Lords of Darkness and Shadow (96 page)

The strong walls of Watford House had turned into a command post. Most of the allied nobles were gathered in the fortified manor house to discuss their strategies.  The rooms reeked of stale rushes and old ale, and the house in general had a bad mood to it. Jocelin was there and Sheridan had singled him out for a particular hatred. When she found out what he had done, there was nothing on earth that would convince her to forgive him.

“Eat something, Sheridan.”

Jocelin’s command came as he entered the chamber with Arundel and Fitz Herbert.  They had a map between them and headed straight for the large, heavily-constructed table near a set of nine very long, very thin lancet windows built into the northern wall of the room. It allowed for light and air in the massive chamber.  While some of the nobles chose to attend the battle themselves, many of them maintained a distance while their men handled the task. 

The bishops of London, Lincoln, Worcester, Rochester and Coventry had all returned to their homes, while de Warenne, Arundel, Salisbury and the Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury moved to Watford House to be near the siege. De Neville and de Burgh had moved to a location in Kent to ride out the storm, while Fitz Gerold and Fitz Hugh remained with the nearly twenty thousand men now storming the city of London.

The atmosphere was tense even at the best of times.  War was never easy, and this war was the culmination of years of strategy.  Now, as Jocelin and the others were reviewing the latest reports from London, Sheridan could only think about returning to the city and to Sean.  It consumed every second, every moment of her day and night.

“Let us go walk in the garden,” Alys said, trying to get her sister’s mind off her troubles. “The weather isn’t so bad.”

Sheridan stood up without a word. She was a bitter, sullen woman these days. She didn’t acknowledge Alys’ kindness as her sister placed a heavy cloak on her shoulders to protect against the chill outside. Jocelin caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and excused himself from the gathering.  He caught up to the pair just as they were leaving the room.

“Dani,” he said softly. “Have you eaten today?”

“Nay.” She would not look at him.

“I know you are upset, but you cannot go on like this.”

“Upset?” she growled. “Nay, I am not upset. I am destroyed and you are personally responsible.”

Jocelin had been drawn into this conversation with her too many times in the past three days. He’d tried to be logical, reasonable and kind, but she would not return the favor. It took all of his abilities to remain calm. These were the times when he thanked God for his celibacy and the fact that he had no daughters.

“Neely did what he had to do, what I told him to do,” he said steadily. “De Lara was abducting you and Alys to take you to the king.”

“He was not,” Sheridan seethed. “How many times do I have to tell you that Sean was taking Alys and me to safety? If he had been trying to abduct us, why was he taking us toward the Lanthorn tower?”

“Neely intercepted you
near
the Lanthorn,” Jocelin replied quietly. “That does not mean de Lara was about to enter it.  From where we found you, he could have taken you to any number of areas in the Tower.”

“He was saving us.”

“Neely saved you. Understand that, girl, and you’ll live longer.”

Sheridan was as close to striking someone as she had ever been in her life.  “Neely did nothing of the kind,” she hissed. “Neely’s jealousy is raging so that he would do or say anything to gain favor with me right now.  And God only knows what he has you convinced of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. Surely he has you convinced that I am stark raving mad because of my association with Sean.”

“We have been through this, Sheridan.  I do not believe you are thinking clearly. It was good that we removed you from the Tower when we did to get you away from de Lara’s influence.”

Flustered and furious, she turned away from him, wishing she could tell him what Sean had told her about his loyalties. But she would remain steadfast to her promise and not reveal Sean’s true self.  All her life she had admired and loved Jocelin. Now all she could see was a suspicious, foolish old man.  She walked away from him without another word.

With a heavy heart, Jocelin let her go. Though they were at odds, still, he was sorry. He knew that she was stubborn like her father, sometimes to the point of blindness, and this was simply one of those times. Once married to de Braose, providing the young man survived his adventure in the Tower, she would return to her senses. He was sure of it.

Outside of the manor, it was cool and clear for January. Fat puffy clouds danced overhead as Alys led Sheridan into the elegant formal garden.  Lady de Warenne was an avid gardener and all manner of flowering shrub covered the grounds. Though most were dormant at this time of year, some still held their bloom. Alys fussed over the one and only blossom in the entire garden, inhaling its non-existent scent until she sneezed.

But Sheridan had no interest in the garden. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Though they’d spent much time walking the pebbled path, she’d paid little attention to the surroundings. She could have been in a blighted desert for all of the attention she was paying it.

Finding the small lover’s bench lodged under a silver birch, she sat on the cold stone and brooded. She could still feel the delicious sensations of Sean’s lips against hers and the extraordinary power of his embrace that made her feel as if nothing else in the world mattered. She would give anything to feel that again, but the more time passed, the more impossible that chance seemed.

