Lords of Darkness and Shadow (85 page)

She dressed carefully.  The Gardenia oil she had purchased that day was used liberally. She left her long, silken hair unbound and flowing down her back in soft curls.  Beeswax with a hint of ocher colored her lips.  Gazing at herself in the polished bronze mirror, she saw someone different gazing back at her.  It was hard to pinpoint, but somehow the reflection had matured.  There was wisdom to the gaze, stiffness to the back that suggested an unwavering drive. She also realized, at that moment, that she would trade herself for Alys if she had to. Perhaps that was what she was attempting to do; strike a bargain with the man her father hated most. She wanted to make herself tempting.  She hoped that Henry would forgive her.

There was a knock at the door. Snapped from her thoughts, Sheridan practically ran to the panel, throwing it open and fully expecting to see Jocelin and, hopefully, Neely and Alys too. Instead, her eyes widened with surprise and horror.  Sean de Lara stood in the hall.

“
You
!” she gasped.

She tried to slam the door but Sean caught it before it could close.  He wedged himself between the door and the frame as she struggled to shove it closed. He could have easily burst into the room, tossing Sheridan half-way across the floor in the process. But he simply held his ground.

“My lady,” he said steadily. “I come with news. Please let me in.”

She did something at that moment that she hadn’t done since her father’s passing. She unexpectedly burst into tears and Sean gently pushed the door open. She didn’t resist. He stepped in and shut the panel behind him. 

He stood there a moment, watching her sob. She looked absolutely radiant in the white gown.  He wanted very much to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

“Lady,” he said in a soft, gentle growl. “Please do not cry. There are things we must discuss.”

She looked at him, furiously wiping the tears from her eyes. “You… you told me to trust you and then you took my sister.”

He did put his hands on her, then.  “I know,” he murmured, steering her towards the nearest chair. “I had to.”

She allowed him to seat her. He pulled up a stool from the hearth and sat in front of her.  He gently took one of her hands into his great palm.

“Alys is fine,” he said. “She will see you at the feast tonight.”

She wiped a stray tear, her luminous eyes glimmering like a clear blue lake.   “She… she is well? She is unharmed?”

He brought her hand to his mouth. “Aye,” his lips brushed against her flesh as he spoke.  “She is quite well. She had an afternoon of sweets and conversation with the king.”

The tears faded and she experienced the sensation of his warm lips against her skin.  It sent bolts of excitement through her veins.  But his words garnered her focus at the moment. “Sweets and conversation?” she repeated. “But… I do not understand. Everyone knows that the king… when he sees a maiden he wishes, that he simply… or you.…”

He smiled, his lips still against her hand. It was as much as he dared do though he very much wanted to do more.

“That is why I asked you to stay in the merchant stall, for your own safety,” he said. “The king has not seen you yet. But he has seen Alys already. I am sorry for my methods, but it was imperative that I act as I did in order to keep her safe. Suffice it to say that she is untouched.”

Sheridan was still puzzled. “I do not understand any of this,” she muttered. “If she is well, why did you not bring her back to me? And what of Neely? Where is he?”

“Your captain is in the vault,” he replied. “I shall release him tomorrow. Other than an aching head, he too is well enough. But I have other news regarding the bishop.”

“Jocelin?” she said, her voice laced with panic. “What has happened to him?”

Sean took a long, deep breath. He had only just calmed her and did not want to upset her again, but he was forced to speak the truth. “The bishop came to the king’s apartments demanding Alys. I am afraid he was rather aggressive. I could not intervene, you understand. I was busy making sure that Alys did not come to harm.”

This time, she gripped his hand.  It was the first time she had done so. Feeling her soft, warm fingers against his flesh was a sensation he’d not felt in years.  He’d forgotten how much he’d missed it.

“What happened to him?” she asked softly. “Please tell me.”

“He is also in the vault.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “The king threw a man of the church in the vault?”
His reply was strangely impassive. “It is of little consequence. The king has a long history of contention with the Church. They cannot do any more to him than they already have.”

“But Jocelin is a bishop,” she insisted. “Why did this happen?”

Sean cocked an eyebrow. “When he started swinging his staff at the king’s guard, there was little more to do. Even bishops must know that they cannot take to violence against the king.”

She just sat there, dumbfounded.  It seemed as if there was no point in arguing, for she knew what Jocelin was capable of. She’d seen it herself on occasion.  When he had left her apartment hours before, he had been angry enough to kill.

“So what now?” she asked softly. “What will become of him?”

Sean pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking down at her hand enclosed within his. He stroked her fingers for a moment. “When the king’s anger cools, he will most likely be released.”

She was still as he rubbed her fingers, half of her thrilled with the newness of the sensation, the other half embroiled in the mayhem that was enveloping her. 

“Jocelin gave John a convenient excuse to be rid of him,” she said quietly. “The king knows that Jocelin is one of the leaders of the opposition against his tyranny. He took advantage of Jocelin’s rage and used the excuse to jail him. With Jocelin out of the way, there is one less powerful foe to align against him.”

Sean stopped rubbing her fingers and looked at her. His clear blue eyes were impassive. “I would not know, my lady.”

She gently, but firmly, pulled her fingers from his grasp.  “I think that you do,” she murmured. “And perhaps it is best that you leave now.”

“Why?”
“Because I ask it.”

He stood up without another word and went to the door.  Sheridan remained seated, staring at the lancet windows across the room, wondering why she felt so utterly horrible at the moment. He was leaving, yet he said he had saved Alys from the king’s lust. Politics came into play and she grew scared.  Her mind began whirling with doubt, fear, and finally hope. Abruptly, she stood.

“Sir Sean,” she said.

