Lords of Darkness and Shadow (82 page)

“I thank you,” he said quietly.

The moment was sweetly awkward. At a loss for words, Sheridan resumed their walk yet again. She could have walked all night on his arm, letting the conversation flow as easily as honeyed wine. 

A cold breeze suddenly blew off the river and enveloped them both, swirling with frenzied intensity. When it died as abruptly as it came, Sheridan shivered.  Sean noticed immediately.

“My lady is chilled,” he said with concern. “I shall return you to the hall.”

“I am not cold, truly,” she insisted. “I would rather walk.”

He looked at her. “Your lips are gray.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re standing in moonlight. Everything is gray.”

The normally unreadable expression turned suspicious. “Even as you speak, your lips quiver. That is not my imagination.”

He was right, but she made a face that suggested it was a reluctant surrender.  Feeling somewhat pleased with his victory, he turned her around in time to see a figure emerging from the shadows of the White Tower. He caught the glint of a blade and knew before the shape came fully into view that it was an assassin sent to kill him.  In his world, it could be nothing else.

Normally, he took a sadistic pride in proving his worth as an adversary. He was the living example that no man could kill the Lord of the Shadows.  But this time it was different; he had Sheridan on his arm and his heart lurched with fear for her safety.   Sheridan saw the approaching blade and let out a strangled cry a half-second before Sean shoved her out of harm’s way.

The assassin wielded the light-weight blade with practiced agility. It sang an eerie cry of death as it sailed through the air, three successive thrusts at Sean’s head.  Weaponless, de Lara stood his ground as the weapon hurled in his direction. With a defensive move that had him spinning rapidly to his left flank, he ended up behind his attacker. Reaching down, he grabbed the hilt of the sword and used the palm of his right hand to strike a brutal blow to the back of the man’s neck. The force of the jolt was hard enough to snap his spine.  The man fell to the ground, dead, with his blade in Sean’s left hand. 

Sean stood there, gazing impassively at the corpse.  This was not an unusual occurrence and he had faced better. Sheridan, however, stood several feet away, her mouth gaping in shock.  It took Sean a moment to remember that she was still there.

“Are you all right?” he tossed the blade down and went to her. “I did not mean to be rough with you, but I did not want you in the line of fire. I pray that I did not hurt you.”

She just stood there. “My lady?” he prodded gently.

She blinked. Then her knees buckled and she threw out her hands as if to grab hold of something to steady herself. Sean was the nearest object and he took hold of her so that she wouldn’t fall.

“I think I need to sit down,” she whispered tightly.

He looked around but there were no benches within walking distance. He put one arm around her slender torso and took firm grasp of her right arm, holding her fast.

“You’ll be all right, my lady,” he said with quiet assurance. “I’ll not let you fall.”

They took a few slow steps in silence. He could feel Sheridan quivering like a leaf and guilt swept him.  He held her tighter.

“That man,” she gasped. “He was… he tried to
kill
you.”

“Aye,” he said steadily.

“But why?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “If you know anything of my reputation as you have said, then you can answer that question.”

She took a deep breath, struggling to regain her composure. “I know, but that was so… so bold, so brutal.”

“I know.”

She looked up at him; he had not even worked up a good sweat. He looked completely unruffled, the same as he had appeared the moment they realized the man was upon them. It infuriated her. “And you are so calm?”

He shrugged. “Panic is deadly. One must think clearly in order to survive.”

She stared at him a moment longer before shaking her head. “Then surely I would have died because I cannot imagine being calm in the face of a deadly attack.”

“It is an acquired calm, I assure you.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “Are you saying this sort of thing has happened before?”

He didn’t answer. He continued to walk with her, holding her against him so that she would not collapse. Even when he thought she might be stronger, he continued to hold her simply because he liked it.  As they neared the narrow steps that led back up into the Tower, a herd of men came flying through the doorway and down the narrow stairs.  Even in the moonlight, Sean recognized the St. James colors.

Neely came rushing at them with his sword leveled. Shaken but not senseless, Sheridan could see what was about to happen and threw up her hands.

“Neely, no,” she cried. “Put the weapon down.”

He came to a halt several feet away. His dark eyes were twitching with alarm and anger.  “Let her go,” he shouted at Sean.

