Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

"…the days, as they passed, introduced me to a fresh, new hell…."

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 – 1215 A.D.

G erard had put Guy in the deepest depths of the Tower vault, down into the rooms that seeped of water and rot that permeated the ground from the Thames. It was a hellish place and the lower levels were a maze of horror and darkness. These paths of despair were used only for the very lowliest offenders, those to be locked away and forgotten by time. Men came down here to be swallowed up as if they had never existed.

Sean had some difficulty maneuvering his massive body down the narrow, slippery stone steps of the lower level, made more difficult by the fact that his head was still swimming slightly from the blow to his head. By the time he reached the bottom level, it was nearly pitch black and smelling heavily of decay. He knew from memory there were four cells in this block, small rooms with no ventilation. He lit a larger torch on the wall from the small one he was carrying, giving him just enough light to locate de Braose's compartment. Lifting the splintering plank that slid across the door to lock it, he pushed it aside and shoved open the panel. The oak and iron door jammed and he was forced to thrust hard, twice, to unstick it.

The chamber smelled of death. It was a horrible scent. Sean didn't see Guy right away until he looked over into the corner and saw a body half collapsed, half propped against the stone. He was frankly surprised to see de Braose's dark eyes gazing back at him, wincing with the introduction of the light. He took a step into the cell, lifting the torch for a better look.

"How badly are you injured?" he asked.

Guy blinked rapidly in the weak light. He could see de Lara, larger than life, dressed in full armor. "If you have come to finish what your comrade started, then know that I am no match for you. You can kill me if you have a mind to."

"I have no mind to. How badly are you hurt?"

Guy wasn't sure how to answer. He could barely move, but that wasn't what de Lara was asking. "My right arm is useless."

"Broken?"

"Aye."

"Can you stand?"

"I have not tried."

Sean reached down and pulled de Braose to his feet as if the man weighed no more than a child. But Guy was gravely injured and groaned at the movement. Sean could see that Gerard had done his work very well, for Guy was a mess. His face was battered, his right arm broken, and there was no telling what other injuries lay beneath the torn and stained clothing.

"What are you doing?" Guy demanded, pain in his voice. "Put me down, de Lara."

Sean didn't reply. He hoisted Guy from the cell, listening to his grunts of pain. When they hit the slippery steps, Guy began to weakly struggle.

"Put me down," he groaned. "Where are you taking me? If you are thinking to.…"

Sean cut him off then. "Keep silent," he snapped lowly. "If you value your life, you'll do as I say. You must play dead."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"I said play dead," Sean's clear blue eyes blazed into Guy's youthful features. "And shut your mouth. If you want to live, you'll keep it shut."

"I still do not understand."

"You do not have to. But I ask that you trust me."

Guy's eyebrows flew up. "Trust you ?" he repeated, outraged. "After everything that has happened, you are asking me to trust you? You must be mad."

"Indeed, I very well may be. But your only other choice is to rot away in that cell. Is that what you wish?"

Guy opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He was cornered. "What are you going to do?"

"You must play dead, no matter what you hear and no matter what happens. You must play the lifeless, limp corpse. Your life depends on convincing others that you have met your end. Can you do this?"

Guy lifted his one good shoulder, a weak gesture. "It appears that I have no choice." His dark eyes cooled, grew shaded. His mind was thinking many things, not merely of de Lara's strange request. He was especially thinking on the last time he and the Shadow Lord had met. "Where is Lady Sheridan? Is she all right?"

Sean had been collected and professional up until that moment. But hearing her name was like a dagger through his heart. He dare not allow himself to falter in front of de Braose. Yet knowing that the young knight felt for the lady as he did, knowing that somehow he may have a kindred spirit in the man in their mutual concern for the lady's welfare, he told the truth. Besides, it was the very reason he was releasing Guy from his imprisonment.

"She is missing," he said frankly.

Guy's eyes widened. "But… the last I saw, she was under your escort. You had her, de Lara. What happened?"

