Lords of Darkness and Shadow (97 page)

Since the topography was fairly flat as it neared the Thames, a few miles in the distance, the main road from Gloucester to London came upon her like a flat gold ribbon along the deep green of the land.   Sheridan paused at the crossroads, noting a carriage off in the distance to the east, but little else. The road, for the most part, was vacant. Spurring the bay horse, she took off to the southwest, following the path that would take her right into the heart of London.  From there, it would be straight to the Tower and straight to the chapel. Beyond that, she would take it from moment to moment.  She did not want to think more than two steps ahead. She hoped the priest would be kind enough to help her.  She hoped she wasn’t being completely foolish. She further hoped that she would survive all of this.

In the distance, she could see the smoke from the battle for London.  Unnerved but no less determined, she spurred the horse faster.

***

“She is at Watford House, Sean.”

This time, they met in the confessional at the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula.  Sean felt his heart leap into his throat at those five simple words. It was as if his entire life hinged on that straightforward little statement and the relief he felt brought unexpected tears to his eyes. It was an indescribable moment of joy, relief, and odd desperation.  His hands, against the wall of the confessional, now formed claws as his fingers, subconsciously, dug into the wood in a release of tension.

“You know this for certain?” he managed to ask.

“I do.  The allies have reported this to me.”

“Is she well?”

“As far as I know,” the voice responded. “Jocelin has charge of her.”

Sean’s relief was tempered by the attack at the Lanthorn Tower. “So it was Jocelin who set upon me.”

“It was.”

Sean sighed heavily. “Then you did not tell him of me.”

There was a long pause. “I told him. But he does not want you for the lady. He feels that her life would be filled with hatred, political intrigue, and strife. He feels you court nothing but danger.”

“And he is correct,” Sean snorted. “But that does not change the fact that I will marry her.  If Jocelin stands in my way, I will kill him. Mark my words.”

Passion in men did strange things to their common sense. The voice on the other side of the panel remained calm.  “Is that how you would wish to begin your marriage? With a murder? I wonder how the lady would react.”

Sean slumped back against the side of the booth.  He drew a weary hand over his face. “Probably not too well,” he admitted. “Then what would you suggest I do?”

“You will do your duty,” the voice grew oddly hard. “We are at the crest of our plans, Sean. I cannot have you running amuck with wild emotion. I must have you stable and focused. The Tower must fall.”

“Then it will fall without me, for I have been ordered to tend The Marches.”

The voice was clearly startled. “The Marches?
Now
?”

Sean wiped another hand over his face; his head was killing him and he wanted nothing more than to forget this day had ever happened. “I am ordered to reclaim Clifford’s castles from de Braose, raze Abergavenny and Lansdown Castles, and secure the Marches for John.   While London is burning around his ears, he is more concerned for the Marches.” He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees and the clear blue eyes weary and unfocused. “Nay, ‘tis more than that. It is a test. Our king is testing me.”

“A test? Why would he do that?”

“Because I stopped him from ravaging Alys St. John. In his twisted mind, he is now demanding a show of loyalty from me.”

The voice was silent a long while. “This cannot be good, Sean. If seeds of doubt have begun to sprout….”

“I know,” Sean wouldn’t let him finish.  “The seeds are there. With John, they are always there. But I think I can kill whatever suspicion grows. He needs me too much to so easily dismiss me.”

“What are you going to do? We cannot see nine careful years lain to waste.”

Sean drew in a long, deep breath. “I am going to do as ordered with the exception of razing Lansdown.  And I am going to Watford House to claim Sheridan.”

“It will be an ugly fight, Sean. Moreover, since Jocelin is aware of your position, it is quite possible he will reveal your cover in a fit of emotion. This must not happen.”

Sean’s jaw ticked as he hung his head, staring at the floor, his hands. “The north and east borders of London are falling,” he said quietly. “With the size of the army that approaches the Tower, I have little doubt that it will fall with or without my help. Is my presence really necessary here any longer? Is this cover I have held all this time still an essential one? Our plan is coming to action. There is nothing more I can do.  Why can I not reveal my true self now and fight against John in the open as the others do?”

The door to the confessional suddenly flew open. William Marshall stood in the entry, his weathered face taut with rage.

“Get ahold of yourself, de Lara,” he snapped. “Of all the men in my employ, you are the last person I would expect this nonsense from.  I told you once that I would whisk Lady Sheridan away from you if she is too much of a distraction until this is all over.  Do not force my hand, boy.”

Sean stood up, facing his liege. He was half a head taller and far more muscular.  “And I told you that I would kill you if you tried.”

The Marshall had a temper, but it was one that he controlled admirably. It would not do for him to fly in Sean’s face; the Lord of the Shadows could not be intimidated. William had known Sean long enough to know that.  But he could see something in Sean’s eyes that he had never seen before. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew he didn’t like it.

He put a hand on Sean’s shoulder, in apology and acquiescence. “You probably would,” he muttered. “But I am serious, Sean. I need your focus, now more than ever. It concerns me to hear you speak of deviating from our plans.”

Sean backed down somewhat, but he was still unsteady.  “I was simply asking a question,” he offered weakly, though they both knew it was not the truth. “Nothing will deter me in my quest to marry Sheridan. You may as well know that I would give up my mission if it meant not having her.”

It was a blow to William to hear that. He knew it would do no good to rage. All he could do was bargain. The Marshall had made a life out of bargaining and he was very successful at it.  But this bargain would prove to be particularly critical.