Sean was completely calm, completely impassive.  “The lady has had a fright.” His voice was as cold as ice. “If I release her, she may fall.”

Sheridan could see that there was no easy way out of this for any of them unless she took action. She patted Sean gently on the arm that held her. “It’s all right,” she told him. “I am well now. You may release me as he has asked.”

He did as she bade, but his eyes never left Neely.  It was like a marauder tracking its quarry. Sheridan sensed the deadly tension as she went over to Neely.

“Put the sword down,” she ordered quietly. “Sir Sean has committed no wrong. He has saved me from an assassin.”

She pointed to the body several feet away in the shadow of the White Tower. Neely could see it faintly in the dark and he looked at her, puzzled as well as frightened.

“We heard the scream,” he looked her up and down. “Are you well?”

“Indeed,” she didn’t like his hovering manner. “As I said, Sir Sean saved my life.  He should be commended.”

Neely looked at Sean. The last thing he would do was praise the man.  After a long pause filled with hostility, he spoke tersely. “We are grateful.”

Sean didn’t reply. Though he was watching Neely, his peripheral senses were reaching out to every man around him. There were at least eight.  With a lingering glance at Sheridan, he took several backwards steps, fading back into the shadows where the assassin lay.  Sheridan held his gaze until he disappeared into the blackness.

When he was sure de Lara had left, Neely turned his full attention on her. “What happened?” he demanded softly. “How did you end up out here? You said that you were…”

She put up an impatient hand. “I know what I said,” she snapped, heading back towards the narrow stone steps. “I needed a breath of air. I was attacked and Sir Sean saved my life. Leave it at that, Neely. No more questions.”

He shut his mouth, but he wasn’t happy in the least.  They both knew this would get back to Jocelin and there would be hell to pay.

“…Not to act on my thoughts would have been the wiser. My error was in the act of doing….”

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 - 1215 A.D.

CHAPTER THREE

“Did she say anything of value, then?”

“Nothing that I would consider, my lord.”

“But you conversed for some time.”

“It was light conversation, I assure you. Politics barely entered into it.”

These meetings were always clandestine; dark alleys, dark rooms, stables, anywhere they would not be easily recognized. Such had been the way for years, since Sean’s induction into the service of the king.

The meetings were no more than once every three months or so. To attempt a more frequent encounter would be to invite suspicion.  As it was, Sean had to make sure his schedule and activities were nothing out of the ordinary. It was the middle of the night, after the king had retired for the evening, and Sean was in the stable bent over the hoof of his immense charger. The other half of the conversation came from the loft above, well hidden in the mounds of freshly dried grass.  They never spoke face to face.

“I am truly not sure how much she knows,” the voice said. “Her father died last year and left her with a great earldom.  From what I understand, she has assumed his mantel in every way.  What Jocelin knows, she knows.  If there is imminent rebellion in the wind, she will know it.”

Sean used an iron pick to clean dirt out of the horse’s hoof. “If there is imminent rebellion in the wind, then you would know it, too.”

The voice grunted. “Not necessarily. Some of the barons believe I am too far removed from their cause and that my head is swept up in the storm of politics. Some believe my time came and went with Richard. In any case, I wield power, aye, but only within my own troops and close vassals. I do not have the pulse of the common man.”

“And you believe that she may?”

“’Tis possible. She is rooted to the rebellion on a much more grounded level.”

“Then what would you have me do, my lord?”

“You have made contact. Perhaps you should maintain it, simply to see if she will provide you with anything useful.”
Sean had planned on doing that regardless. “She has a security force. It will not be a simple thing to communicate with her.”

“You are the Lord of the Shadows.  Stealth is your gift.”

Sean was silent a moment as he dropped one hoof in favor of the other. Although there were stable boys to do this work, none of them would go near his charger for fear of being trampled. Bred in Galicia by a man whose family had been breeding big-boned war horses for a hundred years, the animal’s military reputation was beyond compare. Sean was the only one who could get near the beast.

“What else do you know of her?” he asked casually.

The voice hissed, the gesture of an individual with strong opinions. “That she will make some man a very wealthy husband. She is quite lovely as well, but I am sure that escaped your notice.”

Sean knew it was a jab but he chose to ignore it. “Does she have suitors?”

