Lords of Darkness and Shadow (106 page)

She sighed faintly, pausing to look at him. She was hoping they could have avoided this subject for a little while but she was not surprised that it was the first thing out of his mouth. 

“I know that,” she said quietly. “And I am not trying to be cruel by refusing, but.…”

He cut her off. “I realize that. Your heart is with Sean; I have always known. And I want you to know that I have finally accepted that.  I have accepted the fact that you and I shall never wed.”

Her brow furrowed faintly; his manner seemed rather abrupt and slightly nervous. “Why would you say such a thing?” she asked curiously.

He regarded her a moment before taking a deep breath. “You are aware that I went to London at the bequest of my father.”

She nodded. “Of course.  You were here at Lansdown when he sent a missive and asked you to go to London on an errand.”

“Aye,” Guy was having difficulty looking at her. “I did go to London. But it was not on an errand for my father. It was because my father had received a missive addressed to me at Abergavenny Castle.”

“What missive?”

“A missive about Sean.”

Fortunately they had reached her chair because Sheridan felt all of the blood rush from her head.  Guy carefully lowered her into the chair.  The tears were already pouring from her eyes as he sat beside her.

“My God,” she breathed. “Is it true?”

“It is. It said….”

“Please,” she wept softly. “I do not want to know what it said.  Please do not tell me.”

He knew she did not mean it; she was simply refusing the pain that she believed such a missive would bring. Guy put his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“I must tell you,” he said quietly. “You must be strong and listen to every word.  Please, Sheridan. It is important.”

She looked at him, sobbing fearfully. Although she had wanted proof of his death, still, the reality of it was difficult to bear. But she eventually nodded and he continued.

“The reason that no one was able to discover anything about Sean is because the Marshall had him taken to Rossington House in north London,” he said gently. “When the Marshall went on to fight the baron’s wars, there was no way to know that Sean had ended up at Rossington. Only two people knew of his location; William and Gilby. The missive I received was from Gilby.”

“Gilby?” She was sobbing into her hand. “What… what did he say?”

Guy stroked her head gently, trying to keep her calm. “He sent it to Abergavenny because he thought you would be there, with me,” he told her gently. “You did, after all, promise Sean that you would marry me. He naturally assumed you would be there.”

“Tell me what it said.”

Guy sighed faintly. “It said that Sean survived his trip from the Tower to Rossington. God knows how, but he survived. Gilby did not expect him to live after that.  He said that he waited daily for Sean to die.”

Sheridan was sobbing so hard that she was almost incoherent. Guy shook her gently, forcing her to look at him.  When he saw how distraught she was, he took her kerchief and dipped it in the lake, gently swabbing her cheeks so that she would calm. He did not know what else to do. 

“Why…,” she gasped. “Why did you go to London?”

“Because Sean was in London.”

Sheridan was growing faint with grief.  But she struggled through it, knowing it would do no good to weep for her husband dead these long months. Perhaps she really had known all along that he had perished but had refused to accept it. The confirmation was hard to face.

“Did… did you see him?” she whispered.

“I brought him with me.”

She yelped, looking at Guy with such horror that the man put his hands on her to still her.  Sheridan struggled to stand up.

“I must go to him,” she sounded extremely unsteady. “I must go to him right away. Where is he?”

Guy was struggling to calm her, letting out a piercing whistled as he did so. It was evident that he was calling for someone, perhaps assistance for the hysterical lady.  She was veering out of control and he needed help.

“Sheridan, you must calm yourself,” he pleaded. “You do not need to go to him.  He will come to you. But I wanted to prepare you.”

“Prepare me for
what
?”

Guy blinked, realizing she did not understand. It was the most obvious thing in the world as he had explained it; or, at least, he thought so. But given her reaction, he realized that he had not been clear. Before he had a chance to clarify, a massive silhouette appeared on the crest of the hill above the lake. The sun was at such an angle that it was difficult to make out any features, but the size alone was explanation enough.

Sheridan caught a glimpse of the figure in her peripheral vision, turning when she realized someone was approaching. She inspected the body, watched the familiar gait, and an odd feeling swept her. She suddenly felt as if she was in a dream, for surely, things like this only happened in dreams. There was no other explanation. She began to feel faint as she realized that she was gazing at her husband.

As if by a miracle, her hysteria vanished. She stared at Sean as he walked towards her; there was no mistaking his proud stance or the soft expression on his face. He looked like he did when they had first met; dressed in a soft blue tunic, leather breeches and boots, he was more handsome than she had remembered. As she continued to stare at him, she noticed that he had lost some of his bulk. It was Sean, only leaner. Somehow, someway, the man had survived. 

It was too much to take. With a whimper, she fell back in her chair. Guy tried to support her, looking at her astonished face and hoping she wasn’t about to have a spell.

“He survived, Sheridan,” he said gently. “Sean was in London with Gilby. He thought you would be at Abergavenny with me, which is why Gilby sent the missive there. The missive asked for me to bring you to London, yet I knew that I could not. Not with the baby. So I went to retrieve Sean to bring him back to you.”

By this time, Sean was nearly upon them.  Sheridan hardly heard any of Guy’s words; she was focused on her husband’s smiling face. Guy backed away as Sean knelt timidly beside his wife, his expression one of utter tenderness as he beheld her face for the first time in ages. For a small eternity, they simply stared at each other.  Sheridan remained frozen until Sean finally spoke to Guy.

“You were supposed to prepare her, de Braose,” he said. “I see that you did not do an adequate job. She thinks I am a ghost.”

