Lords of Darkness and Shadow (101 page)

The king was like an eager dog; he couldn’t seem to apologize enough or be supportive enough.  He was terrified and it showed. “You do not need to go to the Marches,” he told him. “I would have you here in charge of the Tower defenses.”

Sean looked at him, lifting a slow eyebrow. “What of your holdings on the Marches that were so important to you, sire?”

“It is more important to protect me at this moment. London is under siege.”

“What of Abergavenney and Lansdown?”

“Leave them. There will be another time. Moreover, Lansdown is now your holding and I suspect that you do not wish to raze your own property.”

Sean almost sighed with relief but he held himself in check. Still, there were unanswered questions lingering in his mind. “And my loyalties, sire? Do I still need to prove them?”

John shook his head until his dirty, shaggy hair slapped back and forth. “You are my most loyal servant, de Lara. I am sorry for the things I said. I will not let a woman destroy the trust that you and I have for one another.”

Sean knew he meant what he said. But in a minute, he could mean the exact opposite. That was the trouble with the king; he was indecisive, pliable, and underhanded. Sean knew better than to trust him.

“We have more things to worry about than a woman, sire,” he tried to turn the subject from Sheridan. “I must go now and see to the city.  If I feel you are in too great a danger, then I will facilitate removing you from the Tower to a safer location.”

John nodded eagerly.  “I will trust you, de Lara. You have kept me alive for nine years and I will not doubt you.”

Sean’s gaze lingered on him a moment before begging his leave. There was nothing more to say, at least not outwardly. Actions, at this point, spoke far more than mere words and Sean was eager to regain whatever was left of the tattered situation.  More than that, he was vastly relieved that he would not be going to the Marches. Now he could do what he had planned all of these years in spite of the last-moment complications. Silently, he slipped from the room, leaving John to breathe a heavy sigh of relief when he was finally gone. 

The king wiped the sweat from his brow, his heart pounding in his chest and grateful that de Lara had not turned the sword against him.  Looking to Gerard on the ground, now pressing his hands against the wound in his side, he knew at once what he needed to do. De Lara was no longer controllable; he feared that one day soon the man would turn against him. Though Sean still seemed to be the same man on the surface, John could tell that something had changed.  Everything had changed.  Whether it was because of Lady Sheridan or not was no longer the issue. The fact remained that John believed Sean to be a threat to his life. Someday, the man would kill him. He knew it.

He had to do away with the threat. And there was only one way to do that.

“…. chaos, it seems, is contagious….”

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 - 1215 A.D.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Neely couldn’t believe his ears. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth from hanging open.

“How long has she been gone?” he demanded.

The messenger from Watford House was a stable boy, nervous and exhausted from his ride. He cowered. “Two hours at the most, my lord.”

“And no one saw her leave?”

The boy swallowed hard. “I did, my lord. I saw her leave on a Salisbury steed but I did not know she was running away.”  He paused as he watched Neely twitch and pace. “But there is more, my lord; her sister, the Lady Alys, was so guilt stricken over her sister’s departure that she ran off as well. Jocelin thinks she has gone to find her sister.”

At the northwest edge of London where two thousand men were gaining headway into the city, Neely was on the receiving end with a frantic message from Jocelin. The messenger had ridden hard from Watford House to inform him that the Lady Sheridan had run off and then the Lady Alys right after her. The boy could tell him no more than he already had; no one seemed to know where, exactly, Sheridan had gone, but they could certainly all guess. She had gone to find de Lara and Alys had run after her.

Neely hissed and cursed and threw the cup in his hand, listening to it clatter off in the darkness. It was a hellish night, full of death and fire and destruction, and he personally had fifteen hundred men under his command. But all that was put aside with the latest message from Jocelin.

Neely had two men second in command to him, one he had brought from Lansdown and the other as the head of the bishop’s men. Sir Roget Henley was born and bred at Lansdown; his father had served Henry St. James for many years.  He was young, flashy and brave but was molding into a calm and collected knight quite nicely. The other knight, an older man by the name of Sir Wyat de Tobins, had been with Jocelin for years and tended to be far more cautious than Neely liked. In spite of this, however, he was a capable commander.

It was to these men that Neely turned upon sending the nervous messenger back to Watford House. Since Roget knew the Lady Sheridan and the Lady Alys, the news meant more to him than it did to Wyat. The young knight had heard the information and was concerned at Neely’s reaction.

“Why have they done this, my lord?” he asked. “Where would they go?”

