Chapter Five #2
Sheridan could feel his gaze, hoping he didn’t think that she was an idiot.
Here she was, surrounded by some of the most powerful men in England, all of whom were treating her with a great deal of respect.
She supposed it was because of her father, never imagining it was because she was in the process of establishing her own foundation of support.
Eyeing the men around the table, she walked towards the document, her gaze running over the yellowed parchment. She finally looked to the Marshall.
“I cannot read, my lord,” she admitted. “Would you be so kind as to read what the document says?”
William smiled at her and wedged himself in between Fitz Herbert and Salisbury. His gaze focused on the first clause.
“First, that we have granted to God, and by this present charter have confirmed for us and our heirs in perpetuity, that the English Church shall be free, and shall have its rights undiminished…”
A knock at the door interrupted him. The mood of the room turned black with apprehension as Jocelin spoke quickly to Sheridan.
“Do not open the door,” he instructed firmly. “Ask who it is and send them away.”
She nodded and went to the door, followed by Neely with a dagger in his hand. He stood to the left of the door as Sheridan spoke through the panel.
“Who calls?” she asked.
“’Tis me,” Alys’ voice filtered through. “Let me in!”
Before Jocelin could stop her, Sheridan threw open the door.
Alys stood there, looking perfectly safe, whole and sound.
Sheridan was about to throw her arms around her when she saw a figure lingering behind her, nearly obscured by the dark shadows of the hall.
The figure, in fact, had hold of Alys’ arm as an escort would.
It took Sheridan a moment to realize that it was de Lara.
And he could see everyone in the room beyond.
*
The sun was brilliant and the birds in the January-dead trees sang a happy tune.
Spring was months away, but the weather seemed to be encouraging a quick approach.
Being January, snowfall and the moisture it brought would have been good for the earth.
But the sun was good for the people that ventured into the outdoors to bask in the cold, bright rays.
Sheridan was no exception. Seated on a chair her maid had brought in the yard outside of the Flint Tower, she held a piece of needlework that she had been attempting to complete for the better part of a year.
It was an ambitious piece her mother had designed, with hummingbirds and flowers and little bees.
Sheridan’s slender fingers had never been good with a needle and the fabric was covered in little brown spots where she had poked herself and bled.
Even now, she was attempting the piece to keep her mind off the other events that seemed to have embedded themselves into the fabric of her life.
Nothing was simple any more. Things only seemed to grow worse.
Alys hadn’t gotten out of bed for three solid days, ever since Sean had escorted her back to their apartments following her afternoon with the king.
She had decided that she wanted to be a royal consort and was convinced that the king was in love with her.
When Sheridan had, not so nicely, told her she was mad for even entertaining such a thought, Alys had taken to her bed, miserable.
Sheridan and Neely had taken turns watching out for her, making sure she didn’t try to leap from the window again or make an attempt to contact the king.
She was essentially a prisoner. But a miserable sister was better than a dead one.
It was Sheridan’s turn to take a break from guard duty.
She wanted out of the apartments and into the sunshine for as long as it would last. While Neely grudgingly stayed with Alys, Sheridan, the puppy and her maid retreated to cool daylight of the Tower yard.
While the puppy ran off and the maid gave chase, Sheridan attempted the needlework, her mind mulling over the millions of thoughts that had succeeding in robbing her of sleep as of late.
Her most prevalent thought was of Sean. He hadn’t said a word when he’d dropped Alys off three days prior.
His clear blue eyes had perused the face of every man in the antechamber before he left in complete silence.
Shortly thereafter, the meeting had hastily disbanded.
She knew that short of the king showing up at her door and catching them all in perfidious conference, having been seen by Sean de Lara had been the worst possible scenario.
The nobles were clearly terrified and she felt as if they somehow blamed her for the event.
Arrests were expected and some of them had even gone into hiding. But, so far, nothing had happened.
It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop, the hammer of the Gods that would smash them all into oblivion. Sheridan was afraid for herself, of course, but she was more afraid for Jocelin. Not even the Church could protect him were he labeled a traitor.
