Lords of Darkness and Shadow (102 page)

Gilby didn’t look at him as someone set the black bag beside him. “Is he still at the Tower?”

“He is up on the walls.”

“Get him.”

“What for?”

Gilby’s head snapped up to the man, his white hair undulating with the motion. “Because you just stabbed his wife. He will want to know.”

The sergeant stared at him a moment. Then his eyes widened.   “You lie.”

“Call him and see.”

“De Lara isn’t married. What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

“The only way to find out whether or not I tell the truth is to summon him. If I am lying, what are you afraid of?”

The man’s shock was obvious as he struggled with conflicting thoughts. “But… but if she is his wife, what is she doing in here? Why are you hiding her? And who is the man with her?”

“Go find de Lara and he will answer your questions if he allows you to live.”

The sergeant swallowed hard, his face pale in the soft moonlight. There was suddenly a sense of panic among the men; they were scrambling, racing back up the ladders to the wall walk, shouting de Lara’s name. The sergeant took several steps back, knowing he should probably run for his life if what the old man said was true.   De Lara would strike first and ask questions later.  But a twenty year career forced him to take a stand and face de Lara even if it meant his life.  At least he wouldn’t be considered a coward for running. An idiot for staying, perhaps, but certainly not a coward.

As the call for Sean went up among the men at the Tower, Gilby concentrated on Sheridan’s leg.  It was a sizable gash that would require stitches but it wasn’t too serious. He was more concerned at the moment with stopping the bleeding. As he fumbled with his bag, Guy summoned his strength to sit up and help. He opened the bag for the old man.

“It is not serious,” Guy comforted Sheridan. “I have seen much worse. You will be whole and sound in no time.”

Sheridan wasn’t dealing well with the pain or the blood.  She knew she should be of stronger constitution, but she had never done very well with that sort of thing.  Lying back against the hay, she kept her head averted from the mess.

“It… it does not hurt much,” she lied, still sniffling. “Does it look bad?”

Guy smiled at her, trying to be positive. “Not bad at all.  ‘Tis hardly more than a scratch.”

That statement slowed her tears. “Really?” she hiccupped. “It feels awful.”

“That’s because you are not used to battle wounds,” Guy was deliberately trying to distract her.  “Once, my father was in battle on the Marches and he received three horrible wounds; one to the arm, one to the neck, and one to the foot.  His foot was almost hanging off, but the physicians were able to fix it. He is as good as new. He considers each new battle scar a badge of honor.”

Sheridan’s tears had stopped although her face was wet.  She gazed up at Guy with her luminous blue eyes. “I do not want a badge of honor.”

She flinched when Gilby pressed a square of linen against the wound to stop the bleeding. Guy reached down and grasped her hand, squeezing it encouragingly.

“It will be over in a moment,” he said quietly. “You are very brave, my lady.”

Sheridan didn’t reply; she closed her eyes to the intense pain as Gilby put pressure on the wound. It didn’t even occur to her that she was being comforted by a man who was wounded far worse than she was; it would only occur to her later how selfless Guy had been.

There were still several soldiers standing about, watching the event unfold.  They were so involved in the scene that no one saw Sean descend the wall until it was too late. In full armor and mail, loaded down with a full compliment of weapons, he suddenly appeared beside the wagon. 

The truth was that from his post on the north side of the wall, Sean had seen Gilby’s wagon stopped at the gatehouse. He had been too far away at the time to be of any assistance but he was already making haste for the gate when the events unfolded.  He had seen the sergeant jab his sword into the hay and he had heard the distant cries.  Realizing it was a female scream, he had nearly buckled in horror. But he kept his wits about him, making his way to the gatehouse with de Vere on his tail. 

He had therefore tried to steel himself. Sean’s expression was neutral when he happed upon the cart but the color drained from his face when he saw his wife lying there with a massive blood stain on her gown. God help him, he couldn’t stop his reaction.

