Sean lay there, staring up at the priest, feeling an indefinable ache thundering through his body. His big hands move to hishead, clasped to his forehead as if to hold his brains in. “What happened?”
“An attack,” Father Simon pulled the cloth off his head and wrung it out in a basin nearby. “You were caught from behind as far as we could tell. We heard the noise of the scuffle. By the time I got there, I found you lying on the ground. Do you recall anything at all?”
He lay there, staring up the ceiling, struggling to clear the cobwebs from his mind. “I am not sure,” he muttered. “I remember de Braose and Gerard. I remember nearing the Lanthorn Gate and….”
“That is where I found you with your brains nearly bashed out,” Father Simon put the rag back on his head. “Someone had laid a heavy blow against you, Sean. It looked to me that you were clubbed from behind. Your scalp is split down the back of your head cleanly. Whoever did it must have left you for dead.”
Sean blinked, pieces of memory coming back to him. “Sheridan,” he suddenly struggled to sit up again. “Where is she?”
Father Simon put his hands on his wide shoulders, shoving him back. “Rest or you will not recover. Gilby will be back soon and.…”
“Where is Sheridan? Is she here?”
Father Simon was standing over him, his small body trying valiantly to control the mountain of a man. “She is not,” he dreaded those words. “Was she with you when this happened?”
“Aye,” Sean felt cold fear grip his heart. “She and her sister. I was taking them back to their guard. Did you see any sign of her, then?”
Father Simon shook his head. “Nay,” he said with regret. “No sign at all. When I found you, you were alone.”
Sean pushed forward, dislodging the priest’s hands. Father Simon stumbled back as Sean sat upright, struggling to orient himself against the spinning room.
“I must find her,” he said.
“It has been days, Sean. You have no idea where she would be.”
“Did you see any blood around me, as if someone had been injured or killed in the fight?”
“Only yours.”
The room was gradually righting itself. Sean looked at the priest. “Then let us pray that she had not been hurt,” he muttered. “How many days have I been out?”
“Two. The siege has begun. The north and west border of the city has been taken, with more troops moving into the city towards the Tower of London.”
“What else?”
“Nothing else that I know of,” Father Simon held a cup for him to drink. Sean took a sip and pushed it away. “I have not seen the king at all, though his troops line the parapets.”
“Who is directing the defense of the Tower?”
“I do not know.”
Sean stood up, swaying. His entire body felt boneless and weak but he fought it. He had to locate Sheridan.
“I must find her,” he said, staggering towards the door.
“But you have duties here, Sean,” Father Simon lowered his voice. “Whatever has happened to Lady Sheridan happened two days ago. You cannot change that or save her if she needs to be saved. What is done is done. What is important now is your mission. The Tower must not hold. You must see to it.”
“De Braose,” Sean muttered. He put his hand on the priest’s shoulder, mostly to steady himself. “Gerard took young de Braose. I must find out where he has taken him.”
Father Simon tried to argue with Sean, all the way out of the small quarters attached to the Chapel of St. Peter. But the man had his own agenda and would not be swayed.
Father Simon seriously worried for him.
*
“Someone hit meon the back of the head,” Sean said. “I have lain for two days unconscious. Surely you know that I would have been here sooner had I not been incapacitated.”
“I thought you were dead,” the king said. “No one could find you, not even Gerard. Where were you?”