Lords of Darkness and Shadow (92 page)

“Nothing to worry over,” he said. “She is simply reacting to the medicaments I gave her for her head sickness.  She is very sensitive to something I gave her, though I am not sure what.”

Sean let out a sigh as if his entire body was deflating of air.  “Then she will wake from this without incident?”

“She will. But better to watch her to make sure that she remembers to breathe. The potion’s property is strong and can, in fact, put one to sleep forever if one isn’t careful.”

Sean lifted an eyebrow. “If it is so strong, why did you give it to her to cure her head sickness?”

“I didn’t give it to her to cure her head sickness. I gave it to her so that she would sleep until it passed.”

Sean couldn’t decide where he was more angry or more relieved. He settled for relieved.  “You could have at least told us so that we wouldn’t panic when we could not wake her.”

Gilby grunted.  He packed up his leather satchel and headed for the door. “I shall be by in a few hours to see how she fares,” he said. “Until then, someone should stay away with her. If she stops breathing, pinch her. She’ll resume quickly enough.”

The physic wandered out into the antechamber, pulling his cloak tightly about him in anticipation of the chill of the corridor.  Leaving a relieved Alys to watch over Sheridan, Sean followed.

“I’ll send a guard to escort you back,” he said.

Gilby shook his head. “No need,” he said. “I welcome the solitude.”

“Very well. We shall see you tomorrow, then.”

The old man glanced at him, something of curiosity and disapproval in his eyes. “Do you plan on staying here? I would advise against it.”

“So noted.”

Gilby moved close to him. “The Chapel of St. Peter. One hour.”

“That is sooner than expected.”

“There is much to discuss.”

Sean simply nodded and the old physician shuffled out of the antechamber, closing the door softly behind him.

The time was upon them. He could feel it.

***

“She has been cavorting with de Lara since nearly the day we arrived,” Neely was obviously drunk. “We have all tried to explain to her the evils of the man, but she will not listen.”

Jocelin sat across the table from the captain of the St. James guard. He had known the man for twenty years.  Henry St. James treated him like a son, but that was never what Neely wanted. He wanted to be the son-in-law.  It was not because of the wealth and power of the St. James clan; that much was certain. It was because of a deep and abiding affection he held for Sheridan. He’d become quite adept at controlling himself where she was concerned. Now, with disappointment, jealousy and liquor, the dam of control he had worked so hard to maintain had finally sprung a leak.

“Infatuated women are irrational creatures,” Jocelin said quietly.

“They are indeed,” Neely took another large swallow of the ale. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “De Lara knows who she is. And there is little doubt that the king sent him to charm her to see what he could draw out of her. There is no telling what she is divulged to him, and in turn, to John’s cause.”

“Are you telling me that she is untrustworthy?”

Neely’s dark eyes clouded with uncertainty. “I am not. I am merely… speculating.”

“Are you sure that it is not your jealousy talking?”

Neely pursed his lips as if to bitterly retort, but he took another drink instead.  When it became clear that he would not answer, Jocelin took the bottle of ale away and stood up. He set the jug upon the nearest shelf of his small, modest accommodations near the chapel.

“Why do you come to me with this, de Moreville?” he asked. “What would you have me do?”

“Stop her. Tell her that de Lara only means her harm.”

Jocelin wriggled his eyebrows. “Were it only that simple.  Do you not know of women, Neely? The more you try to discourage them, the more they will do whatever it is that you are attempting to discourage them from.”

Neely nodded or swayed; Jocelin could not be sure. He had been drinking long before he had ever sought out the bishop.  Now he was down to the bare bones of emotions and shame.

“I tried to tell her,” Neely muttered. “She would not listen.”

Jocelin scratched his chin, thinking on the all of the implications that clandestine communication with Sean de Lara could have. The long-term results, for both sides, could be immeasurable.  He didn’t like it at all.

“Sheridan may as well have taken up games with a viper,” he said. “And this viper will kill her more swiftly than any reptilian creature. This viper has a brain and a heart, courage unparalleled and a skill beyond compare.  To keep her away from him, we must be more cunning and more skillful than he is.”

“Do you really think he is trying to draw information out of her about the resistance?” Neely was close to falling out his chair by now. It would not be long before he was passed out completely. “I cannot imagine what other purpose he may have. Surely he would not attempt to court her.”

Jocelin frowned at him. “Court her? Of course not. Men like Sean de Lara do not court women. Their life and their loves are war and politics.”

Neely tried to stand up, making a bad attempt of it. “Then you must speak to Lady Sheridan before she does something she regrets. Tell her… tell her to stay away from de Lara.  Tell her that he only means her harm”

Jocelin steadied him and forced him to sit back down in the chair. “We may not have to worry over it much longer.”

“Why?”

“Because the allies are leaving the Tower tonight.  War is looming, Neely. Once Sheridan is gone, the threat of de Lara will be abolished.”

Neely’s reaction was slow. “So it is tonight. Pity I did not know it. ‘Twill be difficult to command in my current state.”

“You know it now,” Jocelin replied. “There is still time for you to regain your senses before we depart.”

Neely blinked his eyes, struggling to focus.  “Indeed. But what if Lady Sheridan will not leave? You should have heard her defend de Lara. He was kind and considerate, she said.  I fear that she will not want to go.”

Jocelin lifted an eyebrow at him, a variety of schemes rolling through his mind. “I have,” he said deliberately, “an interesting thought. Would you hear it without concern?”

“I would.”

“Certainly, a husband would make her go.  And a husband would do far better at keeping de Lara away from her permanently.”

