Chapter Two #5
He drew in a long, deep breath. Thoughtfully, he gazed up at the sky. “It is far more complicated than that. Politics always are.”
“But you are kind to me. I do not fear you even though I am told that I should. Why are you kind to me?”
“Because you were kind to me.”
She stopped walking, lifting her hands in a confused gesture. “How would you know that? I only met you this afternoon. I said but a few sentences to you.”
He looked down at her, so diminutive and sweet against his massive size. “It wasn’t what you said, but how you said it. Your manner was kind.”
There was something in his expression, barely perceptible, that brought her an odd sense of pity. “You are unused to people being kind to you.”
His reply was to lift an eyebrow. When he put his elbow out, this time, she took it. They resumed their walk.
“I suppose there are those that would call me foolish for even speaking to you,” she said.
He was enjoying the feel of her on his arm. It had been ages since he’d last experienced such satisfaction. “Absolutely.”
“And if my family were to see me at this moment, I would be in for a row.”
He glanced at her. “They will not beat you, will they?”
She met his gaze. “That is a strange question coming from a man…”
“Of my reputation.”
She smiled sheepishly. “I should have worded that more carefully.”
He just smiled at her and they resumed their walking in silence. Sheridan was beginning to grow cold in spite of her assertion that she was immune to such a thing.
“You did not answer my question,” she said.
“What question was that, my lady?”
“If a man of your reputation were to take your daughter on an unescorted walk, what would you do?”
“Kill him.”
He wasn’t joking. She knew from the tone of his voice that he had never been more serious.
It wasn’t a boast, but a fact. In that statement, she could see that everything Jocelin had told her about him was true.
He was a man of deeds bred of evil. Still, she did not sense that Sean was an evil man.
In their first meeting and now their second, she had never received such an impression.
But the mood threatened to grow odd and strained. She did not want that. Instead, she chose to make light of his comment.
“Do you plan to kill yourself, then?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Nay, my lady. I intend to behave as a chivalrous knight should.”
She stopped walking again and looked at him with the utmost seriousness. “Sir Sean, you have been nothing but chivalrous since our first meeting this afternoon. And for saving my sister, I will always show you kindness no matter… well, no matter what our politics.”
Sean was genuinely touched. His life was full of subversion and deadly threats and he truly couldn’t remember, in recent times, when he’d had a moment that had been even remotely pleasant. There was no comfort in his life. As wrong as it was, he was finding comfort with an enemy.
“I thank you,” he said quietly.
The moment was sweetly awkward. At a loss for words, Sheridan resumed their walk yet again. She could have walked all night on his arm, letting the conversation flow as easily as honeyed wine.
A cold breeze suddenly blew off the river and enveloped them both, swirling with frenzied intensity. When it died as abruptly as it came, Sheridan shivered. Sean noticed immediately.
“My lady is chilled,” he said with concern. “I shall return you to the hall.”
“I am not cold, truly,” she insisted. “I would rather walk.”
He looked at her. “Your lips are gray.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re standing in moonlight. Everything is gray.”
The normally unreadable expression turned suspicious. “Even as you speak, your lips quiver. That is not my imagination.”
He was right, but she made a face that suggested it was a reluctant surrender.
Feeling somewhat pleased with his victory, he turned her around in time to see a figure emerging from the shadows of the White Tower.
He caught the glint of a blade and knew before the shape came fully into view that it was an assassin sent to kill him. In his world, it could be nothing else.
Normally, he took a sadistic pride in proving his worth as an adversary.
He was the living example that no man could kill the Lord of the Shadows.
But this time it was different; he had Sheridan on his arm and his heart lurched with fear for her safety.
Sheridan saw the approaching blade and let out a strangled cry a half-second before Sean shoved her out of harm’s way.
The assassin wielded the light-weight blade with practiced agility.
It sang an eerie cry of death as it sailed through the air, three successive thrusts at Sean’s head.
Weaponless, de Lara stood his ground as the weapon hurled in his direction.
With a defensive move that had him spinning rapidly to his left flank, he ended up behind his attacker.
Reaching down, he grabbed the hilt of the sword and used the palm of his right hand to strike a brutal blow to the back of the man’s neck.
