him by the arm, struggling to help him to stand, as Gilby finished collecting his tools and medicaments.  He seemed indecisive with a few things, putting some things aside while collecting others. But when he saw that the lady was having difficulty with the patient, he stopped his collecting and helped the man finally rise to his feet.

“There is a cart off to the side of the barracks, near the alley,” he said. “We must go to it.”

Sheridan had a good grip on Guy as they moved from the room, cloaked by the darkness as they moved into the corridor. Guy moved like a crippled old man and it seemed to take forever simply to move across the floor.

The door leading to the grounds was a few feet away and they were able to make it clear of the barracks in relative stealth. When it was clear that Guy could go no further, Gilby bade him stop when they were just a few feet clear of the barracks. As Sheridan practically held Guy on his two feet, Gilby scurried around the corner to his cart and grabbed hold of the small mule strapped to the guides. Leading the animal forward, he directed both Sheridan and Guy onto the back of the cart.

It was the same wagon that had been waiting for Sean when he had brought Guy from the dungeons. It was piled high with dried grass and dead weeds. With Sheridan’s help, Guy was able to burrow under the pile. Gilby waited until they were both settled before piling hay over them. He took his time in making sure they were adequately covered. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel, but it was essential in order to get them clear of the Tower. Covering the cart with an oiled tarp and piling his bags onto the back, he led the mule towards the gatehouse.

Truth be told, the old man was nervous. He hadn’t been nervous in years and it was a strangely exhilarating feeling. He would have been worried about himself if he hadn’t been nervous, for the gravity of the situation was wearing heavily on him. He knew how important it was. He had to get them to Watford House.

***

Sean tossed the sword aside, ignoring the trail of blood he left splattered across the floor.  With a lingering glance at d’Athée in a wounded heap, he turned to the king.

John gazed back at him with more fear than he had ever exhibited.  He had just witnessed a brutal swordfight ending in the goring of Gerard, who lay groaning on the ground. Sean had hardly raised a sweat. The king raised his hands.

“You are still my chosen one, de Lara,” he insisted, a far different attitude from the screaming man just moments before. “I did not mean it when I called you a liar. You have never lied to me. It was Gerard who thought so. He is the one who poisoned me against you.”

Sean was quite calm; he did not believe the king for a moment. “It is of no matter,” he said evenly. “If you have no more directives, then I must gather what is left of your army remaining at the Tower and head for the Marches.  De Vere will not be happy that I must confiscate a good deal of the forces he commands.”