“Nothing new is the matter,” Alys told Jocelin. “We were simply speaking of Guy.”
Jocelin wriggled his eyebrows at the very touchy subject matter.
“I see,” he watched Sheridan as she stood at the edge of the water and threw a little stick to the dog. He wasn’t sure he should even tell her what he had come to say but he could not keep it a secret. She would find out soon enough. “I came to tell you that the sentries have sighted riders about a mile out. I suspect that it is Guy returned.”
Sheridan simply hung her head. Jocelin cast a long glace at Alys, silently ordering the girl away. Alys did so reluctantly, taking the dog with her as it raced up the hill. When the red-headed sister was gone, Jocelin went to stand next to Sheridan. His gaze moved over the lake, the gentle reeds and finally the distant horizon. He could feel Sheridan’s sorrow; he had been feeling it for months. But her sorrow did not erase the facts.
“Perhaps…,” he began, then cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should think on consenting to Guy’s proposal. The man will not wait forever.”
“Then let him move on,” Sheridan snapped softly. “I did not ask him to wait for me.”
“But you promised Sean that you would marry him. That is why he waits. And also because he loves you a great deal.”
Sheridan turned away from him and began to walk the muddy shore. “Why must we speak on this every time he comes around?” she asked. “I have told you this time and time again; I have no intention of marrying Guy until I know for certain that Sean is dead.”
Jocelin drew in a long, deep breath, shaking his head. “Dani….”
She whirled on him. “Show me his body and I shall believe,” she said forcefully, “because until such time as I have proof, my husband is still alive and I will not marry anyone else.”
Jocelin exhaled sharply. “I have sent missives to the Marshall asking for proof. The man has not responded because he is too busy with more important things. You know that the barons are on the march against the crown and the Marshall is with them. You must accept that.…”
“Nay!” Sheridan roared, kicking at the water at her feet. “I will not accept. If you want me to believe that my husband perished, then I must have proof.”
“It has been six months since you last saw him. I would say the fact that he has not come for you in all that time is proof enough.”
Her raging came to an abrupt halt and she simply stood there, staring at her feet. She was between sorrow and anger so often these days. “Father Simon said that….”
“Father Simon is in London.”
Her head came up and she fixed on him. “Father Simon said there is always hope. Sean is stronger than we know.”
Jocelin pursed his lips sympathetically and went to her, putting his meaty hands on her arms.
“Father Simon was trying to give you comfort,” he shook her gently. “I believe the time has come for you to accept that your husband did not survive. Now, when young de Braose comes today, I would suggest you reconsider his proposal. He is a good man, Dani. He will make a fine husband and father.”
“I like Guy a great deal but I do not want to marry him.”
“I know you do not. But you must consider what is right for the baby. And you promised Sean that you would.”
He always threw that into the mix; Sheridan was coming to wish she had never told him that detail of her last conversation with Sean. As the months passed and her pregnancy advanced, so did her resolve against remarriage. She wasn’t foolish; she knew that they were trying to force her into marriage with de Braose for her own good. Moreover, Guy loved her. Over the past several months he had proven himself wise, humorous and compassionate and Sheridan had come to like the man a great deal. But she did not love him. She probably never would. Her heart would always belong to de Lara.
Yet she could not deny that it was increasingly apparent that Sean was dead. She kept hope in her heart that he had survived, but the more time passed, the harder it was to keep that hope alive. One day it would break down completely. Every time she reflected on the last time she saw him, her heart shattered just a little more. Perhaps it was time to finally accept the obvious.
She chewed on her lip, staring at the ground. After a moment, her blond head came up and she struggled with the words that were forming.
“If it will make you happy, I will make Guy a counter proposal,” she spoke so softly that he barely heard her. “If he can bring me proof that Sean is dead….”
Jocelin cut her off. “He has tried that. He has gone to London to find out what became of Sean but he was unable to discover anything except those journals he brought to you.”
Sheridan’s gaze moved across the water as she thought on the volumes that Guy had brought back to her from the Tower. A priest at the Tower had given them to Guy when he had come around asking about de Lara; no one was sure how the volumes of journals had ended up in the chapel, but they had. The priests had found them in a dark corner, covered with a cloth, and left them there because they were unsure what to do with them. But that changed when de Braose came to the Tower on a spring day in April. Guy had dutifully turned them over to Sheridan, who, unable to read Latin, had asked Guy to read them to her.
It had been an eye-opening experience into the life and thoughts of a spy. The Chronicles of Sean de Lara had, if nothing else, fed false hope in Sheridan that the man was still alive. Surely one so strong could never die.
“Dani?” Jocelin gently shook her from her reflection. “Did you hear me?”
She sighed faintly, allowing thoughts of the chronicles to fade. “I heard you,” she murmured. Then she looked at him. “I am only asking for something which I believe is my right. If Guy could find an eyewitness to Sean’s death or even the location of his burial, I would no longer resist his marriage proposal. There would be no reason to.”
Her statement was the first truly positive inkling she had issued towards a marriage to de Braose in six months and Jocelin squeezed her arms encouragingly.