She was terrified that Neely had killed Sean in his jealousy; all she knew was that Neely had struck Sean across the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, sending Sean to the ground in an unconscious heap.  She had seen all of it. She had fought with Neely even as he had picked her up and carried her from the Tower grounds, so much so that she had ripped several gashes with her fingernails into his neck.  Neely hadn’t so much as uttered a sound as the pain tore through him; he held her tightly and carried her off on horseback. The last Sheridan had seen of Sean was several Glastonbury men kicking his limp body in the moonlight, pounding the man they had all grown to fear. It had been a horrible sight, one she tried desperately to forget.

But she couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried.  She and Neely had ridden for an hour before reaching Watford House. Sheridan had been exhausted and nearly incoherent by the time they arrived at the fortified manor. Neely had left right away to return to London but not before making all attempts to apologize to Sheridan; he didn’t want her hating him. Her response had been to spit on him. He had his answer and, bitterly, returned to the brewing battle.

So Sheridan found herself still at Watford House, feeling no differently than she had three days ago. Her anger had turned bitter, her hurt to anguish. She was learning to hate those around her, including Alys.  It was wrong and she knew it, yet her reason was unsteady these days. She was desperate to find Sean, desperate to know if he had survived the ambush. Dead or alive, something inside of her had to know. 

As she sat on the small lover’s bench beneath the barren tree, she began to realize that her only course of action, her only hope, was to escape back to London.  Foolish as it was, she could think on nothing else.

Alys was still studying the shrubs and ended up chasing a lizard across the pebbled path.  Sheridan watched her younger sister, knowing she could easily manipulate the girl into obeying her wishes.  If she was to escape this place, then she had to remove herself from Alys’ presence. The plan in her mind began to grow.

“Alys,” she said softly. “Would you do something if I asked you?”

Alys perked up. “Of course, Dani. What would you have me do?”

Sheridan averted her gaze to her hands, resting in her lap.  She found that she couldn’t look her sister in the eye. “I find that I am rather hungry. Would you go to the kitchens and prepare a meal for me?”

Alys’s features lifted joyfully. “Of course I will. What would you like?”

Sheridan shrugged. “I have a craving for an almond pudding. But that would take much effort, wouldn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Alys said, thrilled that her sister was actually interested in food. “I’ll tell the cook to prepare it right away. Is there anything else you would like?”

Sheridan pretended to think. “I would like fresh bread. White bread, without a hint of brown in it.  And lots of butter.”

Alys nodded swiftly, making mental notes of her sister’s wishes. “Almond pudding and fresh bread. I will tell the cook right away.”

As Alys sprinted for the entry into the manor, Sheridan stopped her. “Alys, you will stay and make sure they prepare everything fresh, will you not? I cannot stomach anything that is not freshly prepared. And I trust you to see that it is done correctly.”

Alys nodded eagerly and dashed inside without another word. Sheridan waited until she was sure Alys wouldn’t return before bolting from the bench.  She remembered where the stables were from the day they had arrived.  Wrapping the deep green cloak about her tightly, she made haste for the livery and prayed with every step that her deceptive request to Alys would give her enough time to do as she must. She didn’t care who she lied to or who she coerced, just so long as she could get away from Watford House.

She had to find Sean.

“…the days, as they passed, introduced me to a fresh, new hell….”

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 - 1215 A.D.

CHAPTER TEN

Gerard had put Guy in the deepest depths of the Tower vault, down into the rooms that seeped of water and rot that permeated the ground from the Thames.  It was a hellish place and the lower levels were a maze of horror and darkness. These paths of despair were used only for the very lowliest offenders, those to be locked away and forgotten by time. Men came down here to be swallowed up as if they had never existed. 

Sean had some difficulty maneuvering his massive body down the narrow, slippery stone steps of the lower level, made more difficult by the fact that his head was still swimming slightly from the blow to his head.  By the time he reached the bottom level, it was nearly pitch black and smelling heavily of decay.  He knew from memory there were four cells in this block, small rooms with no ventilation. He lit a larger torch on the wall from the small one he was carrying, giving him just enough light to locate de Braose’s compartment.  Lifting the splintering plank that slid across the door to lock it, he pushed it aside and shoved open the panel.  The oak and iron door jammed and he was forced to thrust hard, twice, to unstick it.

The chamber smelled of death. It was a horrible scent.  Sean didn’t see Guy right away until he looked over into the corner and saw a body half collapsed, half propped against the stone.  He was frankly surprised to see de Braose’s dark eyes gazing back at him, wincing with the introduction of the light.  He took a step into the cell, lifting the torch for a better look.

“How badly are you injured?” he asked.

Guy blinked rapidly in the weak light.  He could see de Lara, larger than life, dressed in full armor. “If you have come to finish what your comrade started, then know that I am no match for you. You can kill me if you have a mind to.”

“I have no mind to. How badly are you hurt?”

