Lords of Darkness and Shadow (84 page)

Neely stood by the door, watching Sheridan forcibly rub scented oil on Alys’ arm and grinning when Alys would snort and howl.  As he watched, he thought to himself that it was good to see Sheridan smile again. She’d smiled so little since her father’s death.  Today was the first time in months he’d actually seen shades of the old Sheridan return.

It seemed like ages passed as he stood and watched them. Finally, Sheridan settled on Gardenia and Lilac and paid extra to have the oils placed in lovely glass phials.  Alys couldn’t remember which fragrance she liked best so she settled for something that smelled like Apple Blossoms.  The perfume miser wrapped the goods in dried grass and an envelope of fabric, handing them off to the happy women. As Sheridan left the shop, she handed the packages to Neely and continued on down the avenue.

Nearing the second shop, this one of fabric goods, Alys spotted a vendor across the street selling apples cooked in honey and spices. She tore off across the street.

“Go with her,” Sheridan told Neely. “Don’t let her buy more than one. And for heaven sakes, don’t let her wander further away. There are smells all over this street that will lure her.”

Neely didn’t like leaving Sheridan, but did as he was asked. The seasoned soldier remained behind with Sheridan, posted just outside the stall door of the fabric merchant.

This stall was bigger than the perfume miser’s. It was lined with bolts of fabric from every part of the world. Sheridan started at one end and inspected every piece, every thread, in every bolt, until she reached the other side. The merchant had spied her early on and had taken to following her through the accounting of his wares, answering any questions she may have.  Her questions were intelligent, usually about the country of origin and the materials used.

A fabric called Albatross was a particular favorite; it was very fine, all-wool, and favored by women in the cloister for their wimples. Another favorite fabric was called Brocaded Brilliantine – a silk and wool mix styled in a brocade pattern. Lastly, the merchant showed her something new from Paris called French Crepon, a delicate yet durable weave.

In a relatively short span of time, she had selected three fabrics – a Brocaded Brilliantine of deep green with a golden undertone, an Albatross of pale yellow, and a French Crepon of ruby.  The merchant also had all manner of notions to accompany the fabrics such as thread and faux decorations. One such decoration was a bird made from sawdust and real feathers. It looked positively alive. Delighted, Sheridan purchased it with the intent of having it paired with the ruby satin.

She also purchased a variety of delicate Irish lace, woven with golden thread as fine as a spider’s web.  Sheridan appreciated good craftsmanship, as she herself had never had a particular talent for needlework.  Handing the fabric off to the soldier waiting outside the door, she proceeded down the avenue.

The street was quite crowded by now, mostly with nobles seeking finery whilst visiting London. For many of those from the far reaches of England, a visit to the Street of the Merchants was required lest their reputation suffer.  Street vendors dotted the street, selling soft wheat cakes, honey candy, fruit, and meat on a stick.  Sheridan looked around for Alys and finally found her at the cart of another street vendor who was selling fruited cakes.  Even across the distance, Neely caught her eye and she simply shook her head in a combination of disgust and resignation.   She didn’t blame Neely for not keeping a rein on her sister’s appetite; she’d never been able to do it very well, either.  Alys would eat herself to death some day and they’d all be to blame.

Sheridan became aware of a rumble of noise, gradually increasing in intensity. There seemed to be some commotion on the opposite end of the street, but she couldn’t clearly see what was happening. It looked to her as if there were a great many soldiers about.  But passing notice was all she gave it as her attention fell on the next stall. In addition to  more fabric, there were also a variety of items that had been brought from the Continent – carved wooden figurines from the land of the Norse, beaded jewelry from Greece, and little blocks of incense that looked like dirt but that, when lit, created smoke of the most wonderful scent.  

She couldn’t keep her hands off the finery. Her fingers soon smelled of myrrh and sandalwood as she handled the little blocks of incense and put them to her nose.  Then they made her sneeze and she had to put them back.  The bolts of material were of less variety than the previous stall, but she rifled through them nonetheless.  She did manage to come across a very fine blue wool from Scotland, which she promptly put on her purchase list. Alys would look wonderful in the color.  Noticing that there was a shelf of material next to the front door that she had missed, she went to inspect a bolt of thin, gauzy linen when a shadow moved through the doorway. She saw no more than that before someone abruptly pulled her away from the door and back against the wall

It was dark, as whoever had her against the wall was quite a bit larger than she and covered her with his entire body. Startled, not to mention terrified, she opened her mouth to protest when a mailed glove covered her lips. 

“My apologies, my lady,” a quiet, very deep voice rumbled. “I did not mean to startle you, but you must stay here, just for a moment.”

She recognized de Lara’s voice immediately.  Looking up, she was able to discern his features in the weak light of the shop.  He dropped his hand from her mouth and she was able to speak.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Why have you restrained me?”

His clear blue eyes were steady and appraising as he gazed upon her.  He was in his armor, an enormous man made even larger by the protection he wore.   All she could see was the face beneath the raised visor, the features everyone had told her to be terrified of.  Even now, she could not summon the will.

“I saw your sister outside and assumed you were somewhere close by,” he said. His tone turned serious. “Please do as I ask; stay here and do not leave until the king clears this avenue.”

She was torn between the thrill of seeing him and the frightening ambiguity of his words. “I do not understand.”

His hands gripped her upper arms; she could feel his strength through his mail, her fabric.  It was the most powerful, wonderful feeling she had ever known. “I mean that you should not,” he said quietly. “But I would ask that you trust me in this matter.”

She wasn’t sure how to take him.  She could hear the commotion outside as the king approached. “You do not think… you do not believe that I would try to harm the king somehow? Is that what you think?”

