Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"…the game was afoot. I had stepped into a new world of deception and subversion that I could hardly begin to comprehend. Everything I had worked for was in danger of shattering but, strangely enough, I did not care. I had my wife and that was all that mattered…."

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 – 1215 A.D.

S ean had always thought fast on his feet. In his vocation, it was an essential and practiced skill. As he looked at the king's sagging face, his senses rapidly calculated the situation, the odds, and the path of most convincing progress. Never in his life had he faced something so critical; now it wasn't only his life at stake, but his wife's. He fought down his shock for the sake of thinking clearly.

The Marshall had not followed them from the chapel. He and Father Simon were still inside, aware that the king and his entourage were at the threshold. With the focus on Sean, they were able to slip away unseen. Realizing this, Sean's peripheral senses reached out to Gilby and Sheridan, standing just to his right. The old man would be inconsequential to the king; he was one of the Tower physics, an old man that hardly presented a threat.

As Sean faced the king, many thoughts ran through his mind and it was a matter of selecting the most plausible one. He fixed John straight in the eye.

"Sire," he said smoothly. "I was on my way to seek your audience."

John wasn't looking at Sean; he was looking at Sheridan. "You are supposed to be riding to the Marches," he commented casually. "Why are you still here? And who is this?"

Sean kept his composure. "The army is mobilized, sire, though getting out of the city now under siege will take some difficulty," he reminded him yet again what a folly it was to be sending an army to the Marches while London was under attack. "I was distracted from my departure by this lady I now hold captive."

A leering smile spread across John's lips, full of indelicate suggestions of lustful thoughts. "And does your captive have a name?"

Sean's expression didn't change. "Good news, sire," he answered. "I have within my control an excellent investment for the future of your reign. Be presented to the Lady Sheridan St. James."

John's eyes widened. He clapped his hands together as an excited child would have. "Sheridan St. James," he reached out, fingering a tendril of blond hair. "By God's Rood, d'Athée was correct. She is exquisite. But what is she doing here? D'Athée told me the last he saw of you and Lady Sheridan, you were both fleeing towards the Lanthorn Tower."

It took all of Sean's self-control not to break the man's neck as he toyed with Sheridan's hair. If he was going to pull this off and save both their lives, then he had to be convincing. He had to remain in control. But it was growing more difficult with each passing moment.

"We were, sire, until I was ambushed and the lady escaped," he said evenly. "Be that as it may, she has been recaptured. And she is now my wife."

John stopped toying. He looked at Sean as if the man had lost his mind. "She is what ?"

"My wife. I have just married her."

"De Lara, if this is a joke.…"

Sean shook his head, moving to grab Sheridan by the arm in a less-gentle and more-controlling gesture. It was meant to be a dominating action. But Sean managed to very discreetly pull her to his other side, putting himself between John and Sheridan.

"No joke, I assure you," his voice lowered. "I caught the woman hiding in the church. Were we to simply hold her hostage against the rebels, it would be a sentimental prisoner and nothing more. The allies would not surrender simply for the sake of Sheridan St. James. However, to marry her means that I, as her husband, inherit control of Lansdown, her wealth and her men. Men that are currently laying siege outside of the city. One command from me and fifteen hundred men will return to Lansdown."

The gleam of lust in John's eye flared, dimmed, and then turned into something else. Sean watched the king's expression with such inward scrutiny that, for a few moments, he forgot to breathe. He could only pray the man believed him. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness as the king digested the statement.

But it was thankfully not for long. John's expression gradually slackened. Though naturally suspicious, he could not deny the Shadow Lord's train of thought nor his sacrifice for the king's cause. His features began to bloom with the light of understanding.

"Amazing," he breathed, his gaze moving from Sean back to Sheridan. "So you have married Henry St. James' daughter and heiress."

"The St. James army is now my army and will do as I command."