But more than that, she was concerned for what Sean thought.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known her loyalties were not to John.
They had discussed that at the onset. But she suspected, somehow, he knew her for what she was; a conspirator.
Her loyalties lay with England, not with a deviant king.
Still, she knew he did not see it that way.
As the personal protector of the king, there was no way he could not understand that she was the worst sort of enemy.
It was a depressing thought. De Lara had always shown her such courtesy, such regard.
She had enjoyed their encounters and the way in which he spoke to her.
He did not speak to her as some men spoke to women, as if the female barely had a brain.
Sean spoke to her with respect. She would miss that. She would miss him, too.
She went back to her needlework, stabbing herself for the tenth time that day.
With a yelp, she put the sore finger in her mouth to suck away the blood.
She needed a thimble but did not want to return to her apartment to get one.
A shadow suddenly fell across her and a massive hand reached down to take the finger from her mouth.
“Let me see,” Sean’s voice was soft, deep. He glanced at the material in her hand. “From the looks of that, this isn’t the first time you have done this.”
Sheridan was more than startled. She nearly fell off her chair with surprise. “My lord,” she struggled to catch her breath. “Forgive me. I did not hear your approach.”
He wiped at the small dot of blood on her finger. “I meant that you should not.” He kissed the fingertip and gave her back her hand. “There, now. Better?”
She looked between her finger and his twinkling eyes. “Much,” she said. Then, she didn’t know what to say other than the obvious. “Are you here to arrest me?”
He crouched down beside her chair, his blue eyes scanning the compound around them. “Why would I do that?”
“For the unlawful assembly you saw in my apartment. If you are here to take me, I shall go peacefully.”
He pursed his lips, slowly shaking his head. “A memorial.”
“Excuse me?”
“All of those men I saw in your apartment were friends of your father, having come to pay tribute to you and to his memory. All I saw was a memorial.”
She just stared at him. Feeling her confused gaze, he turned to look at her. “Did you have something more to say to that?” he asked.
Sheridan was baffled, relieved, and overjoyed at the same time. She had no idea how to react. “Do I?”
“Nay, you do not.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“As you wish, then. But I would like to ask a question.”
“What is that?”
“Why would you do this?”
“Do what?”
She wasn’t sure how to word her thoughts, not wanting to contradict him when they both knew very well that he had taken the time, effort and thought to cover actions that would have brought anyone else immediate imprisonment.
In that instant, the blossoming relationship between them deepened.
The path, for them, was chosen. It was a defining moment.
“Oh… I do not know,” she finally gave up, her luminous eyes moving over his strong features. “I suppose I am simply wondering why you would be so good to me.”
A smile played on his lips. “Because you are my betrothed.”
“Am I still?”
His brow furrowed. “What would make you think that you are not?”
She put the needlework in her lap. “Must everything with you be so evasive? Do you realize that you have answered almost all of my questions with another question?”
“Have I?”
She growled in frustration and he chuckled softly. “’Tis not my intention to be evasive, my lady. But the answers you seek to your questions are ones that you can just as easily answer yourself.”
Her gaze locked with his. A strange heat filled the space between them, a warmth that bloomed in her chest and spread outward into her arms and legs and fingers. Everything was tingling. The longer she looked at him, the stronger the warmth became.
“You are perhaps correct in some respects,” she said softly. “But there are times when I would like an answer from your own lips.”
He felt the heat, too. He was positively melting the longer he looked at her. “As you wish, my lady. What answer would you like to hear?”
She could not have pulled away from his gaze if she tried. She didn’t want to try. But she could not have assumptions and conjecture between them.
“I would have total truth between us, Sir Sean,” she said softly. “I expect nothing less and will accept nothing more. If I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?”
“I will.”
“Do you know what was transpiring in my apartment the night you brought Alys back to me?”
“Aye.”
He didn’t hesitate with his answer. Her heart leapt into her throat, thinking of all the men who were undoubtedly in danger. “Did you tell the king?”
“You said only one question.”