The force of the jolt was hard enough to snap his spine.
The man fell to the ground, dead, with his blade in Sean’s left hand.
Sean stood there, gazing impassively at the corpse. This was not an unusual occurrence and he had faced better. Sheridan, however, stood several feet away, her mouth gaping in shock. It took Sean a moment to remember that she was still there.
“Are you all right?” he tossed the blade down and went to her. “I did not mean to be rough with you, but I did not want you in the line of fire. I pray that I did not hurt you.”
She just stood there. “My lady?” he prodded gently.
She blinked. Then her knees buckled and she threw out her hands as if to grab hold of something to steady herself. Sean was the nearest object and he took hold of her so that she wouldn’t fall.
“I think I need to sit down,” she whispered tightly.
He looked around but there were no benches within walking distance. He put one arm around her slender torso and took firm grasp of her right arm, holding her fast.
“You’ll be all right, my lady,” he said with quiet assurance. “I’ll not let you fall.”
They took a few slow steps in silence. He could feel Sheridan quivering like a leaf and guilt swept him. He held her tighter.
“That man,” she gasped. “He was… he tried to kill you.”
“Aye,” he said steadily.
“But why?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “If you know anything of my reputation as you have said, then you can answer that question.”
She took a deep breath, struggling to regain her composure. “I know, but that was so… so bold, so brutal.”
“I know.”
She looked up at him; he had not even worked up a good sweat. He looked completely unruffled, the same as he had appeared the moment they realized the man was upon them. It infuriated her. “And you are so calm?”
He shrugged. “Panic is deadly. One must think clearly in order to survive.”
She stared at him a moment longer before shaking her head. “Then surely I would have died because I cannot imagine being calm in the face of a deadly attack.”
“It is an acquired calm, I assure you.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “Are you saying this sort of thing has happened before?”
He didn’t answer. He continued to walk with her, holding her against him so that she would not collapse.
Even when he thought she might be stronger, he continued to hold her simply because he liked it.
As they neared the narrow steps that led back up into the Tower, a herd of men came flying through the doorway and down the narrow stairs.
Even in the moonlight, Sean recognized the St. James colors.
Neely came rushing at them with his sword leveled. Shaken but not senseless, Sheridan could see what was about to happen and threw up her hands.
“Neely, no,” she cried. “Put the weapon down.”
He came to a halt several feet away. His dark eyes were twitching with alarm and anger. “Let her go,” he shouted at Sean.
Sean was completely calm, completely impassive. “The lady has had a fright.” His voice was as cold as ice. “If I release her, she may fall.”
Sheridan could see that there was no easy way out of this for any of them unless she took action. She patted Sean gently on the arm that held her. “It’s all right,” she told him. “I am well now. You may release me as he has asked.”
He did as she bade, but his eyes never left Neely. It was like a marauder tracking its quarry. Sheridan sensed the deadly tension as she went over to Neely.
“Put the sword down,” she ordered quietly. “Sir Sean has committed no wrong. He has saved me from an assassin.”
She pointed to the body several feet away in the shadow of the White Tower. Neely could see it faintly in the dark and he looked at her, puzzled as well as frightened.
“We heard the scream,” he looked her up and down. “Are you well?”
“Indeed,” she didn’t like his hovering manner. “As I said, Sir Sean saved my life. He should be commended.”
Neely looked at Sean. The last thing he would do was praise the man. After a long pause filled with hostility, he spoke tersely. “We are grateful.”
Sean didn’t reply. Though he was watching Neely, his peripheral senses were reaching out to every man around him.
There were at least eight. With a lingering glance at Sheridan, he took several backwards steps, fading back into the shadows where the assassin lay.
Sheridan held his gaze until he disappeared into the blackness.
When he was sure de Lara had left, Neely turned his full attention on her. “What happened?” he demanded softly. “How did you end up out here? You said that you were…”
She put up an impatient hand. “I know what I said,” she snapped, heading back towards the narrow stone steps. “I needed a breath of air. I was attacked and Sir Sean saved my life. Leave it at that, Neely. No more questions.”
He shut his mouth, but he wasn’t happy in the least. They both knew this would get back to Jocelin and there would be hell to pay.