It was apparent that the king was thrilled with the prospect. He clapped his hands again, a disturbingly gleeful gesture in the face of an impending siege. But Sean was determined to keep control of the conversation before the king could do or suggest anything that would cause him to snap and give himself away. He stepped away from the king, respectfully, still gripping Sheridan by the arm. He tried not to appear as if he was hurried, merely going about a duty.

"I will take her for safekeeping now, sire," he said as he walked. "I will send word to the St. James captain to return to Lansdown and then I shall meet up with my army preparing to leave for the Marches."

Sean's departure was swift but the king didn't notice. All he could see was that a prize was escaping him and he would not let such a trophy go so swiftly. He took a few steps after Sean, calling out as the distance between them grew.

"I should like to become better acquainted with your wife," he said in a tone that suggested it was a command. "Perhaps over a meal after Vespers. And I should like for you to attend me before you leave for the Marches."

Sean knew exactly what he meant. Nine years had given him that gift of insight. He was marginally thankful the man hadn't made demands for her at that very moment, but still, it would be a turbulent evening ahead. Though his body tensed, he remained controlled on the outside; he had to.

"As you wish, sire," he answered.

He whisked Sheridan down the long axis of the chapel, turning the corner and realizing they were far from where he wanted to take her. The Flint Tower was in front of them, looming against the dusk. Sean took her into the Tower with Gilby on their heels. He had to get away from the king, anywhere.

The Tower was cold and damp. Sean took Sheridan up to the second floor, pausing once they reached the adjoining building where the nobles were sometimes housed. It was dark but for a few torches smoking lazily. Pausing to catch his breath, he turned to look at her.

Sheridan, thankfully, was composed in spite of what could have been a horrible happenstance. She smiled timidly as their eyes met.

"Now what?" she asked, trying to make light of the situation. "Do you plan to take me somewhere and ravage me?"

He almost frowned at her but she was smiling so charmingly at him that he cracked a smile. She knew how serious the situation was, or at least she sensed it. His smile softened as he gazed down at her. A hand came up to stroke the same hair that the king had touched.

"You will have to wash your hair," his voice was husky. "I cannot stomach the man's scent on you."

She could see how anxious he was, which was unusual given the fact that the man was perpetually in control of himself. She pressed against him, curling against his massive body. Sean wrapped his arms around her, gazing down into her lovely face.

"All in good time," she murmured. "What do we do now?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "This is not how I had planned our wedding night but I am afraid I will have to turn you over to Gilby's care while I tend to the king."

She nodded, masking her disappointment. "He wants to have supper with me."

Sean's face hardened. "He will be sorely disappointed. The man will never be near you again."

"But… what are you going to tell him?"

"That you are ill, or asleep, or that you have run off in terror. I do not know at the moment. Anything I can think of."

She could see how much the very idea distressed him. She could not know that he had been dreading this moment since almost the very moment he laid eyes upon her in the ward those days ago. Now it was coming to pass, that which he feared most. The king was on to Sheridan's scent. Though she sensed Sean's distress, she could not truly know how badly it was affecting him.

"I am sure that Gilby shall take good care of me while you are doing your duty," she assured him quietly. "You must return to the king quickly or he might become suspicious."

He almost snorted; he is always suspicious . But he would not say what he was thinking, what she could not grasp at the moment. One had to be in the trenches for as long as he had been in order to know just how serious this situation was.

"Not before I get you settled," he said, taking her hand and leading her down the hall. "I would make sure you are safe and cared for before I return to the king."

Orienting himself, he knew exactly where he was and what chambers, or apartments, were in close proximity. The length of the structure, moving north to south, was several hundred yards long. It was a massive structure of apartments and rooms. Most of the upstairs chambers were for visiting nobles, not assigned to any one particular house. Sean chose a random apartment that was small but functional. They were away from the bustle of most of the Tower so that Sheridan could easily remain out of the public eye.

The little antechamber was small and chilly, with very little furnishings. In fact, it looked as if it had been unlived in for some time. The sun had almost completely set, giving the room an eerie feel. Sean let go of Sheridan's hand as Gilby shut the door and threw the bolt. As Sean made a fire in the dark, cold hearth, Gilby took the lady's arm gently and guided her to the only chair.

