Lords of Darkness and Shadow (78 page)

A Medieval Romance

By Kathryn Le Veque

“…. I should have known from the beginning not to concern myself.  We have so many choices in life, in every situation. One choice can mean the difference between life and death. This choice, for me, would come to mean both….”

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 - 1215 A.D.

CHAPTER ONE

Tower of London

January, Year of our Lord 1215

He shouldn’t have bothered. He knew from the moment he observed the situation that he should have walked the other way and pretended not to notice.  He was hidden by the fortified entrance of the White Tower from the group that had gathered near the newly constructed buildings on the eastern wall. It would have been so easy for him to slip away. But for some idiotic reason, he remained.

A drama was unfolding in the morning hours of the ninth day of January of the New Year. A young woman with bright red hair was hanging from a second story window of the structure as someone desperately attempted to pull her inside. Through all the screaming and drama, he could see that the red-haired girl was determined to leap to a nasty death below. He left the safety of the shadows, morbidly intrigued by the life and death struggle.  Like the allure of a good beheading, it was pure entertainment.

The closer he moved, the more the players came into focus. It was frenzied and dangerous.  The redhead was half out of the window, set upon a narrow protuberance of the stone that comprised the exterior of the building. She was howling, struggling to break free of the hands that held her. He couldn’t hear what she was saying but, being female, he surmised that it probably wasn’t terribly important. Better to let her jump and be done with it. 

His attention then moved to the woman attempting to prevent the suicide; he couldn’t make out the features at this distance, but he could certainly distinguish the blond hair that shimmered against the afternoon sky as gold would shimmer against the sun.  He found himself more intrigued by the beauty of the hair than by the chaos unfolding around it.

He moved closer still, the hair luring him. As he arrived on scene, the few people that were standing about noticed his presence and quickly moved away from him.  The movement was innate, like oil parting from water.  No one with a sane thought in their head would dare stand within proximity of Sean de Lara. Like cockroaches, they scattered.

He didn’t notice when the group shifted away from him. That was a normal happening and not worthy of his regard. Furthermore, he was looking overhead; the redhead was most of the way out of the window by now, the woman with the blond hair pleading urgently for her to come inside. Surely things were not as bad as they seemed, she said. But the redheaded woman was lamenting loudly.  She was apparently unworthy, unloved, and wholly unsuited to remain in the land of the living. The blond assured her that none of this was true. She loved her dearly.
Please come inside, Alys!

He maneuvered himself towards the window. He didn’t know why, but he could see what was coming. The fall wouldn’t kill her, but it could seriously injure her. He didn’t know why he should bother with this idiocy. Perhaps to make up for all of the evil he had done in his life, there would be one good thing he could list as a contribution to Mankind.  He saved a silly girl from breaking her neck. He could imagine St. Peter laughing him all the way back to the depths of Hell for that natty little side note to an otherwise problematical life.

He was almost directly beneath the window now. The redhead slithered out onto the narrowed shelf but the stone was slippery and she was unable to gain a foothold. Just as he reached the base of the window, her grip slipped and she plunged straight down.

She was still screaming when he caught her. She wasn’t heavy in the least and he had stopped her fall with ease. But her flailing hands had clipped his nose and he could feel a trickle of blood. The girl stopped screaming, her mouth still open, when she realized that she was not a messy, broken blotch on the ground. Her startled blue eyes looked at her rescuer with such surprise that, for a moment, he actually thought he might crack a smile. He’d not done that in years. In his profession, there was nothing to smile over.  He was sure he’d lost the ability long ago.

She must have stopped breathing at some point, because she suddenly took a huge gasp of air with her wide-open mouth. It was like looking at a fish. Without a word, Sean set the woman to her feet. She was shaken and her legs did not seem to work correctly.  He steadied her when she couldn’t seem to stand.  Her mouth finally closed and she looked at him with a sickeningly yearning expression.

“My lord,” she gasped. “I… I do not know what to say. Thank God you were here to save me, else… else I do not know what would have become of me.”

He couldn’t help responding. Stupidity always provoked his irritation. “You would have seriously injured yourself just as you were attempting to do. God had nothing to do with my appearance.”

She clutched him for support. “But… my lord, I am sure that God sent you to save me. I am positive of this!”

“He did nothing of the kind, my lady.”

“I am in your debt, forever and ever.”

“Unwarranted, my lady.”

“But I am your
slave
.”

He was thinking that he should perhaps disengage her hands and leave quickly. He did not like the way she was looking at him.

“I assure you that is not necessary,” he removed one of her hands and was in the process of removing the other. “I would suggest you stay away from windows until the urge to climb out of them leaves you.”

The young woman would not let go. She continued to clutch at him, re-grasping him every time he peeled her fingers away.  For ever digit he removed, two would take its place. He swore she had nine hands.

“Please, my lord,” she gasped softly. “I must know the name of the man who has saved my life.”

“Suffice it to say that I am a knight who has done his duty. No more thanks or obligation is necessary.”

The redhead was still pawing him when he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. The blond hair he had seen two stories above his head was suddenly in his midst and for a moment, it was as if time itself stood still. Startled, he found himself staring into the magnificent face of the woman with the hair of gold.  Nothing about her was foul or defective. She was, in a word, perfect.  For a moment, he thought he might actually be gazing upon an angel. He could think of no other explanation.