Sean's emotions had the better of him and he struggled against the anguish that threatened. "I was ambushed after I left you," he said truthfully. "I was rendered unconscious and the lady was taken."

Guy's big brown eyes widened with dismay. "Why are you not out looking for her? Why are you here wasting time with me?"

Sean's jaw ticked dangerously. "I tell you this because I require your help," he rumbled. "In spite of my reputation, I cannot be everywhere at once. The lady is missing, presumably in danger, and as much as I loathe the idea I require your assistance. I will get you out of this place, but in return you must do everything in your power to help me find the lady. You are allied with her. You have many mutual friends and acquaintances. Perhaps one of them will know where she is. They will speak to you far more easily than they will speak to me."

It suddenly all came clear to Guy. De Lara was taking him from the vault because he needed Guy's help to find Lady Sheridan. He began to feel his sense of worth where a moment ago, he had none. Now, the mighty de Lara needed him.

"In spite of the fact that we both lay claim to her, you would ask this of me?" Guy repeated, somewhat guardedly. "Are you so desperate, then?"

"Nay," Sean shook his head slowly. "I am only concerned with her welfare. I care not for our petty contention at this point, de Braose. All I care about is finding the lady safe and whole. I believe you are the one man who can help me accomplish this."

"And if I find her and marry her? What then?"

Sean lifted an eyebrow. "I would ask that you not, but I cannot order or demand it. I will leave it to your conscience to do the right thing. All I care about is that she is found. Will you do this?"

Guy was seriously attempting to ascertain Sean's motives in all of this. Either he was up to something, or Sean was the most selfless man he'd ever met. He wasn't sure which but he was impressed with the man's altruism nonetheless. Slowly, he nodded his head.

"I will."

There was nothing more to say. The two enemies would, for the moment, work together for the common cause of Lady Sheridan. Guy was easily half Sean's size, so it was little effort for Sean to literally throw him over his shoulder and carry him up the stairs to the next level. This floor of the vault was busier, however, and the master jailer focused his attention on the pair as Sean carted Guy through the area. He went to them.

"You found him, I see," the burly, one-eyed man spoke to Sean. "Is he dead?"

"He is. I am sending the body back to his father as a message against all those who would oppose the king."

Thankfully, the jailer didn't check. He took the Shadow Lord's word for it. Sean continued to lug Guy through the vault, up the next set of stairs, and up into the gatehouse. There were soldiers everywhere and smoke from the battle filled the air as Sean passed into the ward beyond. Even though it was the north and east sections of London that were burning under attack, the wind had carried the smoke and ash to the Tower. It was an eerie sight as the late afternoon sun turned red behind the clouds of burnt orange and black.

Guy peeped an eye open, noting the tense mood of the courtyard and the soldiers in battle mode going about their business. He could smell the smoke and knew, without being told, what was happening. The siege was well underway.

Sean pulled Guy into a shadowed corner against the wall. It was apparent that he was searching for something, or someone. Guy winced as his broken ribs brushed against each other, his torso wedged up against Sean's massive shoulder. After several moments of hovering in the shadows, the pair rounded the corner of the gatehouse and headed straight for a small, enrobed man pulling a donkey cart along the edge of the western wall.

Without a word, Sean lifted Guy over the side of the cart, burying him beneath the mounds of hay that filled it. Guy sputtered as dried grass hit him in the mouth, but for lack of a better response, lay there as Sean and the tiny old man threw great piles of hay over him. When they were finished satisfactorily burying Guy, Gilby peered out at Sean from beneath his hood.

"He is badly hurt," Sean said quietly. "Take him somewhere safe where you can tend his wounds. Then send him back to his men. I don't care how you do it, but get him there."

"It will not be a simple thing," Gilby said. "The gates are sealed."

Sean lifted an eyebrow. "The gates are not the only way in and out of the Tower."

"And if I need your help?"

Sean shook his head. "I am riding for the Marches in two hours. If you need help, you'll have to seek it elsewhere. I cannot help you."

Gilby's brow furrowed. "Why are you riding to the Marches, man? London is under siege."