Sheridan sat in the darkness, watching Sean's broad back as he worked the fireplace. Gilby drifted into the bedchamber and emerged a few moments later to declare that there was a serviceable mattress but no linens. Then he announced he would go in search of some food for the lady and left the apartments entirely. Sean remained silent as he sparked the flint that eventually gave birth to a small flame. Sheridan left her chair and went to kneel beside Sean, her arms going around his neck and her head against his massive bicep. It was a comforting, consoling gesture.

He patted her arm with his free hand, stoking the little flame until it picked up into a friendly blaze. She leaned against him, feeling his massive strength beneath her arms, acquainting herself with the scent and feel of him. It was wonderful.

"What did you mean about sending my army back to Lansdown?" she asked one of many questions on her mind. "Are you really?"

He sighed heavily; she could feel it as well as hear it. "Things are by far more complicated than they were an hour ago," he replied. "The Marshall will be sending word to Jocelin of our marriage, but I must have your declaration on a document to de Moreville verifying our marriage and the fact that I now have control of the St. James army."

She lifted her head from his arm, looking at him. "Neely will not take the news well."

"As I would not expect him to, which is why I require your verification."

"Are you going to send the army home?"

He looked at her, then. "No."

"But you told the king.…"

"I told him many things to save both our lives," he interrupted her softly. "You know the truth, Sheridan. The king knows only what I tell him."

She gazed into the clear blue eyes, seeing his vulnerability for the very first time. She'd never seen that before, ever. It was at that moment the seriousness of the situation began to sink in.

"Why are you going to the Marches?" she asked, almost a whisper.

The fire was picking up steam. Sean stood up and led Sheridan back over to the chair. He took it, seating her on his lap. She curled up against him, a deliciously wonderful moment between them. He had never held her on his lap before. He knew the moment her rounded buttocks settled on his thighs that he liked it tremendously. He held her close.

"I have orders to ride for the Marches," he murmured, his lips against her forehead. "The king seems to think that I am needed more on the Welsh border than at a city under siege."

"But why?" she was enjoying the warmth, the strength, from him tremendously. "I do not understand why he would send his bodyguard to battle."

"More than a bodyguard, I am a knight. I have been swinging a sword longer than most."

"I know that, but I would think that he would rather have you here."

He debated how much to tell her. Though she understood politics by virtue of her father's teaching, still, he did not want to frighten her. But he felt he had to be honest with her. He'd lied a great deal in his life, to a great many people, but he made a firm vow at that moment that he would never lie to Sheridan, no matter what.

"'Tis a test, Sheridan," he said quietly. "The king has doubts about my loyalty stemming from the time when I prevented him from raping your sister. He is a suspicious man by nature and my actions fueled some doubt in his mind. He has asked me to ride to the Marches to assist Clifford in fending off de Braose's attack against disputed holdings. He has also asked me to raze Lansdown to prove that I am more loyal to him than to the House of St. James, which presents something of a problem considering I married the heiress. Lansdown belongs to me now."

Her head came up and her eyes were huge on him. "Raze it?" she repeated. "Oh, Sean, you do not mean to…?"

He put a finger on her lips, quieting her. "I will not raze my own castle," he was more aware of his finger on her soft lips than the subject at hand. "When I go to the king this night, it will be to discuss an entirely new set of orders."

"But why must you go at all? Now that we have married, surely it changes things."

He looked at her, his clear blue eyes soft yet resigned at the same time. "I made a promise that I must keep," he said after a moment. "Long before I met you, I made a promise to William Marshall that I would do all in my power to see John fall. I must keep that promise."

She didn't look entirely accepting. "But… but riding to the Marches, to battle, is part of that promise?"

He nodded slowly. "Absolutely," he shifted her on his lap, his hands searching out new places on her torso he'd not yet touched. "You see, before you and I found each other at the chapel, I had made the Marshall a promise that I would fulfill my mission if he would ensure that, in the end, you became mine. But your happenstance arrival changed things. Now that I have you, I still promised the Marshall that I would complete my task. And I intend to do so."