He paused, his hand on the door latch. “My lady?”

She hated apologizing; it had never been one of her strong suits. “I… I do not mean to be cruel, for if what you say is true, then I owe you my gratitude for saving my sister yet again.” She twisted her fingers as she approached him, confusion on her lovely face. “But there is so much about this world we find ourselves a part of that I do not understand. You, for instance; you are my enemy. Everyone tells me to fear you, yet you have been nothing but kind to me. When you had no reason whatsoever for protecting my sister, it seems that you did so. You have no reason to release Neely, yet you say that you will.  And finally, you come to my apartment, kiss my hand and tell me that all will be well as if you and I are fighting for the same cause.  I find you tremendously puzzling, Sir Sean. I am unsure how to read you.”

He took his hand off the latch, a faint smile on his lips.  He made no move to take her hand again or move closer to her.

“As well you should be,” his voice was a gentle growl. “I can only tell you this; when I look at you, I do not see politics.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “What is it that you see?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I see the most beautiful woman I have ever had the fortune to witness.  And she has wit, charm and grace.”

She was flattered. “So...  is it your wish that we should be friends?”

He gave her an expression, gently done, that suggested she was mad. “Oh, no, my lady,” he said softly. “Not friends.”

“Then I do not understand.”

His clear blue eyes gazed steadily at her, never wavering.  “More than friends.”

She comprehended his meaning; at least she thought she did. “If you think that our acquaintance should be something clandestine and disgraceful, think again. I’ll have no part in being a… a concubine.”

He laughed at her. “Nothing so scandalous.”

“Is that so? Well, I still do not understand. But, then again, I have not understood anything about you since the day we met.”

“I wouldn’t worry overly. You’ll have the rest of your life to understand me.”

“The rest of
my
life?”

“That is usual when people marry.”

Her mouth popped open. “Marry?”

He shook his head as if she was the most unintelligent creature on the face of the earth. Throwing caution to the wind, he threw an arm around her slender waist and pulled her hard against him.  Sheridan gasped at the swiftness of the movement, at the shock and delight of being pressed up against his massive torso.  He held her fast, a great warm embrace, his face lingering an inch above her own.

“Aye, you silly wench,” he growled. “In case you have not yet understood my meaning, you will marry me. There is no one else on earth worthy of you.”

She’d never been held by a man in this fashion before; the heat, the excitement, was nearly too much to bear. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry, but all she could think, feel or hear was Sean’s presence around her. It was an all-encompassing, all-consuming sensation. 

His lips came down on her mouth, softly at first, but more insistently by the second. It was hot, warm, and deliciously wet. When he spoke, his lips were against her own.

“Agree with me,” he commanded softly.

“I cannot,” she breathed.

He kissed her again, hard. “Aye, you can.  Agree to marry me.”

His kisses had her head swimming. “Agree?” she repeated stupidly.

“Aye,” he kissed her again, his tongue moving along her lower lip. “Say yes.”

“Yes?”

He gently suckled her lower lip when his tongue was done playing with her. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now, I will see you at the feast tonight.”

With one more succulent kiss, he was gone. The door closed and Sheridan stood there for one solid minute before she realized that he had left.  The only thought she could manage to grasp was one of shock.

What have I done?

***

When Sean returned to John’s apartments, he lingered out of sight for a nominal amount of time before making his presence known. It was his usual method of operation so that the king, and others, would not know his pattern of coming and going. There was far too much spying going on between noble and king, soldiers and officers, and he did not want to get caught up in that foolishness. There were those who had tried to watch his movements over the years but they had only come to embarrassment or, in some cases, harm. Sean de Lara was not a man to be watched or monitored. It was best if no one tried.

Even as he lingered in John’s receiving room, watching the king hold audience with some of his more loyal barons, his mind was elsewhere.  Thoughts of the fairest maiden in all the land filled his brain, numbing him to the activities going on in the room. The king was angry about something; that much was obvious. Sean watched his furious actions but did not hear his words.  The only words he could hear, at the moment, were his own.

You will marry me.

He wasn’t sure where those words sprang from, but they had come nonetheless. He was not sorry in the least, though he was still rather surprised.  He’d never considered himself the marriageable type.  His work was his wife, the needs of the king his mistress, and there was no room for anything else.  He hadn’t even thought on the implications of his proposal or command, whichever one chose to call it. Sheridan St. James was an heiress, and a very wealthy one at that. She was governed by the Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury, the very man who was in the vault at the moment under arrest.  Sean could only imagine how the bishop would react when all of this came to light. He knew that Sheridan would not be the one to tell him. It would be Sean.

What he refused to entertain at the moment were thoughts of what it would mean to the king.  The term traitor came to mind.  He suspected the king would never fully trust him again, yet he also knew that the man would eventually see the political benefit of such a union.  He was also fully aware that John would view his wife as something of communal property; it was the thought that disturbed him the most. The political aspect, he could deal with. But his wife would most certainly not be communal property. For that reason, and that reason alone, he would be more than willing to keep the union secret. The less John knew the safer Sheridan would be.

But he could not ignore the fact that the political connotations were almost unfathomable.  For a man that had made politics his life’s work, it was strange that the politics of such a union, at the moment, did not overly concern him.  Sheridan St. James could have nothing but the clothes on her back for all he cared; he wasn’t interested in her wealth or political connections. All he knew was that, from the moment he first spoke to the woman, she cleared all else from his mind like a divine flood, washing away the old in favor of the new.  He’d hardly spent more than an hour of combined time with her, but still, that time had been nothing like he’d ever experienced. She made him feel alive and warm.  She made him feel that life was worth living. He wanted to feel that way forever.