Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

"…and it never occurred to me to be frightened for myself. In a matter of days, my life had changed so dramatically that I hardly recognized myself. My sun, my moon and my stars were Sheridan."

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 – 1215 A.D.

H e was vaguely aware of a cloth on his head. The sounds of the world faded in and out for an indeterminate amount of time, distant echoes of things he did not recognize. Finally, he managed to open an eye. The room was small, dark, and smelled of old rushes. It was a damp place even though a fire burned somewhere. He could see the reflection of the flames upon the walls and smelled the smoke from the malfunctioning chimney.

Turning his head slightly, he saw Father Simon sitting at his head.

"So you are awake," Father Simon said. "We were coming to think that you would never awaken."

Sean stirred, the inherent sense of self-preservations influencing his movements. It was imperative that he rise and gain his senses. "Where am I?" he grunted.

Father Simon put his hands on him to still him. "Quiet, Sean," he said. "You have had a bad injury. Gilby has stitched you up, but you are still fragile."

Sean lay there, staring up at the priest, feeling an indefinable ache thundering through his body. His big hands move to his head, clasped to his forehead as if to hold his brains in. "What happened?"

"An attack," Father Simon pulled the cloth off his head and wrung it out in a basin nearby. "You were caught from behind as far as we could tell. We heard the noise of the scuffle. By the time I got there, I found you lying on the ground. Do you recall anything at all?"

He lay there, staring up the ceiling, struggling to clear the cobwebs from his mind. "I am not sure," he muttered. "I remember de Braose and Gerard. I remember nearing the Lanthorn Gate and…."

"That is where I found you with your brains nearly bashed out," Father Simon put the rag back on his head. "Someone had laid a heavy blow against you, Sean. It looked to me that you were clubbed from behind. Your scalp is split down the back of your head cleanly. Whoever did it must have left you for dead."

Sean blinked, pieces of memory coming back to him. "Sheridan," he suddenly struggled to sit up again. "Where is she?"

Father Simon put his hands on his wide shoulders, shoving him back. "Rest or you will not recover. Gilby will be back soon and.…"

"Where is Sheridan? Is she here?"

Father Simon was standing over him, his small body trying valiantly to control the mountain of a man. "She is not," he dreaded those words. "Was she with you when this happened?"

"Aye," Sean felt cold fear grip his heart. "She and her sister. I was taking them back to their guard. Did you see any sign of her, then?"

Father Simon shook his head. "Nay," he said with regret. "No sign at all. When I found you, you were alone."

Sean pushed forward, dislodging the priest's hands. Father Simon stumbled back as Sean sat upright, struggling to orient himself against the spinning room.

"I must find her," he said.

"It has been days, Sean. You have no idea where she would be."

"Did you see any blood around me, as if someone had been injured or killed in the fight?"

"Only yours."

The room was gradually righting itself. Sean looked at the priest. "Then let us pray that she had not been hurt," he muttered. "How many days have I been out?"

"Two. The siege has begun. The north and west border of the city has been taken, with more troops moving into the city towards the Tower of London."

"What else?"

"Nothing else that I know of," Father Simon held a cup for him to drink. Sean took a sip and pushed it away. "I have not seen the king at all, though his troops line the parapets."

"Who is directing the defense of the Tower?"

"I do not know."

Sean stood up, swaying. His entire body felt boneless and weak but he fought it. He had to locate Sheridan.

"I must find her," he said, staggering towards the door.

"But you have duties here, Sean," Father Simon lowered his voice. "Whatever has happened to Lady Sheridan happened two days ago. You cannot change that or save her if she needs to be saved. What is done is done. What is important now is your mission. The Tower must not hold. You must see to it."

"De Braose," Sean muttered. He put his hand on the priest's shoulder, mostly to steady himself. "Gerard took young de Braose. I must find out where he has taken him."

Father Simon tried to argue with Sean, all the way out of the small quarters attached to the Chapel of St. Peter. But the man had his own agenda and would not be swayed.

Father Simon seriously worried for him.

*

"Someone hit me on the back of the head," Sean said. "I have lain for two days unconscious. Surely you know that I would have been here sooner had I not been incapacitated."

"I thought you were dead," the king said. "No one could find you, not even Gerard. Where were you?"

Sean lifted a hand in the general direction of the chapel. "One of the priests found me. Gilby sewed my scalp. I have only regained my senses within the past hour. I still feel as if I should take to my bed, but it is of no matter. What matters is that I am here now to assist you as needed."

John had walked a circle around Sean, three times. Twice he had inspected the massive gash across the back of his head as if making sure that Sean was not lying. With the final inspection, he went back over to the chair that sat near the massive hearth of his warm, smelly, dirty bedchamber.