“Then I will strike a deal with you,” William said. “Will you hear me?”

“I always do.”

“I need for you to stay where you are for the time being. You are far too valuable to our cause to give this up so easily. We cannot know how this battle will go or even how the next few days will go. I need you on the inside to observe and report. If John says you will go to the Marches, then go you will. It is vital that you remain loyal to him until the tides turn in our favor. For this continued service, I will make you a promise.”

“What is that?”

The Marshall’s dark eyes glittered. “You will have Sheridan St. James upon your return from the Marches.  I swear to you that she will be yours but only if you see this task through. I cannot promise anything to a man who would turn from his duty.”

Sean had never known William Marshall to make a vow he could not keep. There were many years of trust between them.  “And just how will you accomplish this if Jocelin is so opposed to the idea?”

“You must trust me.”

Sean could not doubt him. He nodded, his jaw ticking with the reservation he could not voice. Suddenly, a small figure entered the doorway, casting a shadow against the dying sunlight. Startled, Sean and William turned to see Gilby entering the chapel. He had a queer look on his face.

“Sean?” Gilby paused just inside the door. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“And so you have found me,” Sean replied. “Is something wrong? Where is de Braose?”

Gilby jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the Tower grounds. “In my bed,” he said. “He is very broken up inside.”

Sean nodded. “I assumed as much. Gerard is, if nothing else, thorough in his brutality.”

Gilby shook his head. “But de Braose is not why I was looking for you.”

“What is it, then?”

The old man lifted his shoulders, unsure where to begin. “I was on the wall near the Bell Tower, you see, searching for the best avenue in which to remove young de Braose. There is the tunnel near the Bell and Middle Towers, and there is the Traitor’s Gate that leads to the river, and.…”

Sean put up his hand to silence him. It was the first time he’d ever seen Gilby rattled. “What has you so stricken, old man?”

“I just wanted you to know where I was when I spied it, clear as day, jaunting along the road to the Tower gate.”

“Spied what?”

“If I had not bribed the guard to open the Middle Tower gate, I fear something horrible might have happened.”

“Gilby, you are not making any sense. What are you talking about?”

Gilby crooked his finger at Sean.  The massive knight did as he was asked and made his way over to the old man. Gilby pointed out into the yard. Puzzled, Sean looked into the dusk only to see a small figure standing several feet away by the massive tree that stood between the chapel and the White Tower.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Gilby’s old eyes twinkled. “A very foolish young lady.”

It took several long moments but the color eventually drained from Sean’s face as he stared at the lone figure.  The old man took pity on him and called out softly.

“Lady Sheridan?”

Sheridan’s head snapped in his direction, so sharply that the hood of her cloak came off. Her glorious hair spilled free, covering a shoulder and draping across her mouth. Expecting to see only the priest, it took her a moment to realize that she was gazing at Sean.

Sheridan began running running towards Sean and he towards her. Suddenly, she was in his powerful arms and he lifted her up, holding her so tightly that his embrace threatened to crush her. The soft sounds of joyful weeping filled the air as Sean kissed every inch of flesh he could manage to come into contact with; her eyes, forehead, cheeks, ears and mouth were open territory for his passionate, and surprised, delight.

“My God,” Sheridan sobbed softly, trying to catch her breath between heated kisses. “You are alive. I hardly dared to hope.”

He held her as if to never let her go.  “And you…,” he could hardly form a coherent thought. “I was told you were at Watford House. How is it that you are here?”

She pulled back then, gazing into his clear blue eyes and feeling more emotion than she could sufficiently express.  Her hands gripped him tightly, even as he set her on her feet.

“I ran away,” she told him breathlessly. “They could not keep me from you, Sean.  They tried but I would not let them. I had to find you.”

He touched her face, not understanding what she apparently meant. “Who brought you?”

“No one.”

Then it began to register. “Are you telling me that you rode all the way from Eastbury alone?”

She sniffled, wiping at her nose. “Aye.”

He just looked at her. So that was what Gilby meant when he called her a very foolish young lady. His joy was tempered with horror for all of the things that could have befallen her on her determined quest and he pulled her into his arms once again, holding her closer. Momentary anger gave way to extremely relief. 

“Sweet Jesus,” he breathed. “You would risk yourself like that for me?”

She clung to him, a mountain of strength. “I would do anything for you,” she murmured. “I love you.”

It was difficult for him to keep his balance. Sean bobbled, ending up on one knee. On the ground, he was almost eye to eye with her, his clear blue eyes piercing deep into her soul.   

“Are you all right?” she asked softly. “What is wrong?”

He snorted with the irony of the question. His mailed gloves came up, clasping her sweet face between them. “Tell me again.”

“Tell you what?”

“That you love me.”

Her tears were nearly gone, replaced by a delicious smile that spread across her face. “I love you.”

His expression took on the most amazing glow. “Do you really?”

“Aye.”

He took her in his arms, then, still on one knee, his face buried in the valley between her breasts.  She held him tightly. “Does this displease you?”

His face suddenly came up, looking at her. The clear blue eyes were wet with unshed tears. “Of course not,” he whispered. “For I, quite clearly, am deeply in love with you.”

Her grin broadened. “Marry me now, Sean. Marry me and let us grow old together.”

“Would that I could, sweetling.”

“Why not?”

“Because there is too much looming in the near future. You and I have much to discuss.”

She thought on that a moment. “Will these events in the future affect us?”

“Aye.”

“Is it possible that they will affect us so that we will never marry?”