But the exquisite woman wasn’t focused on him. She was out of breath, evidence that she had run the entire way from the apartments above. From her expression, it was clear she had not known what to expect. Seeing the other woman alive, when she had presumed otherwise, was nearly too much to bear.

She grasped the hands of the hysterical redhead. “Alys,” she breathed. “Are you hurt?”

Alys shook her head. “Nay,” she suddenly seemed weak and faint, dramatically so. “This brave knight saved my life. He is my redeemer, I tell you. He snatched me from the very jaws of death.”

The blond woman turned her attention to Sean and his heart began to thump loudly against his ribs.  She was an incredibly lovely creature with luminous blue eyes and long, dusky lashes. Her skin was creamy, her nose pert. He tried to get past his fascination with her beauty, struggling to focus on her softly uttered words.

“My lord,” she said. “My sister and I cannot adequately express our thanks. We are forever in your debt.”

So they were sisters.
Strange,
he thought. When the redhead had expressed her indebtedness, it held no attraction to him. But with this sister….

“Obligation is not necessary, my lady,” he said quietly.

She smiled the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. “You are too kind,” she said in a sweet, lilting voice. “Consider the House of St. James your loyal servants, my lord. No favor you would ask of us is too great.”

Something in Sean’s expression grew dim. It was like a shadow falling over the sun, imperceptible to all but the experienced eye.  But whatever warmth had been brewing was instantly quelled.

“St. James?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“And your names?”

“I am the Lady Sheridan St. James and this is my sister, the Lady Alys.”

His response was to gaze at the pair a moment longer before silently, yet politely, excusing himself. It was nothing more than a slight bow and he was off across the compound, an enormous man with arms the size of tree limbs. He walked with the stealth of a cat, disappearing into the shadows from whence he came. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

The girls watched him go, puzzled by his swift retreat. Alys was positively crestfallen.

“You frightened him away,” she said accusingly. “He said that no obligation was necessary. Why did you press him?”

Sheridan’s lovely face darkened as she looked at her sister. “You silly cow,” she snatched the girl by the wrist. “You frightened him with your insane behavior. What on earth possessed you to climb out of the window? Had he not caught you, you more than likely would have fallen on his head.”

“That’s not true!”

“He had no choice but to catch you.”

Alys’ pale face flushed. “How
dare
you. God sent him to save me!”

“Blasphemer,” Sheridan hissed. “Be silent and come back inside with me. We will speak no more of this day or of your behavior. Mother would have your head if she knew what you have done.”

Alys rose to the fight, but her face suddenly crumpled. She became overdramatic again.

“But he left me,” she moaned. “He left in the night. His steward said so. What choice did I have but to end my disgrace?”

Sheridan tried to retain her dignity in the face of the crowd that still lingered. They pointed and whispered, but no one approached.  She put her arm around her sister, hustling her back towards the entrance to the apartments.

“I do not know why he left, Alys,” she said quietly. “Perhaps we shall never know. But that is no reason to kill yourself.”

“But… but he said he loved me.”

“Perhaps he was mistaken.”

“How can you mistake love? And… and I believed him. I allowed him to…”

“Hush. We will speak no more of this, Alys. Not another word, do you hear?”

“But I am so humiliated,” Alys wept softly.

Sheridan did not want to speak of her sister’s plight. This wasn’t the first time she had fallen for a man of unscrupulous character that had taken advantage of her. She was always falling in love with one man or another, pliable to their whims and lust. And this wasn’t the first time she had threatened to end her suffering.

“You must be strong,” Sheridan did not know what more to say. They had been through this too many times in the last few years of Alys’ young life. “You must be strong and wait for the proper man to come to you.”

Alys’ expression brightened with unnatural rapidity. “Perhaps God sent the man who saved me to replace him. Perhaps it was fate, Dani. God sent my savior to save my life and mend my broken heart. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I do not.”

Alys’ tears faded as they entered the dark, cool corridors near the Flint Tower. “My savior must have felt something for me. Why else would he risk his life to save me?”

Sheridan could only roll her eyes in disbelief.

***

Nestled deep in a long stretch of ancient stone and mortar, the solar of the king was a dark place at any given time. In the day, it was gloomy, but in the night, it was positively sinister. Phantoms lingered in the shadows and the heavy smell of alcohol reeked throughout the room.  The king liked his drink and had a tendency to pass out with tankards in his hand, which then spilled upon the floor and seeped into the expensive carpets.

Tonight was no exception to the usual dreariness and stench.  The dinner hour was swiftly approaching and the hall of St. George was filled with servants, vassals, and the finest food that England could provide her people.  But the king’s solar was reserved for Henry II’s youngest son and the most prominent members of the king’s circle to attend him in conference. 

It was a somber group that gathered this eve around their king, John Softsword. William Fitz Osbern of Monmouth lingered by the hearth, while the volatile pair of Humphrey de Bohun of Caldicot and Walter Clifford of Clun huddled a few feet away. Lesser lords with minor titles and lands completed the evening’s royal guest list; Bernard de Newmarch, Richard Fitz Pons, and Payn St. Maur.  These men, and their immediate retainers which could number four or five additional men each, filled the solar to near capacity.

It made John feel secure to have these men around him. He was tortured by inner demons, hounded by a lifetime of failure and insecurities brought on by an insecure upbringing.  He was essentially weak minded and needed those of strong mind and opinions hovering close. Physically, he was a man of small stature, bad hygiene, and one heavily lidded left eye that gave him a rather dull appearance.