"Thank God," the king muttered as he sat. "I have been in a panic for two days wondering what to do. My enemies have fled, only to rouse armies to attack London and my supporters are spread too thin. We should have known about this, de Lara. We should have seen it coming."

"We did, sire." Sean gingerly touched the back of his head. "We saw it and we told you it was coming. We just did not know the exact time."

"With all of the spies I employ, surely someone would have known something."

"What about de Braose?" Sean wanted to know. "Before I had my brains bashed in, we had captured young de Braose. Have you not discovered anything from him?"

The king shook his head. "Gerard does not have your touch in such matters. De Braose is useless now."

"Why?

"Because Gerard beat him so badly that the man has been unconscious for days."

Sean cast a long glance at Gerard, hovering back in the shadows as the two of them usually did. He lifted an eyebrow. "That," he said, "was not necessary. I have taught you better than that."

Gerard smiled at him, an admission of wrong-doing without truly admitting it. Sean shook his head, sighing heavily as he did so. "And I had the St. James sisters as captives. Whoever did this to me must have taken them."

"Pity," the king said. "Gerard told me that the elder daughter was a beauty."

It was Sean's way of discovering if Sheridan' was in the king's possession. Sean didn't know if he felt better or worse to realize that she wasn't. Even though she wasn't here, he still did not know where she was.

Now he faced a desperate internal struggle; to go after Sheridan or to complete his mission. He went back and forth until his head was ready to explode. His thoughts were misty, chaotic, but he was able to discern one prevalent concept; he did not want to ruin what he'd worked so hard to achieve. He was so close to victory that he could almost taste it. Sean had never been a quitter. He had to finish what he started and go after Sheridan with a clear mind.

"Where are the commanders of the army?" he asked. "I must be updated immediately. If there is even a chance that the Tower will be breached, then we must act now to get the king to safety."

"It is under control, Sean," Gerard spoke up. "Michael de Vere has the command of the Tower. He assures me that it will not fall."

Sean lifted an eyebrow. "De Vere is not the most capable. His family connections, not his knowledge, got him this post. Has he assessed the enemy's strength? Does he know what other strengths they bring with them?"

Only Sean could speak so frankly in the presence of the king and get away with it. John put his hand up, calming any storm of conflict that might be arising.

"I will call a meeting with de Vere," he said. "He can brief you on what has been done. Gerard, send out the word to my supporters. De Lara is back with us and we meet in one hour."

Gerard fled, leaving Sean standing with the king. Sean's head was killing him and his mind was racing like the wind, but he could feel the king's gaze upon him. He knew it was mistrust, as Gerard had told him. Given the fact that he had been missing for two days, however justified, he could not blame him. John had been surrounded by intrigue all of his life. Suspicion was second nature. He turned to the man.

"Is there anything further you wish from me at this time, sire?" he asked.

John seemed inordinately calm in the face of London being attacked. He shook his head. "Why would you ask?"

"Because I thought there might be something more on your mind. My loyalties, perhaps?"

The king grinned, a lazy, ugly gesture. He knew what the man was referring to, with hardly a word of explanation.

"Sean," he clucked softly. "Gerard should not have told you. Yet I should have expected it. There are no secrets between you two."

"Do you wish to ask me anything?"

"Of course not."

Sean didn't believe him for one minute. The king was, if nothing else, perpetually wary of everyone around him.

"Very well," Sean replied. "If there is nothing else, sire, then I will go clean myself up and return for the conference."

Sean was almost to the door when the king spoke again. "I am told the allies will not reach the Tower for at least another day or two, enough time for you to raise an army and depart the city."

Sean had a sickening feeling that he knew what was coming. It was inevitable, given the cloud of doubt lingering over the past few days. He stopped and faced the king.

"My lord?"

John rose from his silken sling-back chair. He was a short, weak, twisted man, hardly enough of a male to be in the same category as men like Sean. The only strength he had was his royal name and the power it wielded. He was very good at wielding it.

"I wish for you to ride for the Welsh Marches," he said. "Surely Gerard told you that, too."

"He did," Sean said steadily. "But I would question why you would want me to go now, of all times. We are facing a serious siege and need all of our manpower here."

"I must not lose the Marches," the king said. "Clifford's castles are key. They must be held. And when you are finished securing them, you will ride on Abergavenny and raze her."

Abergavenny Castle was the de Braose stronghold. Sean knew this directive for what it was; a test. The king was demanding he prove his loyalty, no matter what was happening to London. John seemed oddly certain that London would hold, as would the Tower. He appeared more focused on insisting Sean prove his allegiance. His priorities were twisted just as the man himself was.

