Alys’ eyes were wide with disappointment. Her gaze moved from the bishop to the dais and back again. “Are you sure? He didn’t seem that way to me.”
Jocelin patted her hand. “I am sure, little Alys.”
She didn’t look convinced, but to her credit, said nothing more. During Jocelin and Alys’ conversation, Sheridan’s gaze never left de Lara’s distant face; she had remembered the man from their afternoon encounter. He was three times her size, that was true, but he wasn’t misshapen or ugly as a giant would be. He had crystal-blue eyes, the clearest she had ever seen, and a square jaw that projected power and astuteness. His features had been even and extraordinarily attractive. In fact, the man positively reeked of masculinity. He was striking.
Nor had he been impolite or unkind to them. He had, after all, saved Alys’ life. At no time did she receive the impression of death or hazard from him. He seemed polite and chivalrous. Puzzled, yet resigned to Jocelin’s words, she returned to her goblet and put the notion of the mysterious Sean de Lara out of her mind.
The meal was lavish and plentiful. Huge slabs of pork and mutton were on display, served by the fancily-dressed servants. William, Bishop of Coventry, eventually showed himself; a slight man that reeked of alcohol, he seated himself and several retainers across the table from Jocelin and the St. James women. He greeted Jocelin amiably, introduced himself to the ladies, and spoke well of Henry St. James. He seemed congenial enough. But he finished the otherwise normal conversation by running an inviting foot against Sheridan’s leg.
Strange that his gesture did not shock her. She had heard tale of men of the church seducing women and had seen a few questionable actions in her lifetime, enough to know that these men were not entirely celibate. It was well known that they could be quite corrupt. She casually shifted so that her leg was notwithin reach of his dirty toes, but it seemed the bishop had long legs and managed to stroke her ankle once again with his cold digits. When she cast him a baleful glance, he ran his tongue over his lips and grinned.
Disgusted, she rose from the table with the whispered excuse to Jocelin that she was in need of the privy. She couldn’t even look at the Bishop of Coventry, infuriated that his leering attention had forced her from the table. He had managed to unnerve her enough so that she needed to collect herself. That was not a usual occurrence with her; Sheridan was normally steady in a world filled with flighty women. But the events of the day and the excitement of the evening had shaken her otherwise steady constitution. She needed a breath of air. When Neely tried to follow her, she called him off.
She walked from the warm, fragrant hall and out into the corridor. It was several degrees cooler in the long hall. There were an abundance of guards and servants about, each one of them asking to assist her. Sheridan shook the first two off but allowed the third, a young lad dressed in red bloomers, to show her to the door. He took her to a small exit seldom used that led out into the yard just south of the Tower. Long, stone steps led down to the dirt below.
The moonlight illuminated her way, a bright silver disc against the night sky. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced up to admire the evening. It was a lovely night and she inhaled deeply of the winter fragrance. From the cloying warmth of the hall to the airy chill of the evening, it was refreshing. She thought over the bishop’s actions for a moment longer before putting it out of her mind. The man was a supporter of their cause and she could not let anything interfere, not his apparent lust or her distain. If it happened again, she would be forced to speak to him in no uncertain terms. She hoped it would be enough.
It was actually quite cold for January and Sheridan was without her cloak. But she enjoyed the cold, unlike most. She found it invigorating. She moved away from the steps, strolling into the yard and gazing at the Wakefield Tower several hundred yards to her right. It was a massive cylinder framed against the black sky. Now and again she could see the guards upon the wall walk, going about their rounds. It was a busy place, this living, breathing heart of England. Another few steps had her at a large oak tree that stood solitary and alone in the vastness of the empty yard. Glancing into the thick branches above, she heard a voice behind her.
“My lady is without a cloak,” the tone was so low that it was a growl. “’Tis cold this eve to be taking a stroll without cover.”
Startled, she whirled around. De Lara was standing a few feet away. She had never even heard him approach. All of the things that Jocelin had told her about the man suddenly came crashing down and it was an effort to keep steady.
“I… I enjoy the cold, my lord,” she hoped her voice didn’t sound as startled as she felt. “This is nothing but a balmy eve.”
Sean stood his ground, his clear blue eyes focused on her face. Never did they wander in an evil or suggestive manner. Nevertheless, Sheridan was on pins and needles as they confronted one another.
“Bravely spoken,” he said. “Where is your cloak?”
“Inside.”
“Then I shall go and retrieve it for you.”
“That is not necessary, my lord,” she said quickly;tooquickly. “I shall return to the hall. You needn’t trouble yourself.”
The glimmer in his eyes changed, though his expression remained unreadable. “No trouble at all, Lady Sheridan. ’Twould be my pleasure.”
Sheridan could see that he would not be deterred. Remembering Jocelin’s words, panic began to snatch at her. “No need, I assure you. I shall return to the hall this instant.”
She was halfway to the steps by the time he replied. “Why would you want to return to that den of depravity and gluttony? You are in much better company out here with the moon and stars.”
She paused although she knew, even as she did it, that she should probably continue running and never look back. “It is a lovely evening, of course.”
He began walking towards her, slowly. “Then why do you run like a frightened rabbit? This is not the woman I met this afternoon. She was far more controlled and coherent.”
The panic that pulled at her suddenly gripped her full force. She threw out a hand as if to stop his forward progression. “Come no closer. If you try to take me to the king, I’ll scream as you have never heard screams before. I’ll fight as you have never seen a woman fight. I’ll… I’ll kill you if you try, do you hear me?”
It all came out as a rapid stream of high-pitched threats. Sean stopped in his tracks and his eyes widened. After a moment, he broke out in laughter. In all his years, he’d never seen or heard anything so hilarious. For a man who had not openly laughed in ages, it was a liberating experience.
“So that is why you run?” he said, sobering. “My lady, I assure you that I have no intention of taking you to the king.”
Sheridan’s heart was thumping in her chest. She could hardly catch her breath out of sheer fright. But above her racing emotions, she realized one thing; de Lara had an amazing smile. His straight, white teeth were bright against the moonlight and dimples that carved deep channels into both cheeks. Had she not been so terrified, she would have been completely entranced.
“What…?” she swallowed, torn between wanting to trust him and the inherent instinct to run. “You mean you have not come here to abduct me for the king’s… the king’s…?”
He shook his head. “Nay.” His voice was a rumble. “I saw you leave alone. I came to make sure that you did not come to harm.”
There was something in his manner that put her at ease. It was probably foolish, but she felt it nonetheless. “But I am not your concern, my lord. Why would you do this?”