“Sweet Jesus,” he hissed, shoving a soldier aside that was partially in his way. “What in the hell happened?”

Gilby looked up. “One of your sergeants was very thorough in his search of my cart.”

At the sound of Sean’s voice, Sheridan’s eyes flew open and she fixed her gaze on his serious, handsome face. The tears, so recently fled, returned with a vengeance. 

Sean watched her face crumple and his heart leapt into his throat.  “Is it serious?” he demanded of Gilby, moving around the cart so he could be closer to Sheridan. “Will she survive?”

“She will survive,” Gilby said steadily. “Sean, I need to take her someplace warm and safe. I need to stitch this wound.”

Sean reached over the old man and lifted Sheridan into his arms. Sobbing, she threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly.  He cradled her, thinking that his best laid plans had failed to remove her from the Tower. She was still here and so was the king.  More than that, the opposing armies were fast approaching. The situation was going from bad to worse, but all he could think of at the moment was tending to his wife.  The need seemed to block out all else.

“That man,” he snapped to the soldiers around him, indicating de Braose. “Someone bring him. And be mindful of his injuries.”

Leaving de Vere standing next to the cart scratching his head, Sean carried Sheridan across the darkened yard toward the apartments they had so recently vacated. Gilby was shuffling behind him and even further back, two soldiers carried de Braose between them. They made a strange procession across the dark and eerie courtyard with the smell of smoke in the air from the approaching battle.

The quarters were just the same as they had left them and the fire had long since died in the hearth. Sean ordered one of the soldiers to relight the flame as he carried Sheridan into the bedchamber. As de Braose was deposited into one of the chairs, Gilby followed Sean into the room.

“Lay her down,” the old man instructed. “I must sew the gash before it begins sealing itself too much.”

Sean tried to lay Sheridan down but she clung to him. She was scared and hurt, finding comfort in the arms of the husband she was so glad to see. When he realized she wasn’t about to let him go, he squeezed her gently.

“Release me, sweetling,” he said softly. “Gilby needs to see to your leg.”

She shook her head, still buried against his neck. “No,” she wept. “I want to stay with you.”

Sean and the physic passed glances. “I will not leave you,” Sean promised. “I shall stay right here until he is done.”

After a few encouraging kisses to her forehead and more words of reassurance, Sheridan eventually let him go and he laid her upon the bare mattress. He could see how terrified she was just by looking at her; the luminous blue eyes were edgy. His heart ached for her.

So he sat down and held her hand as Gilby gave her a bitter potion to drink and put seven fast, small stitches into the soft white flesh of her right thigh. Sean remembered that thigh from his brief taste of her, remembering its texture against his hands and feeling warmth in his loins from the mere thought. So he distracted himself by stroking Sheridan’s head, comforting her as Gilby finished the last of the stitches.  She had, remarkably, kept quiet the entire time, mostly due to the potion Gilby had given her. It had calmed her sufficiently to the point of putting her to sleep. 

When it was finally over, Sean watched her sleep for a few moments before casting a long glance at Gilby.

“Remember the last time you gave her a potion?” he asked pointed. “We could not wake her for hours.”

Gilby glanced at the lady as he put his things away. “This is not the same stuff.  She will sleep through the night, no doubt, but it should not have the same effect on her.”

Sean returned his gaze to his wife, sighing heavily at the sight of her pale, sleeping face. He was relieved that the crisis, for the moment, was over. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered. “It has already been an eventful evening and it is not even half over with.”

Gilby tied up his bag. “What are you doing upon the walls? I thought you were going to the Marches.”

Sean stroked her soft cheek with a big finger. “The king has changed his mind.  He wants me here, at the Tower, leading her defenses.”

Gilby nodded casually, putting his bag to the floor. “The Marshall should be pleased.”

Sean looked at him. “Do you know where he has gone?”

The old man shook his head. “I have been with young de Braose and your wife.  I have no knowledge. You’d best check with the priest.”

