Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

"…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.

"D id 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."

"That's terrible. How do you survive?"

"By my wits alone."

"That must be terribly difficult."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting my wits aren't up to the task?"

She laughed, a dazzling display of lovely teeth and tinkling gales. Before she could reply, the door to her bedchamber opened.

"Dani?" It was Alys. "Who are you talking to?"

Sheridan quickly stood up, wondering why she suddenly felt so horribly guilty. "I…," she faced her sister. "A… person was passing by as I was looking out of the window and I simply said good morn."

Alys was at the window and pushed her head through. Sheridan was positive she would see Sean and the entire morning would be filled with lectures and angry exchanges. Sheridan turned back to the window, her eyes falling upon the last place she had seen Sean and fully prepared to make excuses to her sister.

But a strange thing occurred; Sean had disappeared and there was nothing below but dirt and stones. Curious, not to mention disappointed, Sheridan scanned the area but saw nothing. It was, yet again, as if he had simply disappeared. Alys, bored with the featureless view, went over to the bed and threw herself onto the mattress.

"I am so miserable, Dani," she threw her arm over her forehead. "The only man I was every truly attracted to has apparently decided he is interested in you."

It occurred to Sheridan that her patience for Alys' self pity was very thin. An unselfish sister would have been happy that she had found some interest in male companionship. But Alys could see nothing but her own disappointment.

"If you are speaking of de Lara, then I would suggest you find another subject," she said. "Jocelin warned us about him. My encounter with him last night had, shall we say, brutal moments. You'd best forget about him." Alys peered at her. "What about you? Will you forget about him?"

Something in Sheridan changed at that moment. She had never lied to her sister in her life. But she decided in that flash of time to keep her feelings about de Lara to herself. Alys would only create misery if she knew that her sister actually had some curiosity towards the man. And it wasn't the fact that it was de Lara; Alys created misery if her sister showed interest in any man. If Alys could not be the center of male attention, she had always been determined to ruin her sister's chances.

But Sheridan said nothing of what she was thinking. She promised herself at that moment that she would keep her feelings to herself. It would be safer for all of them if she did. Moreover, if her bizarre interest in de Lara was something to last for only a day or two, she did not want to be embarrassed. Alys created quite enough embarrassment to go around with her own dalliances.

"He is forgotten," she said simply. "Now, what will we do today, darling? What is your preference?"

Alys shrugged. "I do not feel like doing anything. I do not want to see anyone or be seen. Perhaps we will stay to the apartments and contemplate our pitiful existence."

Sheridan didn't feel like staying to the apartments. She felt like walking out on the grounds on the off-chance that de Lara might find her again.

"As you say," she said as lightly as she could, heading for the massive wardrobe against the wall. "I plan on going to the chapel this day and having the priest say mass for father."

They all knew how Alys hated attending mass. Too often, she fell asleep in the middle of it and snored like an old dog. "You go ahead," the redhead snorted. "I will wait for your return."

Sheridan dug through the wardrobe, coming across the delicate black mass shawl that had belonged to her grandmother. She really had not planned on paying for mass today, but it was as good an excuse as any. Her stomach twitched with an odd, giddy excitement and she knew in the same breath that she was being foolish. De Lara was more than likely long gone, maybe forever. But she didn't care. The urge to see him again, to speak with him, was strangely overwhelming.

She blew into the antechamber where Jocelin was still glowering. She was mildly startled to see another body present; she'd never even heard him enter.

"My lord Marshall," she dipped into a polite curtsy. "I did not know you were here, my lord."

William Marshall sat opposite Jocelin, his gray eyes piercing as they gazed at her. "I have only just arrived, my lady," he stood up. "My old friend and I barely had time to speak last night. I went to his chamber and they told me he had come here. I apologize if I have intruded."

"You have not," Sheridan assured him, thinking he looked different from when she had met him last night. He looked as if he'd slept in a field; there was hay in his hair and on his tunic. He looked exhausted. But those thoughts were cast aside as she realized that she was very glad to have Jocelin occupied, as he would not insist on accompanying her.

"If you will excuse me, I plan to have mass said for father this morning," she said. "I am on my way to the chapel."

"What of Alys?" Jocelin asked.

"She prefers to stay here." Sheridan tossed the shawl over her shoulders and went to the door. "I shall take an escort, have no fear."

She was halfway through the door as Jocelin called to her. "Neely is in the hall."

