The sun wasbrilliant and the birds in the January-dead trees sang a happy tune. Spring was months away, but the weather seemed to be encouraging a quick approach. Being January, snowfall and the moisture it brought would have been good for the earth. But the sun was good for the people that ventured into the outdoors to bask in the cold, bright rays.
Sheridan was no exception. Seated on a chair her maid had brought in the yard outside of the Flint Tower, she held a piece of needlework that she had been attempting to complete for the better part of a year. It was an ambitious piece her mother had designed, with hummingbirds and flowers and little bees. Sheridan’s slender fingers had never been good with a needleand the fabric was covered in little brown spots where she had poked herself and bled. Even now, she was attempting the piece to keep her mind off the other events that seemed to have embedded themselves into the fabric of her life. Nothing was simple any more. Things only seemed to grow worse.
Alys hadn’t gotten out of bed for three solid days, ever since Sean had escorted her back to their apartments following her afternoon with the king. She had decided that she wanted to be a royal consort and was convinced that the king was in love with her. When Sheridan had, not so nicely, told her she was mad for even entertaining such a thought, Alys had taken to her bed, miserable. Sheridan and Neely had taken turns watching out for her, making sure she didn’t try to leap from the window again or make an attempt to contact the king. She was essentially a prisoner. But a miserable sister was better than a dead one.
It was Sheridan’s turn to take a break from guard duty. She wanted out of the apartments and into the sunshine for as long as it would last. While Neely grudgingly stayed with Alys, Sheridan, the puppy and her maid retreated to cool daylight of the Tower yard. While the puppy ran off and the maid gave chase, Sheridan attempted the needlework, her mind mulling over the millions of thoughts that had succeeding in robbing her of sleep as of late.
Her most prevalent thought was of Sean. He hadn’t said a word when he’d dropped Alys off three days prior. His clear blue eyes had perused the face of every man in the antechamber before he left in complete silence. Shortly thereafter, the meeting had hastily disbanded. She knew that short of the king showing up at her door and catching them all in perfidious conference, having been seen by Sean de Lara had been the worst possible scenario. The nobles were clearly terrified and she felt as if they somehow blamed her for the event. Arrests were expected andsome of them had even gone into hiding. But, so far, nothing had happened.
It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop, the hammer of the Gods that would smash them all into oblivion. Sheridan was afraid for herself, of course, but she was more afraid for Jocelin. Not even the Church could protect him were he labeled a traitor.
But more than that, she was concerned for what Sean thought. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known her loyalties were not to John. They had discussed that at the onset. But she suspected, somehow, he knew her for what she was; a conspirator. Her loyalties lay with England, not with a deviant king. Still, she knew he did not see it that way. As the personal protector of the king, there was no way he could not understand that she was the worst sort of enemy.
It was a depressing thought. De Lara had always shown her such courtesy, such regard. She had enjoyed their encounters and the way in which he spoke to her. He did not speak to her as some men spoke to women, as if the female barely had a brain. Sean spoke to her with respect. She would miss that. She would miss him, too.
She went back to her needlework, stabbing herself for the tenth time that day. With a yelp, she put the sore finger in her mouth to suck away the blood. She needed a thimble but did not want to return to her apartment to get one. A shadow suddenly fell across her and a massive hand reached down to take the finger from her mouth.
“Let me see,” Sean’s voice was soft, deep. He glanced at the material in her hand. “From the looks of that, this isn’t the first time you have done this.”
Sheridan was more than startled. She nearly fell off her chair with surprise. “My lord,” she struggled to catch her breath. “Forgive me. I did not hear your approach.”
He wiped at the small dot of blood on her finger. “I meant that you should not.” He kissed the fingertip and gave her back her hand. “There, now. Better?”
She looked between her finger and his twinkling eyes. “Much,” she said. Then, she didn’t know what to say other than the obvious. “Are you here to arrest me?”
He crouched down beside her chair, his blue eyes scanning the compound around them. “Why would I do that?”
“For the unlawful assembly you saw in my apartment. If you are here to take me, I shall go peacefully.”
He pursed his lips, slowly shaking his head. “A memorial.”
“Excuse me?”
“All of those men I saw in your apartment were friends of your father, having come to pay tribute to you and to his memory. All I saw was a memorial.”
She just stared at him. Feeling her confused gaze, he turned to look at her. “Did you have something more to say to that?” he asked.
Sheridan was baffled, relieved, and overjoyed at the same time. She had no idea how to react. “Do I?”
“Nay, you do not.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“As you wish, then. But I would like to ask a question.”
“What is that?”
“Why would you do this?”
“Do what?”
She wasn’t sure how to word her thoughts, not wanting to contradict him when they both knew very well that he had taken the time, effort and thought to cover actions that would have brought anyone else immediate imprisonment. In that instant, the blossoming relationship between them deepened. The path, for them, was chosen. It was a defining moment.
“Oh… I do not know,” she finally gave up, her luminous eyes moving over his strong features. “I suppose I am simply wondering why you would be so good to me.”
A smile played on his lips. “Because you are my betrothed.”