Neely would not tell him all of it; partly because it was none of his affair and partly because he was ashamed on the lady’s behalf.  Why such a level headed woman would suddenly lose her mind over a killer was beyond him. Alys, he could understand, but not Sheridan. Even without the mind-bending jealousy it provoked, he was still at a loss to explain her actions. He turned away from Roget and headed for the rear of the battle lines where the fresh supplies, wounded and horses were kept.

“I must go and see if I can find the ladies before something horrible befalls them,” he said. “You and Wyat have command of the men for now.  Continue along this path until I return.”

“But you are needed here, my lord,” Roget insisted. “Allow me to look for the ladies. I can find….”

Neely cut him off. “You do not know how they think. I believe I may know where Sheridan has gone and hopefully Alys with her.”  He moved between some tarps sheltering the wounded and past a large fire that had a giant pot of steaming water hovering atop it. “I need you here, Roget. You are capable of commanding.  Just remember what you have been taught.”

Roget didn’t argue with him; they all knew that Neely had been in love with Lady Sheridan for as long as any of them could recall.  They also knew she did not return the feelings. But it did not stop Neely from acting like an angry lover. So Roget kept his mouth shut and let his commander go, and returned to the battle that was making slow headway into the suburbs of London.

Neely was glad the man hadn’t pestered him further. Given his current mood, he would have more than likely taken his head off.  He knew that Sheridan must have returned to London and must surely be attempting to gain entrance to the Tower.  Even without a battle threatening the city, the adventure would have been foolish enough.  But with the added element of warfare, it was positively deadly. And Alys was more than likely right on her heels, guilt-ridden over her sister’s departure. He alternately cursed Sheridan and prayed for her safety. He also prayed that, come what may, he would be in time. 

As Neely rode into the night, the angrier he became; angry at Sheridan for overlooking him, angry at de Lara for interfering, and angry at Jocelin for denying him.  In fact, he was furious. Then he thought of young de Braose stepping into the picture and Jocelin handing Sheridan to the man on a silver platter. Sure, he was a de Braose and the match was a brilliant one.  But there were much more to Neely’s feelings for Sheridan than bloodlines or money could accomplish. He loved her, pure and simple, and would do anything in the world for her. Even save her from herself.

He pushed the charger harder, his mind racing through the past several days, feeling his emotions morph into something more forgiving.  He couldn’t blame anyone except de Lara and the man had been dying last he saw him.  Or at least, that was what his men told him.  They’d beat him within an inch of his life and left him for dead.  And Sheridan had hated him for it.

He rode deep into the night, pushing his charger more than he should have in order to reach London.  He could see fires in the distance, set by his allies in an attempt to drive out the king’s forces. The closer he drew, the more anxious he became. He needed to find Sheridan before something horrible happened to her. He couldn’t even entertain the thought that something already had.  And when he found her, he would give her a tongue lashing that she would not soon forget.

***

“I have come to see the king,” Alys stood at the Middle Tower entry, yelling up to the sentries upon the walls.  “Please let me in.”

The men were armed for battle. The city was burning to the north and the streets were eerily still.  This had allowed Alys to ride all the way to the Tower with very little trouble. But the horse was exhausted and so was Alys, so she stood at the gatehouse begging for entry. The men on the battlements merely stared at her.

“Will you please let me in and tell the king I am here?” she demanded. “I am the Lady Alys St. James. He will want to see me.”

The men on the wall looked at each other. There was a sergeant with them who suddenly found himself paying more attention to her. He hung over the top of the wall, peering down at her.

“St. James?” he repeated. “Henry St. James?”

Alys nodded. “He was my father. Will you let me in now?”

There was increased motion up on the walls as a great deal of discussion floated around.  Alys could see the men moving, shifting, finally someone rushing to the ladders that led from the wall walk to the yard. Alys could hear shouts behind the massive gate and, slowly, it began to crank open. When the opening was large enough for the horse to pass through, she entered the gates only to listen to them shut ominously behind her.

Several soldiers grouped around her, a few with torches. The glow of the flames against the darkness of the Tower yard was eerie and disturbing. Alys began to feel very unsettled as a host of serious faces gazed back at her.

“The king,” she said timidly to the collective group. “Will someone please take me to him?”

“What is your business with him?” an older soldier asked.

Alys looked at the man. “I must speak to him. I am sure he will want to see me.”

“Do you come to discuss a truce?” another soldier sneered. “Your father’s troops are burning the city.”

Alys swallowed, seeing that this was not going in her favor. “I do not know anything about that. I came to find my sister.”