Guy wasn’t sure how to answer. He could barely move, but that wasn’t what de Lara was asking.  “My right arm is useless.”

“Broken?”

“Aye.”

“Can you stand?”

“I have not tried.”

Sean reached down and pulled de Braose to his feet as if the man weighed no more than a child. But Guy was gravely injured and groaned at the movement. Sean could see that Gerard had done his work very well, for Guy was a mess. His face was battered, his right arm broken, and there was no telling what other injuries lay beneath the torn and stained clothing. 

“What are you doing?” Guy demanded, pain in his voice. “Put me down, de Lara.”

Sean didn’t reply. He hoisted Guy from the cell, listening to his grunts of pain. When they hit the slippery steps, Guy began to weakly struggle.

“Put me down,” he groaned. “Where are you taking me? If you are thinking to.…”

Sean cut him off then. “Keep silent,” he snapped lowly. “If you value your life, you’ll do as I say. You must play dead.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“I said play dead,” Sean’s clear blue eyes blazed into Guy’s youthful features. “And shut your mouth. If you want to live, you’ll keep it shut.”

“I still do not understand.”

“You do not have to. But I ask that you trust me.”

Guy’s eyebrows flew up. “Trust
you
?” he repeated, outraged. “After everything that has happened, you are asking me to trust you? You must be mad.”

“Indeed, I very well may be. But your only other choice is to rot away in that cell. Is that what you wish?”

Guy opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He was cornered. “What are you going to do?”

“You must play dead, no matter what you hear and no matter what happens. You must play the lifeless, limp corpse. Your life depends on convincing others that you have met your end. Can you do this?”

Guy lifted his one good shoulder, a weak gesture. “It appears that I have no choice.”  His dark eyes cooled, grew shaded. His mind was thinking many things, not merely of de Lara’s strange request.  He was especially thinking on the last time he and the Shadow Lord had met. “Where is Lady Sheridan? Is she all right?”

Sean had been collected and professional up until that moment. But hearing her name was like a dagger through his heart.  He dare not allow himself to falter in front of de Braose.  Yet knowing that the young knight felt for the lady as he did, knowing that somehow he may have a kindred spirit in the man in their mutual concern for the lady’s welfare, he told the truth.  Besides, it was the very reason he was releasing Guy from his imprisonment.

“She is missing,” he said frankly.

Guy’s eyes widened. “But… the last I saw, she was under your escort.  You had her, de Lara. What happened?”

Sean’s emotions had the better of him and he struggled against the anguish that threatened. “I was ambushed after I left you,” he said truthfully. “I was rendered unconscious and the lady was taken.”

Guy’s big brown eyes widened with dismay. “Why are you not out looking for her? Why are you here wasting time with me?”

Sean’s jaw ticked dangerously. “I tell you this because I require your help,” he rumbled. “In spite of my reputation, I cannot be everywhere at once. The lady is missing, presumably in danger, and as much as I loathe the idea I require your assistance. I will get you out of this place, but in return you must do everything in your power to help me find the lady. You are allied with her. You have many mutual friends and acquaintances. Perhaps one of them will know where she is. They will speak to you far more easily than they will speak to me. “

It suddenly all came clear to Guy. De Lara was taking him from the vault because he needed Guy’s help to find Lady Sheridan.  He began to feel his sense of worth where a moment ago, he had none. Now, the mighty de Lara needed him.

“In spite of the fact that we both lay claim to her, you would ask this of me?” Guy repeated, somewhat guardedly. “Are you so desperate, then?”

“Nay,” Sean shook his head slowly. “I am only concerned with her welfare. I care not for our petty contention at this point, de Braose. All I care about is finding the lady safe and whole. I believe you are the one man who can help me accomplish this.”

“And if I find her and marry her? What then?”

Sean lifted an eyebrow. “I would ask that you not, but I cannot order or demand it. I will leave it to your conscience to do the right thing. All I care about is that she is found. Will you do this?”

Guy was seriously attempting to ascertain Sean’s motives in all of this. Either he was up to something, or Sean was the most selfless man he’d ever met. He wasn’t sure which but he was impressed with the man’s altruism nonetheless. Slowly, he nodded his head.

“I will.” 

There was nothing more to say. The two enemies would, for the moment, work together for the common cause of Lady Sheridan. Guy was easily half Sean’s size, so it was little effort for Sean to literally throw him over his shoulder and carry him up the stairs to the next level. This floor of the vault was busier, however, and the master jailer focused his attention on the pair as Sean carted Guy through the area.  He went to them.

“You found him, I see,” the burly, one-eyed man spoke to Sean. “Is he dead?”

“He is. I am sending the body back to his father as a message against all those who would oppose the king.”