Neely wasn’t so drunk that he did not understand the statement.  “You will marry her off in order to keep de Lara away?”

“It seems logical.”

Neely suddenly stood up again, his manner self-righteous and strong. “Then allow me to wed her,” he half-demanded, half-pleaded. “I will kill de Lara if he comes anywhere near her. Bless me with that privilege, my lord, and I’ll not ask for God’s favor ever again.”

Jocelin had been expecting that statement for years. He put a consoling hand on Neely’s shoulder and shoved him, again, down into the chair. “Women like Lady Sheridan are not meant for men like you or me, my friend,” he said softly. “She needs a man of station, with power.  De Lara wouldn’t dare tangle with a man of rank.”

It was not what Neely wanted to hear. But he had resigned himself to the inevitable long ago, as much as he told himself otherwise. “Who, then?”

Jocelin moved away from him, his weather-worn face lined with the glimmer of possibilities.

“Someone who had been vying for her hand for quite some time,” he murmured.

“There have been many. Who in particular do you mean?”

Jocelin turned to look at him, his profile illuminated by the dim light from the lancet windows.  It was an eerie portrait of a man forced into a game of deadly chance, of life and death. It was time to take the leap. Jocelin, more than anyone, knew what was at stake.

“The most powerful man on the Marches,” he said quietly. “Guy de Braose.”

***

Sean had been waiting longer than he would have liked in the confession booth at the Chapel of St. Peter.  It was a dark, musty, eerie place to be at any given time of the day. On the other end of the screen, he suddenly heard the door open and softly close.  Heavy breathing, as if the person on the other side had just run the entire length of London, filled the small vestibule.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Sean began. “It has been a day since my last confession.”

“What is it you wish to confess, my son?”

“Rumors of war abound, Father. It is said that I am to be sent to war on the Marches.”

The breathing slowed, steadied.  “When?”

“I am not sure. I have not been directly ordered yet. ‘Tis only a rumor at this point.”

“Why would you go?”

“De Braose is laying siege to Kington. Clifford has asked for help.”

“I see.”

“There is more.”

“What?”

“It is also rumored that part of my directive will be to raze Lansdown Castle.”

There was a long pause. “Why would you be ordered to do this?”

Sean sighed harshly, disgusted with the turn of events, though strangely he did not regret the actions that led up to it.  “Because I stopped the king from raping Alys St. James. The king suspects my loyalties now and will ask me to raze Lansdown to prove that my fealty is to him and not to the House of St. James. All plans of the attack on London aside, this is a very real problem in addition to so many others.”

“What will you do?”

“I am not sure.  Much depends on the move against London.”

“It is imminent.”

“How soon?”

“Two days at the most.  The majority of nobles are clearing out tonight.”

“This is fact?”

“I just left a meeting with Jocelin, Rochester and Coventry. Arundel and de Warenne are already gone and gathering with their troops outside the city limits. The rest will move out by dawn.”

Sean’s thoughts immediately moved to Sheridan. “If the king intends on sending me to the Marches, it will take a few days to prepare the army.  The siege of London will prevent me from leaving.”

“Then the king must not know the nobles are leaving to join their troops. Their flight will spook him.”

“Agreed.”

“And you must do what you can to make sure the Tower is vulnerable once the siege has begun.”

“I will undoubtedly lead the battle against the allies. ‘Tis a pity that I will be seen as the loser in all of this.”

“The truth will be told when this is all over. Just make sure you live to see it.”

“I’ll live to see it,” Sean assured him. “And I will live to claim my prize.”

The voice on the other side was silent. “Lady Sheridan?”

“Of course.”

The voice grunted, as if in pain.  “Sean,” he spoke haltingly. “There is something you should know.”

“I fear to ask.”

“You should. Jocelin intends to marry Lady Sheridan to Guy de Braose before the week is out.”

He wasn’t surprised. He realized that he had almost been expecting it. But it took all of Sean’s self-control not to burst through the panel and grab the voice around the neck. As it was, his big hands worked furiously and sweat popped out on his forehead, indicative of his level of emotion.

“Did he tell you this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Aye,” the voice said. “He feels that you are a danger to her.”

“He mentioned me by name?”

“He did. It seems that Neely de Moreville is aware that you and Sheridan have been, shall we say, meeting surreptitiously. Jocelin fears for Lady Sheridan’s life.”

Sean stood up; he couldn’t help it. He braced his hands on either side of the confession window, a gesture that was as powerful as it was pitiful.  His fingers dug into the walls, angst in every move, every gesture.

“Tell him who I am,” his voice was a harsh whisper. “Tell him who I am and what I want. I’ll not allow her to marry another. She is meant for me and only me.”

The voice was laced with sorrow.  He could feel the man’s pain. “I cannot.”

“You must or I will.”

“We swore when we started that only a select few would know your worth. ‘Tis safer for you, Sean.”

“To hell with safety. Tell him. I beg of you.”

The voice sighed heavily. There was no fighting him, no reasoning with him. As always, men in love were irrational creatures.  What made it worse was that Sean deserved everything he asked for, and so much more. To deny him anything at this stage of the game was inherently wrong.

“I will do what I can,” he finally said. “I cannot promise results. Jocelin’s mind is set.”

“Go, then.” It was not a request. “Go and tell him now. Lady Sheridan belongs to me.”

“He may have already told de Braose.”

Sean didn’t reply. He quit the vestibule before he was dismissed, storming blindly from the chapel.  The contact waited a nominal amount of time before slowly opening the door.