“Your sister?” the same soldier echoed. “Who is that?”

“The Lady Sheridan St. James.”

“Never heard of her. What would she be doing here?”

“She would be looking for…,” Alys didn’t want to divulge too much.  She tried again. “Have you seen a woman arrive here in the past hour? She would be a lovely woman, blond. That is my sister.”

The soldiers looked at each other before shaking their heads. “No woman has come here in the past hour,” the older soldier said.  He jabbed a finger at the men on the walls. “In case you haven’t realized it, we’re anticipating a battle. If you came by yourself, then you are a stupid girl. And if not, your escort had better be prepared to pay a high price to have you returned. You are here to stay, missy.”

Alys was becoming increasingly afraid. She did not like the sense that she was getting from these men.

“Perhaps… perhaps I could go and find the king myself,” she stammered. “I know where his apartments are.”

She didn’t wait to be escorted; leaving the horse standing where she left it, she scuttled off into the darkened yard, putting distance between herself and the leering soldiers. But a couple of men ran after her and she bolted, darting across the barren yard and into the shadows. 

Since Alys knew where the king’s apartments were, she was confident that she could find him and perhaps her sister also.  She didn’t even know what had become of de Lara after Neely and his men had beaten him unconscious; perhaps he was dead. Perhaps Sheridan had already found that out.  If that was the case, then she would have no way of knowing where Sheridan would go next. There was no telling what she would do in her grief.

Alys’ could hear the soldiers behind her as she approached the entry to the royal apartments. She was having second thoughts about presenting herself to the king.  Sean had warned her off too many times and the last time she had come into contact with John, he had almost stolen her innocence. That sickening reminder made her come to a halt and duck deep into the recesses of the dark shadows. Alys may have been a foolish young girl, but she wasn’t entirely stupid. She needed help, but to put herself in contact with the king again was perhaps not the best way. There was no Sean to save her tonight.

Off to her left, almost hidden by the darkness of the night, lay the chapel. Alys stared at the mortar and wood building a moment, inspecting the lancet windows that opened into the blackness, thinking that perhaps she should speak with a priest before she proceeded. Perhaps a man of God would help her think more clearly. It seemed like a safer choice that visiting the king. In the light of the half-moon, she veered off course and made her way towards the chapel.

Father Simon was very surprised to see Alys St. James.

***

For some reason, the cart had come to a halt and they could hear muffled voices through the barrier of straw and canvas. It was pitch black inside their hiding place and Sheridan couldn’t see Guy’s face, but she knew his features were as anxious as hers.  She wondered who Gilby was speaking to, for she could hear the old physic’s voice, low at times and then louder at others. The longer they sat idle, the more she worried.

The voices outside were growing closer. Someone shook the wagon and began moving things around. The words became discernable and someone was questioning what Gilby had in the cart. They clearly knew the old man for they called him by name and they doubted that all he was carrying was hay since the cart seemed so heavy.  Gilby insisted it was only hay and told the man to search the cart if he didn’t believe him. Unknown to Sheridan and Guy, the soldier at the gatehouse would take Gilby up on his offer.  Withdrawing his sword, he plunged it into the straw before the old man could stop him. The blade sliced into Sheridan’s right thigh.

She screamed at the top of her lungs and the sword was abruptly removed. Suddenly, the tarp was being pulled away and the hay was being hastily removed. She could hear someone calling Gilby a liar and the old man swearing in return. Soldiers jumped up on the wagon, throwing off the dried grass until they revealed two figures buried in the pile. De Braose was already injured, his state obvious. But a beautiful blond woman lay in the straw with tears on her face and her bloodied hands over a bloodied leg. It was a puzzling sight.

Gilby leapt up on the cart with more energy than anyone had ever seen from him.  He descended on Sheridan, removing her hands so he could gain a better look at the wound.

“Allow me to see what has happened, my lady,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Let me see the damage.”

It hurt terribly and Sheridan wasn’t very brave. She sobbed and looked away as Gilby tried to assess the wound through the torn material and blood. Sheridan’s screams had brought several men from the top of the wall walk, the king’s soldiers armed for battle and curious about the cries. Gilby was able to gain a moderate look at the injury and began looking around for his bag.

“My bag,” he snapped to the soldiers around the cart. “Where is my bag? And for God’s sake, somebody find de Lara.”

The sergeant who had gored Sheridan stood next to the cart, directing his men with mild disinterest to find the physic’s bag.  But at the mention of Sean’s name, he peered more closely at the old man.

“De Lara?” he repeated. “What in the hell do you want him for?”