Thankfully, the jailer didn’t check. He took the Shadow Lord’s word for it. Sean continued to lug Guy through the vault, up the next set of stairs, and up into the gatehouse. There were soldiers everywhere and smoke from the battle filled the air as Sean passed into the ward beyond.  Even though it was the north and east sections of London that were burning under attack, the wind had carried the smoke and ash to the Tower.  It was an eerie sight as the late afternoon sun turned red behind the clouds of burnt orange and black.

Guy peeped an eye open, noting the tense mood of the courtyard and the soldiers in battle mode going about their business.  He could smell the smoke and knew, without being told, what was happening.  The siege was well underway.

Sean pulled Guy into a shadowed corner against the wall. It was apparent that he was searching for something, or someone.  Guy winced as his broken ribs brushed against each other, his torso wedged up against Sean’s massive shoulder.  After several moments of hovering in the shadows, the pair rounded the corner of the gatehouse and headed straight for a small, enrobed man pulling a donkey cart along the edge of the western wall. 

Without a word, Sean lifted Guy over the side of the cart, burying him beneath the mounds of hay that filled it. Guy sputtered as dried grass hit him in the mouth, but for lack of a better response, lay there as Sean and the tiny old man threw great piles of hay over him.   When they were finished satisfactorily burying Guy, Gilby peered out at Sean from beneath his hood.

“He is badly hurt,” Sean said quietly. “Take him somewhere safe where you can tend his wounds. Then send him back to his men. I don’t care how you do it, but get him there.”

“It will not be a simple thing,” Gilby said. “The gates are sealed.”

Sean lifted an eyebrow. “The gates are not the only way in and out of the Tower.”

“And if I need your help?”

Sean shook his head. “I am riding for the Marches in two hours. If you need help, you’ll have to seek it elsewhere. I cannot help you.”

Gilby’s brow furrowed. “Why are you riding to the Marches, man? London is under siege.”

Sean’s normally emotionless face rippled with disgust. “Be that as it may, our king has ordered me to the Marches.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “And I need you to deliver a message.”

“As you wish.”

“The Chapel, one hour.”

As Gilby watched the enormous knight slip off into the darkness of the Tower yard, he couldn’t help wonder what de Lara was doing.  For the king to order him away from London in the face of a siege was most unusual.  It was a curious move on the monarch’s part.  Behind him, Gilby could hear the straw rustling about.  He turned in time to see Guy’s dark head pop up amongst the hay.

“He is going to the Marches?” Guy repeated what he’d heard. “Why is he going there? And who are you?”

Gilby cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Which question would you have me answer first?”

“All of them.”

“It would appear so, because the king has ordered him to, and my name is Gilby.”

Guy processed the answers slowly.  In fact, he was processing the entire circumstance rather slowly. His mind was muddled with pain and lack of food, and now that he was out of the vault, it was also muddled with relief.  As Gilby collected the lead rope and smacked the mule on the buttocks to get it moving, Guy lay back down in the hay.  He had the presence of mind to cover himself back up.  His body was killing him and his head was swimming, but above everything, he felt a new resolve to do as he must. Lady Sheridan was out there, somewhere, and he had to find her.

When he did, he would marry her. To the Devil with de Lara.

***

Sheridan knew the locale of Watford House in relation to London simply because she’d heard enough talk over the past few days to give her a very good indication.  She therefore knew that she must travel southeast to the main highway leading from London to Gloucester.  It had taken her and Neely an hour to reach Watford House and that had been at a moderately slow pace, so she assumed it would be even less if the horse was swift.  

She had selected a high-bred bay steed that she thought might have belonged to Salisbury. The animal’s blanket bore Salisbury’s colors of yellow and light blue. In any case, it was a cooperative animal and she was able to saddle the horse and remove it past a dumbstruck stable boy without much trouble.  Though she had no food or money, she did not want to take the time to procure those items lest her plan be discovered.  She would simply have to worry about those things when the time came.

The big bay gelding had a smooth gait, making it an easy canter as she stole away from Watford House. She kept to the fields to shield herself from the view of the fortified manor, but soon enough was able to travel the road.  The day remained cool, bright, and unusually quiet.  As she loped down the road, the entire adventure began to take on the feel of a leisurely ride. Sheridan felt a tremendous amount of relief now that she had left Watford House, as if she was finally on her way to accomplishing her task.  She struggled not to entertain the thought that Sean was dead. She had to have faith that he had survived.  

Determination fed her actions where common sense did not. She knew very well how dangerous her actions were, but it didn’t matter. She further knew that she was riding into a city under siege, but that didn’t matter either.  As the horse galloped south and midday turned to afternoon, she decided the best course of action upon reaching the Tower would be to go to the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula and speak with the priest who had said mass for her father. Perhaps the priest would know of de Lara’s whereabouts; truthfully, other than asking the king himself, she did not know where to start.  Priests usually knew most of what was going on around them. Maybe the man could help her find some answers.