Sean returned his gaze to Sheridan, breathing heavily as her sleep deepened.  “I had to kill Gerard,” he muttered.

Gilby looked up at him, watching emotions play across the usually emotionless face. He thought of the ghastly bear of a man who was always at Sean’s side.

“Is that so?” he lifted his eyebrows. “It must have been an excellent fight.”

Sean sighed again, his gaze on his wife as he spoke. “The king demanded I bring him Sheridan. When I refused, he ordered Gerard to do it. So I killed him.”

Gilby shook his head. “Feel no remorse, de Lara. The man was a beast.”

“I do not feel guilty. But I have signed my death warrant.”

“Why?”

Sean suddenly seemed weary; some of the strength went out of his voice as he spoke. “Because the king’s trust in me was already dangerously brittle,” he let out a blustery sigh and wiped his hands over his face. “In killing Gerard, I killed the only other bodyguard that the king permits such close access to him. Now it is only me and the king has already seen me disobey him this night.  If I know the man, and I believe that I do, he now fears me as well as distrusts me. Although he can live with distrust, he cannot live with fear and, like any creature, will do what is necessary to alleviate the threat.”

“So he will have you killed?”

“More than likely, he will try.”

“But he loves you, de Lara. He has taken great pride in your horrific reputation.  Are you so sure he will turn on you?”

Sean nodded, slowly. “I would be surprised if he did not. I have shown him that I no longer mindlessly obey and that I will kill in order to refuse him his wishes. I have revealed my true self.”  He shook his head, hanging it in a rare display of emotion. “Nine years, Gilby. I have ruined nine years of hard work, blood, sweat and pain.”

Gilby was listening seriously. “Then if that is the case, you must flee. Do what you must to sabotage the Tower defenses, but leave this place and take your wife with you. You are much more valuable to us alive than a dead martyr.”

Truth be told, Sean already had a plan in place to sabotage the Tower’s defenses. It had been decided long ago between him and The Marshall; as far as Sean still knew, as he had not been told differently, the allied army had orders to approach and attack from downriver; the fires to the north were only a diversion. Sean’s plan focused the Tower’s army on the north wall and well away from the river.

Sean scratched his head, feeling some need to confirm that the plan, as it was intended, still held. “That is why I need to find out where the Marshall has gone,” he told the old man. “Though I am still at the Tower, things are not as they once were.  The situation has changed.”

Gilby moved for the door.  “Let me find Father Simon. Perhaps he knows something. I will return.”

Sean put his hand on him. “Nay,” he said. “I will go. I move faster and more undetected than you. Stay with your patients until I return.”

“Are you sure?”

Sean did nothing more than nod his head, his gaze moving to Sheridan’s pale, sleeping face. Gilby watched the emotions play on the man’s face.

“You cannot blame her, you know,” the physic said quietly.

Sean looked at him. “Blame her? For what?”

“For ruining all that you have worked for.”

Sean’s brow rippled with confusion. “Is that what you think? That I blame her?” he shook his head with more emotion than Gilby had seen from him in a long time. “Good Christ, Gilby, that woman has saved me. She has saved me from myself and if I die tonight, I die the most fulfilled man who has ever lived.”

  Gilby didn’t say another word; he didn’t have to. With a lingering glance at his wife’s slumbering form, Sean quit the room in swift silence. 

Guy was still sitting in the antechamber near the warming hearth. Given the fact that the man was worse off than Sheridan, he had done a remarkable job of not complaining. He sat quietly, listing to one side to favor his injured ribs, and watched de Lara blow from the room. When the door slammed, he turned to see Gilby standing in the bedchamber doorway. Their eyes met.

“Where is he going?” Guy asked.

Gilby knew he had heard the conversation in the bedchamber. There was no use denying what the young man had heard; besides, events were already happening.  Even if de Braose knew Sean’s true identity, it was of no matter. No more harm could be done.