“Answer me,” Sean said in a voice that would tolerate no disobedience. “Who told you de Braose men were here?”
Gerard looked at him. “Sentries saw young de Braose leaving with the St. James women. We came to stop him.”
“Why?”
“All of the allied nobles are leaving, Sean,” Gerard looked at him as if he should have rightly known this. “The king wants answers. De Braose will have them.”
Sean didn’t flinch, but already, he could see the far-reaching implications of what was about to happen. He knew, deep down, that news of the flight would reach the king. There was no way he could have prevented it with all of the eyes in the Tower. He moved to where Gerard stood; a half-head taller than the man, he hissed at him through clenched teeth.
“What do you think I was trying to do, you idiot?” he snarled. “You come rushing in here like a stampede of cattle and destroy all that I have been attempting to accomplish.”
Gerard widened with understanding. “You intercepted him?”
“Of course I did, fool. Were it not for your intrusion, I would have answers by now.”
Gerard began to realize that he had apparently ruined what Sean had been attempting to achieve. He put his hands up, his expression lined with doubt. “My apologies,” his gaze moved between Sean and the three allies. “I should have known.”
“Aye, you should have.”
“The king wants to talk to de Braose himself.”
Sean couldn’t head him off with all of the men around them as witnesses. His clever try at redeeming the situation had been thwarted. He was cornered and he had no choice.
“Then take him,” he said. “I will take the women.”
Gerard glanced back over at Alys, sobbing softly with fear, and Sheridan, looking ethereal and angel-like in the soft, misty gray garment she wore.
“Who is the blond?” his voice was low. “I have not seen her around.”
Sean could literally smell the man’s lust and it inflamed him like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. But he held himself in check. He could not lose control, not now. The situation was going awry and he had to focus.
“Sheridan St. James,” he replied. “Henry’s eldest.”
Gerard’s face lit up. He flicked a hand at the guard, indicating for them to grab de Braose. “The king will want to meet her, don’t you think?” he winked at Sean as he turned away.
Sean actually considered killing him. He put the hand on the hilt of his sword and was fully prepared to do just that. But there were too many men around, too many witnesses, and he realized that he had spent far too much time in the king’s service where morals and conscience were not required. He had killed on behalf of the king, too many times, because it had been required of him in order to maintain his post. He was not, by nature, a murderer. But he had been forced to do what was necessary in order to accomplish his mission. He began to wonder if, after all these years, he was actually becoming what he pretended to be. A cold-blooded killer.
Guy was overwhelmed by the guards, who stripped him of his sword and knocked him around for good measure. Sheridan and Alys clung together, watching in horror. Sean moved in, like a phantom, and put one arm around each lady. As Guy was still struggling with Gerard and the Royal guards, he swept them away.
As they fled for the Lanthorn Gate, they were ambushed.
CHAPTER NINE
“…and it never occurred to me to be frightened for myself. In a matter of days, my life had changed so dramatically that I hardly recognized myself. My sun, my moon and my stars were Sheridan.”
The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara
1206 – 1215 A.D.
He was vaguelyaware of a cloth on his head. The sounds of the world faded in and out for an indeterminate amount of time, distant echoes of things he did not recognize. Finally, he managed to open an eye. The room was small, dark, and smelled of old rushes. It was a damp place even though a fire burned somewhere. He could see the reflection of the flames upon the walls and smelled the smoke from the malfunctioning chimney.
Turning his head slightly, he saw Father Simon sitting at his head.
“So you are awake,” Father Simon said. “We were coming to think that you would never awaken.”
Sean stirred, the inherent sense of self-preservations influencing his movements. It was imperative that he rise and gain his senses. “Where am I?” he grunted.
Father Simon put his hands on him to still him. “Quiet, Sean,” he said. “You have had a bad injury. Gilby has stitched you up, but you are still fragile.”