His eyes flickered with humor. “Nay.”

“Then why do you wrest me against the wall like a common criminal?”

“What I do is for your protection, not the king’s.”

An idea occurred to her and she was coming to understand what he meant.  The light of comprehension dawned. “You do not want him to see me, is that it?”

He didn’t answer. He continued to gaze down at her, thinking he’d never in his life seen a lovelier creature. Three days of not seeing her, of not witnessing her beauty or coming to know her wit, had left him starving like a man without food.  But he had been the shadow of the king and the king had been busy, affording him no opportunity to break away.

“I would express my deep regret at not having been given the opportunity to see you for the past few days,” he changed the subject as delicately as he could. “I hope you have been well.”

Part of her wanted to hear his words very much.  The other part of her did not want to be sucked into the mysterious games he liked to play.

“I have,” she replied, rather casually.  “A pity that you have been so busy.”

“More than you know. But I would like to remedy that.”

“What do you mean?”

A grin played on his lips. “Must I be plain?”

“I am afraid so.”

He lifted an eyebrow with feigned reluctance. “Very well. I have been thinking on this subject since the night we walked together in the yard so I may as well spell it out. But first, you should know that I am not a man given to whims. I do not make swift decisions.”

She cocked her head. “That makes no sense. You are a knight. Sometimes you must make split-second decisions that will affect your very life. And now you say that you do not make swift decisions?”

Now his eyebrows furrowed. “Cheeky wench. That is not what I mean.”

“You said you were going to be plain.  You have not been plain.”

He gave her a look that suggested she was in for a spanking if she didn’t curb her mouth.  “You have not let me be plain, nor have you allowed me to explain myself. Do you want to hear this or not?”

“If I must.”

An expression of momentary outrage was replaced by a reluctant grin. “You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She returned his smile, a radiant gesture that lit up the room. “Did you expect any less?”

“God help me, I did not.”

“Then pray continue.”

“I will if you will shut up.”

She pressed her lips together in a gesture of complete silence.  His eyes twinkled at her. “Now, if I may continue,” he went on. “What I was going to say was that I would like to.…”

He suddenly trailed off.  There was a small window for ventilation over Sheridan’s head. Sean caught sight of the king’s procession passing by the stall, tracking every sound, every movement. He remained as unmoving as stone; the only indication that he was not a statue was the slight movement of his eyes.  She felt his grip tighten on her arm before he finally looked down at her once again.  His manner was suddenly very serious.

“Stay here,” he whispered. “Do not leave until the king has gone. Do you comprehend?”

There was something in his tone that frightened her.  She nodded her head. “Aye.”

He thought to give her a smile of encouragement but stopped short.  He took both of her hands in his massive gloves, holding them gently, urgently.  “I am going to ask that you trust me, Lady Sheridan.”

She was thoroughly puzzled. “What…?”

“As you once trusted me with your sister’s life, I am asking you to do so again.”

She had no idea what he meant. He suddenly kissed both of her hands and was gone. The man moved so swiftly that the sharp action took her breath away. Her heart thumping with fear, and a bit of excitement from his kiss, she hid behind the fabric bolts enough to be able to peer from the open door to see what was happening.  Powerful curiosity had the better of her.

The king was speaking with Alys.

***

Seated in a fine chair in the antechamber of her borrowed apartments at the Tower, Sheridan stared into the weak fire. The flames licked at the blackened brick, crackling unsteadily as the sun waned.  Soon, night would be upon them all and the celebratory feast would commence. But Sheridan had no thoughts of feasting this night. All she could think of was the horrors of the afternoon.

Alys had been commandeered by the king. Nay, not by the king; by Sean himself.  Sheridan had heard her sister screaming as she was taken from the Street of the Merchants, the sounds of horror echoing in her brain.  When Neely had tried to intervene, he had been hit from behind by a massive, burly man and hauled away, unconscious.  Someone had told her that he had been taken back to the Tower and thrown in the vault.  She didn’t even know Neely’s fate and the trepidation of it ate at her.

Horrified, Sheridan had been escorted back to her Tower apartment by what was left of her guard.  She had sent for Jocelin immediately and, in a rage, the bishop had set off in search of Alys. That had been several hours ago and she had yet to receive any word.  Though she could have very easily  collapsed into tears, she had to remain strong until she knew the fate of both her sister and Neely. Crying would not accomplish anything.

Her new little puppy would have been a joyous diversion had she not been so troubled.  After feeding the animal some scraps from the morning meal, the little dog had slept beside her the entire afternoon.  She petted the dog absently now and again, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.  And with the onset of night, her anxiety was growing.

Trust me
, de Lara had said. She had up until the moment she saw him take Alys away. Now she didn’t know what to think. All she could hear was Alys’ screams rattling in her head.   She had to close her eyes to erase the pain.  Maybe she should have listened to what everyone had tried to tell her. 
The man is pure evil.

“M’lady,” her little maid was standing in the bedchamber door. “What… what do you wish to wear this night?”

Sheridan looked at the woman as if she had gone mad. But in the same breath, she knew that the king would be at the feast. If the king was there, then de Lara would also be there, and possibly even Alys. She had to go, no matter how much she did not want to.

“My white silk that Father brought from France,” she said. “I would wear the gold girdle with it.”
The maid fled to prepare the garment. It was the most expensive gown Sheridan owned, a magnificent white piece that hung off her shoulders with a wide, rounded neck, a long waistline, and huge belled sleeves. Gold and white embroidery lined the neckline, edge of the sleeves, and the entire hemline of the gown.  It was, in a word, spectacular. For some reason, she wanted to look her best tonight. One must always look their best when challenging the king.