The sound of his voice was all Sheridan needed to snap her out of her trance; she suddenly threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him so hard that she threatened to strangle him. Sean laughed softly and enveloped her in his massive arms, feeling her life and softness. It was better than he had remembered; words could not adequately describe the elation of the moment. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, his hands in her hair. “Are you all right, sweetling? Say something.”

Sheridan was literally speechless. She refused to let go even when he tried to pull her away from him so he could get a good look at her.

“Nay,” she gasped. “I shall not let go. If I do, I will wake up and this all will have been a dream. Let me dream a little longer.”

Sean gave in to her request and held her tightly. For the first time in his life, he turned himself over completely to the weakness of emotion, closing his eyes and feeling the tears course down his cheeks. He’d never truly allowed himself such a lack of control. It was the most magnificent moment of his life.

“It is no dream, sweetling,” he murmured into her hair. “I told you I would come for you no matter what. I am sorry it has taken me so long to live up to my promise.”

Sheridan had a death grip on him. “You survived.”

“I survived.”

“I do not believe it.”

He laughed softly. “Believe it. It is the truth.”

She suddenly pulled her face from the crook of his neck, her luminous blue eyes glistening with tears of joy. She was weeping again, but this time from disbelief and jubilation. She ran her fingers across his wet cheeks, then his lips, and he kissed them tenderly. But it wasn’t enough; he pushed past her fingers and latched on to her mouth.  He kissed her with something more powerful than joy or passion; it was love in its purest form.

“My God,” Sheridan breathed as his mouth left her lips and moved over her face. “Father Simon told me not to give up hope.”

Sean inhaled her scent deeply; there were times when he never thought he would smell it again.  Tears were still in his eyes as he kissed her neck, her cheek.

“I am so sorry to have caused you such torment,” he murmured. “To ask for forgiveness seems wholly insufficient.”

She shook her head, touching his face as if still convincing herself that he was real.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she insisted softly. “I told everyone that I would not believe you had died unless they provided me with proof. Until I had your dead body within my grasp, there was still hope. I never let it die.”

He smiled faintly, kissing her again just because he could. “I never let it die, either.”

As she gazed back at him, her expression suddenly turned wistful. “Tell me what happened after I left you. Why did you not send me word before now?”

He sighed, shifting so that she was more comfortable. But it only managed to bump her belly against him and he looked down at her swollen midsection, putting his hand reverently against her stomach. He seemed to lose his composure again as the tears welled once more.

“A baby,” he said, caressing her rounded belly. “Guy told me. I could not have imagined such a blessing. ‘Tis a miracle.”

She smiled weakly, watching his awe-struck expression. “The physic says that he believes it to be twins.”

Sean’s eyebrows flew up. “Twins?” he repeated, awed. “Sweet Jesus, is he sure?”

“He seems to be.”

“Do you feel all right?”

She laughed joyously. “Now that you are in my arms, I feel wonderful,” she sobered. “Please tell me what happened after we parted at the Tower.”

He continued to rub her belly, distracted by the surprise of her pregnancy and struggling to focus on her question. 

“The Marshall took me from the Tower to a manor he owns in north London,” he replied softly, looking up from her belly and focusing on her face. “I lost consciousness at some point very soon after you fled with Guy and Father Simon. I do not remember anything until waking up almost a week later. For a very long time, I lingered near death.  Gilby thought I was dead many times over but somehow I always managed to prove him wrong. When I had been infirm for about a month, a nasty infection set in and I was incapacitated for almost two months. Gilby never left my side, doing everything he could to be rid of the infection. But my body was so weak by that point that he could not rid me of it entirely. It kept coming back.”

Sheridan listened with tremendous sympathy, kissing his hand, his cheek, as he spoke. “My poor Sean,” she murmured. “But I am so thankful that you did indeed survive.”

He wriggled his eyebrows wearily. “It was a long road, believe me.”

“But why did Gilby not send word to me? I would have come to be with you during your illness.”

He looked at her sheepishly; now came the meat of his confession. “I would not let him,” he told her. “I was convinced that I was going to die and I did not want him to notify you that I had survived my initial injury only to receive word that some random poison had just as quickly claimed my life. It was selfish of me, I know, but I did not want to put you through that hell. Better that you believed I died on that fateful night than suffer emotional highs and lows of health issues that seemingly had no end.”

She sighed faintly, understanding his reasons but distressed by them nonetheless. “I love you, Sean,” she insisted softly. “I was my right to know.”

“I realize that. But I suppose in my own mind I was trying to protect you.”

“So you would permit me to believe you were dead so I could marry Guy and get on with my life?”

“Something like that,” he murmured, feeling stupid even as he said it. “But the months passed and I slowly grew stronger. And along with my health, my resistance against the king returned.”

She looked at him, shaking her head after a moment. “Always the king,” she murmured. “You were on your death bed yet still you thought of the rebellion.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You must remember that the last nine years of my life have been dedicated to the opposition against the king.  I did not want to waste my hard work. I did not want the Shadow Lord’s reputation to be in vain.”

She understood somewhat. “So what did you do?”

He sighed, pulling her on to his lap so he could feel her belly against him. His chin rested on her shoulder as he spoke.

“I joined the barons in Runnymede last month for the signing of what they are calling the Magna Carta,” he told her. “It is a document that is meant to give rights and fairness to all. It is meant to end tyranny.”

Her eyes widened. “I was supposed to be at that meeting but could not travel because of the baby. Do you mean to tell me that you were there?”