“Nay.  Jocelin has told me that she has refused every man her father attempted to contract with.  Now it is the bishop’s duty to find her a husband, which will be no easy task. The man actually listens to her opinion.  He is a fool.”

Sean didn’t reply. The voice continued. “Has the king seen her?”

“Not yet.”

“It is only a matter of time. He will demand her, you know.”

Sean’s movements slowed. “That is possible.”

“You will have to bring her to him as you have the others.”

Sean remained silent. The voice spoke more loudly. “Sean? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

“Why do you not respond?”

“Because I have nothing to say on the matter.”

The tone of the voice turned to one of disbelief. “You cannot actually be thinking of refusing him?”

“As I said, I have nothing to say on the matter.”

“I have listened to you speak of the St. James woman for the past half hour. I know you, Sean. I have known you for thirteen years. If I did not know better, I would say that you have an interest in her.”

“Think what you will.”

The voice fell still for a moment. “No matter what you feel, you cannot refuse him. You have not refused him for nine years.”

Sean let the hoof fall. He leaned up against the horse, his gaze moving out into the darkness of the stables.  His manner, normally steady, suddenly turned bitter.

“Aye,” he muttered. “For nine years I have catered to his every repulsive whim. For nine years, I have kidnapped men’s wives and delivered them to the king like a gift on Christmas morning. For nine years, I have cleaned up his leavings, disposing of the women who have died as a result of his lust and delivering those who managed to survive back to their homes.” He tossed the iron hook against the wall, so hard that it lodged in the wood. “No matter how much I have convinced myself that the king’s behavior was of no consequence, deep inside, I knew that it was.  For the women that died as a result of his lust, I made sure they had a Christian burial. For the women who survived, I made sure they were cleaned and fed and delivered to those who would care for them.  For every evil I helped create, I also tried to right it. No one knows that I orchestrated anything other than the evil, of course, other than God. The king’s sins are my sins in the eyes of men.”

The voice in the loft was silent. Long moments ticked by before it spoke again. “Though I have always suspected your feelings on the matter, this is the first I have heard you speak openly of them.”

“I am getting foolish in my old age.”

The voice snorted softly. “Take care, then. You are as we had always hoped for you; the most feared man in the kingdom. Your reputation is without equal.  You are finally where you can accomplish the most good. Be strong, de Lara. The day will come when you will be rewarded for your loyalty.”

Sean broke from his cynical, thoughtful stance and moved around the horse. He picked up a currycomb and ran it across the silver hide. “I hope that day will come soon.  I grow weary of being seated by the Devil’s right hand.”

“As would any rational man, but you are by far the strongest of us all.” The straw in the loft shifted, raining down on the horse’s back. “Keep your focus, Sean. You are where you are most valuable now. The barons are clearly amassing and I sense that John’s days are numbered. But you are critical to this success. Is that clear?”

“It is, my lord.”

“If anything crucial happens, you know how to contact me. Otherwise, I will contact you again in a month or two. We shall meet again.”

Sean didn’t answer. The straw stopped falling on the horse’s back and he knew his contact had slipped from the loft, out into the dead of night.  He normally left these meetings feeling a new sense of purpose. Tonight, he left feeling disheartened.

When he finally slept in the last hour before dawn, his dreams were of luminous blue eyes.

***

“What did I tell you about him?” Jocelin exploded. “Did you not hear a word I said? The man is dangerous!”

Neely had waited eight whole hours before confessing the evening’s events to the bishop.  Sheridan had been rudely awakened by Jocelin’s shouting shortly after dawn. Now, in the antechamber of their apartments, she found herself on the defensive.  Completely missing the point of Jocelin’s rage, as usual, Alys sulked in the corner because her sister had gotten to speak to the mysterious Sean de Lara and she had not.

“I have told you twice what happened,” Sheridan said evenly. “And I know what you told me about de Lara. But he was a complete gentleman, I assure you.”

“He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he fumed. “What possessed you to go outside the Tower in the first place? You are mad, girl, mad.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “If you are going to insult me, then this conversation is over. I should like to wash and dress for the day.”

“You are not dressing just yet,” he jabbed a finger at her. “You will provide me with satisfactory answers.”