"So you must ride to battle?"

"I must keep up the illusion that I am still loyal to the king. And that means that I continue to follow his orders. If the man wants me to go to the Marches, then go I must."

She looked at him, scrutinizing every angle, every feature. He had explained himself and she would not argue his sense of honor.

"I have made a mess of things, haven't I?"

He grinned. "Not at all. 'Tis I who have made the mess. But we shall get through this, have no doubt."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. She could feel his breath on her face. "Will you promise me something, then?"

"If I can."

She wriggled her nose as she thought of what she would say. She was sure he would refuse but she would ask nonetheless. "I am afraid to stay here," she whispered. "When you ride for the Marches, please do not leave me behind. I want to go with you."

He didn't outright refuse her. In fact, he lowered his gaze, perhaps contemplating her words, perhaps contemplating something else. Finally he spoke.

"I will not leave you here, but you cannot ride to battle with me."

"Then where will I go?"

"Back to Watford House. It will be the safest place for you until this madness is finished." His eyes took on a distant look. "In fact, I think I shall ask the Marshall to escort you. He must inform Jocelin of our marriage and it would be good to have him as moral support for you should Jocelin rage."

"He will rage," she agreed, somewhat sadly. "But I do not need the Marshall's support. I can face him alone."

"You will not face him alone. The Marshall will be there."

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it when she saw the look on his face. She studied his expression for several long moments before pressing her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms around him tightened.

"Your decision is made?" she asked softly.

"It is."

"Then do you think we could forget all of our troubles for five minutes this night and simply enjoy the happiness of our marriage?" She lifted her head to look at him. "Since the moment we've met, politics and war and the king have dominated our relationship. Can we not think of anything but ourselves for the next five minutes and feel the joy of this union?"

He grasped her by the chin, his sharp gaze studying every line, every contour of her face. With a seductive smile on his lips, his mouth closed down gently over hers, taking several long tastes of her honeyed lips. It wasn't long before his tongue plunged deep into her mouth and his hands moved to her head, holding it fast and still against him. As his lips ravaged her, Sheridan managed to speak through his fevered attention.

"Take me as your wife this night, Sean," she whispered. "I do not want to wait. If we are to be separated, then give me the memory of this night to hold deep in my heart until you return to me. Please."

He stopped kissing her long enough to gaze into her luminous eyes. "We have no time, sweetling," he murmured. "Even now, I must return to the king. Every moment I delay invites more suspicion."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Give me five minutes," she begged softly. "You are riding to battle, Sean. What if you do not return? What if…?"

She couldn't finish and he pulled her close to him, holding her tightly as he rose from the chair and carried her into the bed chamber.

It was cold and dark but for the weak moonlight streaming in through the thin lancet window. Sean lay her carefully down on the mattress, rough though it was, and resumed his gentle kisses. He could give her five minutes, though he very much wanted to give her more. She deserved far more.

Sheridan was partially covered by his massive body, feeling his weight atop her. It was a new, exhilarating feeling. His mouth was on hers, his hands in her hair, on her neck, moving down her arm. Boldly, she took a hand and placed it on her breast, their eyes meeting as she did so. Sean's gaze was powerful, consuming, as his hand gently tightened over the delicious fleshy mound. Then his lips descended on her again, with such passion that she sucked in her breath at his lustful attack. The hand on her breast began to massage it, rubbing at the peaked nipple through the fabric. Though she was a maiden, Sheridan knew she must have more of him. She must have all of him. The man was her husband and she would know him.

The surcoat she wore fastened on the side and she reached a hand down to unhook the stays. Without a word, she unleashed the entire garment and began to pull it off. Sean saw what she was doing; too weak to stop her, for he very badly wanted the same thing she did, he helped her. The surcoat ended up on the floor followed very quickly by her shift. His lips against her mouth, her face, he gently removed her pantalets and unfastened the ribbons that held her hose. As he pulled them off, he stroked her silky legs, acquainting himself with something he never thought to have.