Sean's normally emotionless face rippled with disgust. "Be that as it may, our king has ordered me to the Marches." He lowered his voice dramatically. "And I need you to deliver a message."

"As you wish."

"The Chapel, one hour."

As Gilby watched the enormous knight slip off into the darkness of the Tower yard, he couldn't help wonder what de Lara was doing. For the king to order him away from London in the face of a siege was most unusual. It was a curious move on the monarch's part. Behind him, Gilby could hear the straw rustling about. He turned in time to see Guy's dark head pop up amongst the hay.

"He is going to the Marches?" Guy repeated what he'd heard. "Why is he going there? And who are you?"

Gilby cocked a bushy eyebrow. "Which question would you have me answer first?"

"All of them."

"It would appear so, because the king has ordered him to, and my name is Gilby."

Guy processed the answers slowly. In fact, he was processing the entire circumstance rather slowly. His mind was muddled with pain and lack of food, and now that he was out of the vault, it was also muddled with relief. As Gilby collected the lead rope and smacked the mule on the buttocks to get it moving, Guy lay back down in the hay. He had the presence of mind to cover himself back up. His body was killing him and his head was swimming, but above everything, he felt a new resolve to do as he must. Lady Sheridan was out there, somewhere, and he had to find her.

When he did, he would marry her. To the Devil with de Lara.

*

Sheridan knew the locale of Watford House in relation to London simply because she'd heard enough talk over the past few days to give her a very good indication. She therefore knew that she must travel southeast to the main highway leading from London to Gloucester. It had taken her and Neely an hour to reach Watford House and that had been at a moderately slow pace, so she assumed it would be even less if the horse was swift.

She had selected a high-bred bay steed that she thought might have belonged to Salisbury. The animal's blanket bore Salisbury's colors of yellow and light blue. In any case, it was a cooperative animal and she was able to saddle the horse and remove it past a dumbstruck stable boy without much trouble. Though she had no food or money, she did not want to take the time to procure those items lest her plan be discovered. She would simply have to worry about those things when the time came.

The big bay gelding had a smooth gait, making it an easy canter as she stole away from Watford House. She kept to the fields to shield herself from the view of the fortified manor, but soon enough was able to travel the road. The day remained cool, bright, and unusually quiet. As she loped down the road, the entire adventure began to take on the feel of a leisurely ride. Sheridan felt a tremendous amount of relief now that she had left Watford House, as if she was finally on her way to accomplishing her task. She struggled not to entertain the thought that Sean was dead. She had to have faith that he had survived.

Determination fed her actions where common sense did not. She knew very well how dangerous her actions were, but it didn't matter. She further knew that she was riding into a city under siege, but that didn't matter either. As the horse galloped south and midday turned to afternoon, she decided the best course of action upon reaching the Tower would be to go to the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula and speak with the priest who had said mass for her father. Perhaps the priest would know of de Lara's whereabouts; truthfully, other than asking the king himself, she did not know where to start. Priests usually knew most of what was going on around them. Maybe the man could help her find some answers.

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 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?"

"We will marry, have no doubt. But these events…."

"Then if we will marry, I would do it now. Please, Sean. That way, no one can ever rightfully keep us apart."

He hadn't the will or the heart to refuse her. He wanted it as badly as she did, probably more. William Marshall, therefore, had to amend his promise; it was difficult to say no to such a beautiful lady. Sean received his bride before finishing his task, leaving the task of breaking the news to Jocelin to the Marshall. Though William didn't mind that he was to be the bearer of unwelcome information, he minded the fact that his bargain was somehow twisted in Sean's favor.

Even as Father Simon married Sean and Sheridan with Gilby and the Marshall as witness, still, William could only hope that Sean would follow through and keep his part of the bargain. Once, William had asked Sean to trust him. Now William would have to do the same.

But those thoughts were violently dashed as they quit the chapel and ran head-long into the king, preparing to take Vespers with his retainers. John took one look at Sheridan and Sean knew they were in for a world of trouble.