Sheridan acknowledged him with a wave. She didn't want Neely escorting her, of all people, especially if they ran into de Lara. In the dim, cool hall near the Flint Tower, she caught sight of the knight several feet away in a small alcove. His dark eyes fixed curiously on her.

"My lady is leaving?" he asked.

She couldn't decide if she was still angry with him for spilling the evening's events to Jocelin. Neely had only done what he felt he should do, and that was to protect the St. James family even when they could not, or would not, protect themselves. For as many years as she had known him, he was more like family to her, and family always forgave family. But she still did not want him escorting her.

"I am going to church," she said. "Give me a guard and I'll be on my way."

"I will take you myself."

"Nay, you will stay here," she lifted an eyebrow. "Alys is in one of her moods and I need you here should she decide to jump from the window again. I will depend upon you, Neely."

He knew what had happened yesterday but, to his credit, had not said anything to Jocelin. Whatever Alys St. James did anymore didn't surprise him.

"Is it bad?" he asked.

"Bad enough," Sheridan replied. "Please do me this favor. I do not want Jocelin catching wind of her antics."

Neely nodded in resignation. He and Sheridan had spent a good deal of time over the past few years concealing Alys' peculiar behavior. He motioned to two of the guards standing against the wall. "Lady Sheridan wishes to go to church," he said. "See that she is amply protected."

It was more escort than she wanted, but she didn't argue. Leaving the cold halls of the apartment tower, she descended the steps into the cool, bright January sunshine. The Tower grounds were fairly alive with activity, mostly soldiers as they went about their business. There were, in fact, many different Houses on the grounds, probably more than the Tower had seen in quite some time.

People tended to keep to themselves, however. There weren't great social gatherings due to the tense political climate between the king and most of his barons. It was a heady world of intrigue and enemy, of suspicion and loyalty, and no one could be certain that their ally of the moment would be their ally tomorrow. Lives often depended upon silence. Therefore, nearly everyone Sheridan passed barely acknowledged her.

The Chapel of St. Peter was on the opposite side of the compound against the west wall. She walked past the White Tower on her way to the chapel, gazing up at the massive structure and remembering the previous evening with clarity. The yard in which she had met Sean was on the opposite side of the building and she was unable to catch a glimpse of it. Instead, she walked through the dry, cold grounds, thinking the whole place to feel rather desolate.

When she reached the chapel, she left the guards outside. The chapel itself was a long, slender chamber with a soaring ceiling and massive support columns. Long, needle-thin lancet windows lined the walls, running nearly floor to ceiling. There were no pews or benches, only a bare floor of hard-packed dirt. At the back of the chapel, near the door, stood the prayer candles, lit by those who paid a pence for a priestly prayer.

It was an empty chamber for the most part. Sheridan put the shawl over her head and began to walk towards the front of the hall, keeping an eye out for a priest or acolyte. As she drew near the altar, she caught sight of two priests in the shadows, conversing with each other. Taking a quick knee in a show of respect for the altar before her, she folded her hands in prayer.

It wasn't long before she heard footfalls approach. Opening her eyes, she gazed into the face of a young man who could not have been much older than she. His hair was cut in the traditional priestly fashion, the crown of his head shaved bare in piety. He wore rough, if not slightly dirty, brown robes with a large wooden crucifix hanging around his neck. His blue eyes were kindly.

"I am Father Simon," he said softly. "May I be of assistance to my lady?"

She stood up. "I would like a mass said for my father."

"Of course. A shilling it will cost."

She fumbled around in the small purse she had attached to her wrist. All the while, she wondered if it had been foolish for her to think de Lara even went near the chapel. This whole thing had been a ruse. Perhaps it had been a wasted one, and now it would cost her a shilling. Well, perhaps not a wasted trip, but she had truly hoped to catch sight of him again. The Lord of the Shadows more than likely did not suffer the illumination of God's house. She was beginning to feel foolish.

She handed over the money. Father Simon smiled. "Mass will be said at Vespers. Your father's name?"

"Henry St. James."

"Of course. Good day to you, my lady."

As he turned and walked away, Sheridan noticed straw on his robes, embedded near his shoulders, as if he had been laying in the stuff. It stuck her odd that William Marshall had been covered in the same substance. With a shrug, she gave it no further thought. Perhaps all men at the Tower suffered the affliction of mysterious straw.

Sheridan returned to her apartments near the tall, dark Flint Tower without catching another glimpse of Sean de Lara that day.