It was an empowering feeling, more overwhelming than he could have imagined. Never had he had anyone that belonged only to him. He paused a moment in his tender assault to remove his tunic. His breathing was coming in heavy gasps as he yanked off his boots, followed by his breeches. He could feel Sheridan's hands timidly, gently, touching his flesh as he removed his clothing, inspecting his body for the very first time. By the time his hose were off, he collapsed on her warm, tender body, gathering her up in his arms and feeling her naked flesh against his. It was almost more than he could bear, for she was warm and soft. His lips found hers once again and he growled as his tongue plunged into her mouth.

He wanted to take his time with her; God knows he did. But there was no time left. His mouth left hers, his lips moving down her neck to her full breasts to find a taut nipple. Suckling gently, he carefully wedged his enormous body between her legs, his hands on her thighs to gently part them. He could feel her panting beneath him, small cries as he suckled harder. He could feel her hands in his hair. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

One hand moved to the sensual core between her legs. He fingered her delicately, feeling her flinch beneath him. After a few brief moments of acquainting her with the feel of his touch, he began to stroke her more boldly. Sheridan started but kept her calm; he proceeded to insert a gentle finger into her. She gasped at the intrusion but he could not wait to soothe her or talk her through the act; she was wet from his attentions, her virgin body preparing itself for his entry. And enter he did; removing his hand, he held her tightly and carefully, firmly, thrust into her.

Sheridan yelped at the passionate invasion but quickly bit her lip to stay silent; as Sean thrust again and still again to seat himself, she bit her lip harder and buried her face in his chest. Holding him tightly, she worked through the pressure, the slight pain, feeling him move within her as a husband moves within a wife. This was what she had wanted; all of the man. Now she had him. As the slight pain faded and Sean began to move, a most remarkable sensation began to blossom.

His thrusts were tender, firm and measured. One hand gently fingered her breast, causing wicked sensations throughout her body. The more he moved, the more heated her loins became until she gasped his name. Sean's mouth covered her lips, somewhat to silence her but mostly to taste her. He couldn't get enough of the woman, body and soul, and gorged himself while he had the chance. She was more than he could have imagined and far more than he had hoped for.

But he knew he could not take his time with her, drawing out their passion until they were both weak with it. This night was a duty, a pleasure, a necessity and a foretaste of what was to come. As much as he would have wanted it to last, he knew it could not. His hand moved from her breast to her Venus Mound and he rubbed at the throbbing nub where their bodies joined. Within the first two strokes, her body stiffened and he felt her tender walls pulling at him in climax. Sean answered immediately, finding his release, feeling every throb with the greatest pleasure he had ever known. Even after he was spent, he continued to move. He did not want the moment to end; it made him heartsick to think about it.

But end it must. It had been more than five minutes, but not much more. As his senses and even breathing returned, he opened his eyes to gaze into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Sheridan was looking at him, her cheeks flushed and her expression delightfully sated. When their eyes met, she smiled.

"It was a remarkable five minutes, husband," she murmured, watching him grin. "You would have denied me that?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down into her exquisite features and brushing a stray bit of hair from her cheek. "What a fool I was to resist," he kissed her tenderly. "How I wish I could have taken all the time in the world. Are you all right?"

"I am all right," she whispered, her smile fading. "Thank you, Sean."

"For what?"

"For giving me a part of you."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "You have more than a part of me, Lady de Lara. You have all of me. You are the most important thing in the world to me."

Unable to reply, feeling increasingly saddened as the pangs of separation threatened, she lifted herself up to his lips, attaching herself to his mouth and kissing him with passion that defied explanation. Sean enfolded her in his arms, taking a last few moments to experience the taste and feel of her. He would need the memory to sustain him in the dark days to come.

"I love you," he murmured against her mouth.

"And I love you," was her whispered reply.

