“We swore when we started that only a select few would know your worth. ’Tis safer for you, Sean.”
“To hell with safety. Tell him. I beg of you.”
The voice sighed heavily. There was no fighting him, no reasoning with him. As always, men in love were irrational creatures. What made it worse was that Sean deserved everything he asked for, and so much more. To deny him anything at this stage of the game was inherently wrong.
“I will do what I can,” he finally said. “I cannot promise results. Jocelin’s mind is set.”
“Go, then.” It was not a request. “Go and tell him now. Lady Sheridan belongs to me.”
“He may have already told de Braose.”
Sean didn’t reply. He quit the vestibule before he was dismissed, storming blindly from the chapel. The contact waited a nominal amount of time before slowly opening the door.
Father Simon’s gaze was laced with regret.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“…. My entire life had been mapped, carefully controlled. I was infallible, omnipotent, the Fear of all. I believed myself beyond defeat. That would soon be put to the test as my angel was pulled into the bowels of Hell… the gates opened and I leapt wholeheartedly into the maelstrom to save her….”
The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara
1206 – 1215 A.D.
There was acorporeal sense of anxiety in the air of the halls near the Flint Tower. Everything in the St. James apartment was packed and ready to go less than two hours after the command to move out came down. Jocelin himself had given the order to the St. James men, who immediately started packing their gear and summoning the horses. Neely had faithfully joined his troops for the detail although he was still muddled by the alcohol that flowed through his veins.
Inside the apartment, the little maid had summoned the help of a few household servants to help pack her mistresses’ items, which they had done so with efficiency. Capcases and trunks were stacked neatly in the antechamber. The women were ready to go before the army was.
Unable to sleep through the commotion and excitement, Alys had also helped pack with her one good arm. Sheridan had slept like the dead through all of it. Even now, when everything was bundled and being taken from the Flint Tower down to the waiting wagons, Sheridan was unable to awaken. Themedicaments that Gilby had given her continued to render her incapable of responding, so everyone simply worked around her.
When their apartment was empty and most of the men had gone, Alys and the maid struggled to dress Sheridan in traveling clothes. Ill or not, she had to be moved and it could not be done in her shift. The act of dressing her became even more complicated with Alys’ bandaged arm, but they somehow managed to get a heavy wool shift and tunic on her. Even though she weighed next to nothing, it was like trying to dress a rag doll. They’d lift one arm and the other would fall. When they turned her over to fasten the dress, she nearly slid off the mattress. The entire event never gave them a moment’s peace.
By the time the ladies were finished dressing her, they were exhausted. Sheridan was neatly bundled up, however, and prepared to depart. Alys went into the antechamber to notify the one remaining guard, but found it eerily empty. She found him in the hall, dutifully guarding the door. He proceeded to inform Alys that he was at his post pending the return of Neely and the bishop. Alys went back inside to wait.
The hustle of the past two hours had faded, leaving the apartments strangely still. There was a fire burning low in the hearth, the precious glass that lined the windows on this level frosted from the moisture inside the room. Alys wandered back into the bedchamber where the maid sat next to Sheridan, making sure her sister remembered to breathe. Sitting on the opposite side of the bed, she waited for the men to return.
Her arm throbbed and itched beneath the bandages. In truth, Alys wasn’t particularly happy to be returning home. She rather liked it here at the Tower with a variety of men to look at. Glancing at Sheridan, she felt a stab of envy; her sister cared not for men in the least, yet she had de Lara and de Braose’s attentions. It wasn’t fair. But her bitterness fled as Sheridancoughed in her sleep. Alys reached out with her good hand to touch her sister’s cheek.Poor Dani.
A knock on the antechamber door roused her from her thoughts. Alys rushed to the door to find Guy standing in the archway. His handsome, youthful face was grim.
“Where is Lady Sheridan?” he asked.
Alys pointed to the bedroom, disappointed that he had not asked for her. “She is ill.”
He didn’t say anything as he pushed past her. Alys trotted after him. Guy barged into the bedchamber, his gaze falling upon Sheridan’s sleeping face. After a split-second of allowing himself the luxury of looking upon her beauty, absorbing it, he moved swiftly into action.
“We must get her out.” He went to the side of the bed and scooped her carefully into his arms. “Get a blanket to cover her. I am taking her to the carriage.”
The little maid hurried to do his bidding. A wool traveling blanket was produced. Alys was anxious at de Braose’s clipped, rushed manner.
“What carriage?” she asked. “We came astride palfreys. Where are you…?”
“I have confiscated a carriage for her,” Guy cut her off. “She obviously cannot ride in this condition. You will ride with her in the carriage to ensure her good health.”
Alys couldn’t argue. As the maid gathered up the last of their items, including the puppy, they followed de Braose from the apartment and into the long, dark corridor. He seemed almost in a panic to get out of the tower. Alys has to literally run to keep up with him.
“Why so hurried?” she asked him.
Guy didn’t reply. He was absorbed by the urgency that filled every part of his body. His meeting with Jocelin just moments before had been brief. Guy came out of the meeting with afuture wife. It had been everything he had been hoping for. But Jocelin also told him about de Lara. Guy understood the need for urgency in getting Sheridan out of the Tower better than most. Too much hinged on it.