Even though Sean knew exactly what was happening, it made a serious issue far more complex; were he to march to Wales, he could not ensure the fall of the Tower. If the Tower did not fall, then the siege would break down and prove futile. Years of planning would be waste. The allies were counting on him.

"I would strongly advise against dividing your forces, sire," he said. "You will need your strength here to protect the Tower."

"Go to the Marches. And burn Lansdown along your way. While most of her troops are here trying to breach the Tower, we will attack her compromised castle. We will show both de Braose and St. James in one stroke that their treachery against the king shall not go unpunished."

So there it was. Everything Gerard had warned him about. Sean did the only thing he could at the moment; he agreed.

"By your command, sire."

*

The smell of the food made her nauseous. She pushed it away, not even wanting to look at it. It was a lovely tray of squab and boiled vegetables, but she couldn't muster the appetite. Alys, seeing that her sister wasn't eating yet again, took the food for herself.

"You really should eat something," Alys said, her mouth full. "The food is wonderful."

Sheridan didn't reply. Seated in the impressive solar of Watford House in the town of Eastbury, a holding of the Earl of Warenne through his wife's family, she hadn't eaten or slept in three days. Three long, hellish days as the battle for London commenced. News was coming fast and furious, sometimes hourly. Though she should have been concerned with the outcome of the battle, all she could think about was the enemy. Sean was, after all, still her enemy.

The strong walls of Watford House had turned into a command post. Most of the allied nobles were gathered in the fortified manor house to discuss their strategies. The rooms reeked of stale rushes and old ale, and the house in general had a bad mood to it. Jocelin was there and Sheridan had singled him out for a particular hatred. When she found out what he had done, there was nothing on earth that would convince her to forgive him.

"Eat something, Sheridan."

Jocelin's command came as he entered the chamber with Arundel and Fitz Herbert. They had a map between them and headed straight for the large, heavily-constructed table near a set of nine very long, very thin lancet windows built into the northern wall of the room. It allowed for light and air in the massive chamber. While some of the nobles chose to attend the battle themselves, many of them maintained a distance while their men handled the task.

The bishops of London, Lincoln, Worcester, Rochester and Coventry had all returned to their homes, while de Warenne, Arundel, Salisbury and the Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury moved to Watford House to be near the siege. De Neville and de Burgh had moved to a location in Kent to ride out the storm, while Fitz Gerold and Fitz Hugh remained with the nearly twenty thousand men now storming the city of London.

The atmosphere was tense even at the best of times. War was never easy, and this war was the culmination of years of strategy. Now, as Jocelin and the others were reviewing the latest reports from London, Sheridan could only think about returning to the city and to Sean. It consumed every second, every moment of her day and night.

"Let us go walk in the garden," Alys said, trying to get her sister's mind off her troubles. "The weather isn't so bad."

Sheridan stood up without a word. She was a bitter, sullen woman these days. She didn't acknowledge Alys' kindness as her sister placed a heavy cloak on her shoulders to protect against the chill outside. Jocelin caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and excused himself from the gathering. He caught up to the pair just as they were leaving the room.

"Dani," he said softly. "Have you eaten today?"

"Nay." She would not look at him.

"I know you are upset, but you cannot go on like this."

"Upset?" she growled. "Nay, I am not upset. I am destroyed and you are personally responsible."

Jocelin had been drawn into this conversation with her too many times in the past three days. He'd tried to be logical, reasonable and kind, but she would not return the favor. It took all of his abilities to remain calm. These were the times when he thanked God for his celibacy and the fact that he had no daughters.

"Neely did what he had to do, what I told him to do," he said steadily. "De Lara was abducting you and Alys to take you to the king."

"He was not," Sheridan seethed. "How many times do I have to tell you that Sean was taking Alys and me to safety? If he had been trying to abduct us, why was he taking us toward the Lanthorn tower?"

"Neely intercepted you near the Lanthorn," Jocelin replied quietly. "That does not mean de Lara was about to enter it. From where we found you, he could have taken you to any number of areas in the Tower."

"He was saving us."

"Neely saved you. Understand that, girl, and you'll live longer."

Sheridan was as close to striking someone as she had ever been in her life. "Neely did nothing of the kind," she hissed. "Neely's jealousy is raging so that he would do or say anything to gain favor with me right now. And God only knows what he has you convinced of."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly that. Surely he has you convinced that I am stark raving mad because of my association with Sean."

"We have been through this, Sheridan. I do not believe you are thinking clearly. It was good that we removed you from the Tower when we did to get you away from de Lara's influence."