A few minutes later, they were dressed. It had been done silently, swiftly. Sean took her hand and led her back into the antechamber, sitting her carefully in the chair and patting her shoulder affectionately as he moved for the lancet window to view the grounds below.

Fortunate for them that they had possessed a keen sense of timing; no sooner had Sean reached the window than Gilby was rapping at the door. Sheridan leapt up and unbolted the panel, allowing the little man entry and locking the door behind him.

"You had better go, Sean," he blustered inside. "There are men looking for you; I could hear them speaking your name across the grounds."

Sean swore softly under his breath, knowing that he had delayed too long, and moved swiftly for the door. He was about to leave when he suddenly stopped as if a thought had just occurred to him. Retracing his steps, he took Sheridan in his arms and kissed her deeply. It was enough to weaken her knees and he had to steady her when he released her. She grinned and he winked boldly.

"Gilby, take care of her," he instructed the old man, his soft gaze lingering on his wife's lovely face. "She is all to me."

"I must remove her from the Tower," Gilby replied, witnessing the tender looks between Sean and his wife. "She cannot stay here, Sean. You know that."

"I am going to ask the Marshall to take her back to Watford House."

Gilby went to Sean and yanked on his sleeve. "She cannot wait for the Marshall to come for her. I must remove her, and young de Braose, immediately. I shall take them both to Watford House if that is your wish."

Sean tore his gaze away from Sheridan long enough to look at the little old man. "She needs a full escort. There are twenty thousand men attacking London as we speak. You'll never get her through their lines without protection."

Gilby raised an eyebrow. "She made it through their lines by herself."

"It was a stroke of luck."

"Be that as it may, I will take her and de Braose out of London myself, this very night. No one would dare bother a physic on his duties."

"What duties would that be? You are pulling a cart laden with hay like a farmer."

"I shall tell them that I have been ordered to attend the king's troops outside the walls. The hay is for their animals."

It was a plausible scenario; moreover, most of the king's men knew Gilby. He'd been at the Tower forever. It was a rare moment of indecision in Sean' eyes; both Gilby and Sheridan saw it. When the old man looked at Sheridan as if silently beseeching her to support his statement, she went to her husband and wrapped her soft hands around one of his enormous mitts. When Sean looked down at her, she smiled sweetly.

"He is right," she said quietly. "You must return to the king and you must allow Gilby to remove me from the Tower. Have no fear; I will be waiting for you at Watford House."

His indecisive expression was replaced by one of raw longing. "It may be quite some time before I see you again," he squeezed her hands gently. "I have no way of knowing when I shall come for you."

It was like a stab to her heart but she fought it. Tears would do no good at the moment; she had what she wanted. She had married him. Now they both knew what needed to be done. Sean had a destiny he needed to fulfill; she could do nothing more than wait for him to fulfill it.

"I understand," she said as bravely as she could. "However, I may move from Watford House at some point and return home. If I am not at Watford, then I will be at Lansdown. There is nowhere else I will be."

"Go, Sean," Gilby urged quietly. "You must not linger here."

Sean nodded sharply, put both hands around Sheridan's face, and kissed her strongly. When he pulled back, his eyes were glimmering with emotion.

"If I never see you again, then know that this brief moment in time has made my entire life worth living," he murmured. "Nothing else on earth, nothing else I have ever done, can compare. You are my angel and I will love you, and no other, in this life and beyond."

With that, he was gone. Sheridan didn't even have the time to reply. She stood there a moment, in shock, digesting his words and unaware of Gilby's sympathetic gaze upon her. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Sean. She continued to stand for the longest time, gazing at the closed door, feeling hollow. She wasn't sure that she would ever see him again and the thought nearly killed her.

Gilby finally encouraged her to gather her cloak so they could leave. She had to go back into the bedroom to retrieve it, but one look at the raw stuffed mattress where she had experienced her first intimate taste of her husband brought floods of tears. When Gilby came back into the room to see what was keeping her, he found her curled up on the old mattress sobbing as if her heart was broken.

The old man wished he had a potion to heal such a thing.