Chapter Four #3
She couldn’t keep her hands off the finery.
Her fingers soon smelled of myrrh and sandalwood as she handled the little blocks of incense and put them to her nose.
Then they made her sneeze and she had to put them back.
The bolts of material were of less variety than the previous stall, but she rifled through them nonetheless.
She did manage to come across a very fine blue wool from Scotland, which she promptly put on her purchase list. Alys would look wonderful in the color.
Noticing that there was a shelf of material next to the front door that she had missed, she went to inspect a bolt of thin, gauzy linen when a shadow moved through the doorway.
She saw no more than that before someone abruptly pulled her away from the door and back against the wall.
It was dark, as whoever had her against the wall was quite a bit larger than she and covered her with his entire body. Startled, not to mention terrified, she opened her mouth to protest when a mailed glove covered her lips.
“My apologies, my lady,” a quiet, very deep voice rumbled. “I did not mean to startle you, but you must stay here, just for a moment.”
She recognized de Lara’s voice immediately. Looking up, she was able to discern his features in the weak light of the shop. He dropped his hand from her mouth and she was able to speak.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Why have you restrained me?”
His clear blue eyes were steady and appraising as he gazed upon her.
He was in his armor, an enormous man made even larger by the protection he wore.
All she could see was the face beneath the raised visor, the features everyone had told her to be terrified of.
Even now, she could not summon the will.
“I saw your sister outside and assumed you were somewhere close by,” he said. His tone turned serious. “Please do as I ask; stay here and do not leave until the king clears this avenue.”
She was torn between the thrill of seeing him and the frightening ambiguity of his words. “I do not understand.”
His hands gripped her upper arms; she could feel his strength through his mail, her fabric. It was the most powerful, wonderful feeling she had ever known. “I mean that you should not,” he said quietly. “But I would ask that you trust me in this matter.”
She wasn’t sure how to take him. She could hear the commotion outside as the king approached. “You do not think… you do not believe that I would try to harm the king somehow? Is that what you think?”
His eyes flickered with humor. “Nay.”
“Then why do you wrest me against the wall like a common criminal?”
“What I do is for your protection, not the king’s.”
An idea occurred to her and she was coming to understand what he meant. The light of comprehension dawned. “You do not want him to see me, is that it?”
He didn’t answer. He continued to gaze down at her, thinking he’d never in his life seen a lovelier creature.
Three days of not seeing her, of not witnessing her beauty or coming to know her wit, had left him starving like a man without food.
But he had been the shadow of the king and the king had been busy, affording him no opportunity to break away.
“I would express my deep regret at not having been given the opportunity to see you for the past few days,” he changed the subject as delicately as he could. “I hope you have been well.”
Part of her wanted to hear his words very much. The other part of her did not want to be sucked into the mysterious games he liked to play.
“I have,” she replied, rather casually. “A pity that you have been so busy.”
“More than you know. But I would like to remedy that.”
“What do you mean?”
A grin played on his lips. “Must I be plain?”
“I am afraid so.”
He lifted an eyebrow with feigned reluctance. “Very well. I have been thinking on this subject since the night we walked together in the yard so I may as well spell it out. But first, you should know that I am not a man given to whims. I do not make swift decisions.”
She cocked her head. “That makes no sense. You are a knight. Sometimes you must make split-second decisions that will affect your very life. And now you say that you do not make swift decisions?”
Now his eyebrows furrowed. “Cheeky wench. That is not what I mean.”
“You said you were going to be plain. You have not been plain.”
He gave her a look that suggested she was in for a spanking if she didn’t curb her mouth. “You have not let me be plain, nor have you allowed me to explain myself. Do you want to hear this or not?”
“If I must.”
An expression of momentary outrage was replaced by a reluctant grin. “You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
She returned his smile, a radiant gesture that lit up the room. “Did you expect any less?”
“God help me, I did not.”
“Then pray continue.”
“I will if you will shut up.”
She pressed her lips together in a gesture of complete silence. His eyes twinkled at her. “Now, if I may continue,” he went on. “What I was going to say was that I would like to.…”
He suddenly trailed off. There was a small window for ventilation over Sheridan’s head.
Sean caught sight of the king’s procession passing by the stall, tracking every sound, every movement.
He remained as unmoving as stone; the only indication that he was not a statue was the slight movement of his eyes.
She felt his grip tighten on her arm before he finally looked down at her once again. His manner was suddenly very serious.
“Stay here,” he whispered. “Do not leave until the king has gone. Do you comprehend?”
There was something in his tone that frightened her. She nodded her head. “Aye.”
He thought to give her a smile of encouragement but stopped short. He took both of her hands in his massive gloves, holding them gently, urgently. “I am going to ask that you trust me, Lady Sheridan.”
She was thoroughly puzzled. “What…?”
“As you once trusted me with your sister’s life, I am asking you to do so again.”
She had no idea what he meant. He suddenly kissed both of her hands and was gone.
The man moved so swiftly that the sharp action took her breath away.
Her heart thumping with fear, and a bit of excitement from his kiss, she hid behind the fabric bolts enough to be able to peer from the open door to see what was happening.
Powerful curiosity had the better of her.
The king was speaking with Alys.
*
Seated in a fine chair in the antechamber of her borrowed apartments at the Tower, Sheridan stared into the weak fire.
The flames licked at the blackened brick, crackling unsteadily as the sun waned.
Soon, night would be upon them all and the celebratory feast would commence.
But Sheridan had no thoughts of feasting this night.
All she could think of was the horrors of the afternoon.
Alys had been commandeered by the king. Nay, not by the king; by Sean himself.
Sheridan had heard her sister screaming as she was taken from the Street of the Merchants, the sounds of horror echoing in her brain.
When Neely had tried to intervene, he had been hit from behind by a massive, burly man and hauled away, unconscious.
Someone had told her that he had been taken back to the Tower and thrown in the vault.
She didn’t even know Neely’s fate and the trepidation of it ate at her.
Horrified, Sheridan had been escorted back to her Tower apartment by what was left of her guard.
She had sent for Jocelin immediately and, in a rage, the bishop had set off in search of Alys.
That had been several hours ago and she had yet to receive any word.
Though she could have very easily collapsed into tears, she had to remain strong until she knew the fate of both her sister and Neely. Crying would not accomplish anything.
Her new little puppy would have been a joyous diversion had she not been so troubled.
After feeding the animal some scraps from the morning meal, the little dog had slept beside her the entire afternoon.
She petted the dog absently now and again, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.
And with the onset of night, her anxiety was growing.
Trust me, de Lara had said. She had up until the moment she saw him take Alys away.
Now she didn’t know what to think. All she could hear was Alys’ screams rattling in her head.
She had to close her eyes to erase the pain.
Maybe she should have listened to what everyone had tried to tell her. The man is pure evil.
“M’lady,” her little maid was standing in the bedchamber door. “What… what do you wish to wear this night?”
Sheridan looked at the woman as if she had gone mad. But in the same breath, she knew that the king would be at the feast. If the king was there, then de Lara would also be there, and possibly even Alys. She had to go, no matter how much she did not want to.
“My white silk that Father brought from France,” she said. “I would wear the gold girdle with it.”
The maid fled to prepare the garment. It was the most expensive gown Sheridan owned, a magnificent white piece that hung off her shoulders with a wide, rounded neck, a long waistline, and huge belled sleeves.
Gold and white embroidery lined the neckline, edge of the sleeves, and the entire hemline of the gown.
It was, in a word, spectacular. For some reason, she wanted to look her best tonight.
One must always look their best when challenging the king.