She sighed with exasperation. “What would you have me say? That I was tired of being preyed upon by your friend, the Bishop of Coventry? That I was, in fact, disgusted by the man rubbing his feet on my leg, so much so that I was compelled to get a breath of fresh air or vomit?”

Jocelin looked at her with shock and she nodded her head, firmly. “Aye, he did that, the old fool,” she insisted. “So I had to take a walk to clear my thoughts.  As I was walking, a man tried to attack me. Had it not been for de Lara, I would not be here at this moment. Now, may I please dress?”

Some of the wind went out of Jocelin’s sails. “Oh, Dani,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you say something to me? Why not tell me about William where I could have confronted him?”

She waved him off.  “I would have told you, eventually. I simply did not want to embarrass your friend in front of you.”

Jocelin sat his bulk down in the fine sling-back chair adjacent to the hearth.   There was peace now where there had been fury seconds before.  “It is not a matter of embarrassment,” he muttered. “I cannot believe that he would betray me so.”

He seemed genuinely distressed. Sheridan went to him, leaning over to kiss his bald head. “He did not betray you. He rubbed his toes on my ankle. Perhaps it was an accident and he really meant to rub the table leg. In any case, you needn’t feel bad. It’s over and done with.”

Jocelin grunted. “Over and done with, aye. But at what cost? Putting you at the mercy of de Lara.”

She pursed her lips with frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you that he was a perfect gentleman?”

He didn’t have an answer. He was much more concerned with entertaining the horrible scenarios.  Leaving Alys half-asleep and still pouting on the chair opposite the silently brooding Jocelin, she retreated into the bedroom.

Her maid had a porcelain bowl of warm water waiting for her. Rose petals floated on the surface. Removing her night shift, she washed her face and used a soft linen rag to run warm water over her body.  She always felt better when she washed in the morning. The maid briskly dried her and rubbed rose-scented oil on her skin to soften it. Just as her lips were constantly dry, her skin was also. The oil helped.

Her favorite dress was a soft blue linen sheath with long sleeves and a simple belt that draped around her hips.  With it, she wore the silver and sapphire cross that her father had given her.  The maid brushed her silken hair and wove it into one long braid, draping it over a shoulder.  Sheridan finished her toilette by rubbing beeswax on her lips from her ever-present pot of the stuff. 

The window of her chamber was open and she could hear the birds beyond.   She went to the opening, leaning out over the yard below and remembering the previous day when Alys had nearly plunged to her death from the same window.  Thoughts of the event brought thoughts of Sean de Lara. 

She leaned against the windowsill, gazing into the gentle blue sky and wondering if de Lara would ever speak to her again.  The way Neely had chased him away last night, she wondered if she had made an enemy.  She’d never seen Neely so edgy, which only lent credence to Jocelin’s tales of de Lara’s dark reputation.  Her father’s captain had known of the man; that much was apparent. She would have wagered that every male of political awareness knew of the man.  Still, she continued to doubt what everyone seemed to know. 

“If you are thinking of jumping, I wouldn’t.”

The voice came from below. Startled, she looked down to see Sean leaning against the wall directly below her.  It was the first time she had seen him without his armor; he wore a bleached linen tunic, heavy leather breeches and massive boots.  Without his helm, he had light brown hair, close cropped and riddled with flecks of gold. 

The full lips set within his square jaw were twitching with a smile and the clear blue eyes were glimmering, as if he knew something she did not.  It was an amused expression. He was, in fact, excruciatingly handsome now that she had a chance to see him in broad daylight. He looked nothing like the horrible Shadow Lord she had been warned about. She realized that she was glad to see him.

“What are you doing down there?” she asked.

“Waiting for a St. James sister to fall into my arms,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ah, I see,” she smiled down at him. “Which one?”

He pushed himself off the wall, turning around so that he could see her lovely features better. “Must you really ask that question?” He held out his arms. “It is your turn.”

She laughed. “No, thank you, my lord. I have no desire to see if your strength will hold out a second time.”

He smiled broadly at her, resting his fists on his hips.  “Then allow me to say good morn to you, my lady,” he bowed gallantly. “I do hope you slept well after your harrowing experience last night.”

“I did, thank you for asking,” she said. “And you?”

“I never sleep.”