Flustered and furious, she turned away from him, wishing she could tell him what Sean had told her about his loyalties. But she would remain steadfast to her promise and not reveal Sean's true self. All her life she had admired and loved Jocelin. Now all she could see was a suspicious, foolish old man. She walked away from him without another word.

With a heavy heart, Jocelin let her go. Though they were at odds, still, he was sorry. He knew that she was stubborn like her father, sometimes to the point of blindness, and this was simply one of those times. Once married to de Braose, providing the young man survived his adventure in the Tower, she would return to her senses. He was sure of it.

Outside of the manor, it was cool and clear for January. Fat puffy clouds danced overhead as Alys led Sheridan into the elegant formal garden. Lady de Warenne was an avid gardener and all manner of flowering shrub covered the grounds. Though most were dormant at this time of year, some still held their bloom. Alys fussed over the one and only blossom in the entire garden, inhaling its non-existent scent until she sneezed.

But Sheridan had no interest in the garden. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Though they'd spent much time walking the pebbled path, she'd paid little attention to the surroundings. She could have been in a blighted desert for all of the attention she was paying it.

Finding the small lover's bench lodged under a silver birch, she sat on the cold stone and brooded. She could still feel the delicious sensations of Sean's lips against hers and the extraordinary power of his embrace that made her feel as if nothing else in the world mattered. She would give anything to feel that again, but the more time passed, the more impossible that chance seemed.

She was terrified that Neely had killed Sean in his jealousy; all she knew was that Neely had struck Sean across the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, sending Sean to the ground in an unconscious heap. She had seen all of it. She had fought with Neely even as he had picked her up and carried her from the Tower grounds, so much so that she had ripped several gashes with her fingernails into his neck. Neely hadn't so much as uttered a sound as the pain tore through him; he held her tightly and carried her off on horseback. The last Sheridan had seen of Sean was several Glastonbury men kicking his limp body in the moonlight, pounding the man they had all grown to fear. It had been a horrible sight, one she tried desperately to forget.

But she couldn't forget, no matter how hard she tried. She and Neely had ridden for an hour before reaching Watford House. Sheridan had been exhausted and nearly incoherent by the time they arrived at the fortified manor. Neely had left right away to return to London but not before making all attempts to apologize to Sheridan; he didn't want her hating him. Her response had been to spit on him. He had his answer and, bitterly, returned to the brewing battle.

So Sheridan found herself still at Watford House, feeling no differently than she had three days ago. Her anger had turned bitter, her hurt to anguish. She was learning to hate those around her, including Alys. It was wrong and she knew it, yet her reason was unsteady these days. She was desperate to find Sean, desperate to know if he had survived the ambush. Dead or alive, something inside of her had to know.

As she sat on the small lover's bench beneath the barren tree, she began to realize that her only course of action, her only hope, was to escape back to London. Foolish as it was, she could think on nothing else.

Alys was still studying the shrubs and ended up chasing a lizard across the pebbled path. Sheridan watched her younger sister, knowing she could easily manipulate the girl into obeying her wishes. If she was to escape this place, then she had to remove herself from Alys' presence. The plan in her mind began to grow.

"Alys," she said softly. "Would you do something if I asked you?"

Alys perked up. "Of course, Dani. What would you have me do?"

Sheridan averted her gaze to her hands, resting in her lap. She found that she couldn't look her sister in the eye. "I find that I am rather hungry. Would you go to the kitchens and prepare a meal for me?"

Alys's features lifted joyfully. "Of course I will. What would you like?"

Sheridan shrugged. "I have a craving for an almond pudding. But that would take much effort, wouldn't it?"

"Not at all," Alys said, thrilled that her sister was actually interested in food. "I'll tell the cook to prepare it right away. Is there anything else you would like?"

Sheridan pretended to think. "I would like fresh bread. White bread, without a hint of brown in it. And lots of butter."

Alys nodded swiftly, making mental notes of her sister's wishes. "Almond pudding and fresh bread. I will tell the cook right away."

As Alys sprinted for the entry into the manor, Sheridan stopped her. "Alys, you will stay and make sure they prepare everything fresh, will you not? I cannot stomach anything that is not freshly prepared. And I trust you to see that it is done correctly."

Alys nodded eagerly and dashed inside without another word. Sheridan waited until she was sure Alys wouldn't return before bolting from the bench. She remembered where the stables were from the day they had arrived. Wrapping the deep green cloak about her tightly, she made haste for the livery and prayed with every step that her deceptive request to Alys would give her enough time to do as she must. She didn't care who she lied to or who she coerced, just so long as she could get away from Watford House.

She had to find Sean.