Chapter Seven #2
“I told you never to come back here again,” he growled. “It was not a request but a command. I told you that if I saw you again that I would.…”
“Sir Sean, please,” Alys sobbed. “I came to find you. My sister is very ill.”
He forgot his anger. “What is wrong?”
Alys shook her head. “I do not know. I cannot wake her. She breathes harsh and labored, as if she is dying. I am afraid that she is!”
He didn’t ask her any more. Grasping her arm, far more gently this time, he led the way back to the St. James apartment.
The corridors were quiet and still at this hours with oil lamps burning every so often so as not to create total darkness.
He could feel royal soldiers around him, guarding the different wings that they passed through, but he ignored them.
By the time they reached the apartment, his panic had blossomed while Alys’ had calmed. They made an odd combination.
There were two St. James soldiers in the hall protecting the door.
Alys waved them aside as the little maid unbolted the panel from the inside.
Once inside, the little puppy jumped all over his feet and it was an effort not to step on the beast. The room was warm and dimly lit.
Avoiding the dog, Sean went straight to the bower.
It was nearly pitch dark in the room, but he could hear Sheridan’s breathing the moment he entered the door. It sounded like a death rattle.
“Bring some light,” he commanded quietly as he went for the bed. He could barely see her in the darkness and he felt for a pulse. It was fast and weak, and his heart sank. “How long has she been like this?”
Alys hovered behind him as the maid brought forth a fish oil lamp. Immediately, they could see how pale Sheridan was.
“A few hours,” Alys said. “The physic gave her some medicine and she fell asleep, and now I cannot wake her.”
Sean put both hands on her face, enormous appendages that swallowed up Sheridan’s entire head. His fingers were in his hair, his flesh against her. Stabs of longing, of angst, filled his chest as he touched her.
“Sheridan,” he whispered. “Sheridan, can you hear me?”
She was limp, like a corpse. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “Wake up, angel. Hear my voice and awaken.”
“She won’t.” The panic returned to Alys’ tone. “What shall we do?”
Sean didn’t hesitate. “Send for Gilby,” he snapped softly. “Tell your guards in the hall to go for him; he is near the barracks. Tell them to hurry.”
Both Alys and the maid fled. Alone in the room, with a small lamp casting an eerie white light on Sheridan’s features, Sean gazed at her with a tremendous amount of sorrow.
His thumbs continued to stroke her cheeks, his forehead finally coming to rest on her own.
It was a helpless gesture. Never in his life had he felt so powerless, listening to her labor to breathe, terrified that she was indeed going to die right in front of him.
The thought nearly brought tears to his eyes, and it was a shocking realization.
Pulling her limp body up against him, he cradled her against his massive chest, rocking her gently with the inborn instinct of all human beings. It was a deliciously painful gesture, her fragile warmth against his strength.
He was still holding her when Gilby came.
The old man had to practically pry her out of Sean’s arms. Sean had known Gilby for many years and trusted the man’s discretion.
He knew that no word of his actions or behavior would reach the ears of others.
Sean, Alys and the little maid watched with baited breath as the old physic examined Sheridan.
He listened to her chest, checked her pulse, checked her eyes.
He even looked in her ears. Finally, he shook his head.
“Nothing to worry over,” he said. “She is simply reacting to the medicaments I gave her for her head sickness. She is very sensitive to something I gave her, though I am not sure what.”
Sean let out a sigh as if his entire body was deflating of air. “Then she will wake from this without incident?”
“She will. But better to watch her to make sure that she remembers to breathe. The potion’s property is strong and can, in fact, put one to sleep forever if one isn’t careful.”
Sean lifted an eyebrow. “If it is so strong, why did you give it to her to cure her head sickness?”
“I didn’t give it to her to cure her head sickness. I gave it to her so that she would sleep until it passed.”
Sean couldn’t decide where he was more angry or more relieved. He settled for relieved. “You could have at least told us so that we wouldn’t panic when we could not wake her.”
Gilby grunted. He packed up his leather satchel and headed for the door. “I shall be by in a few hours to see how she fares,” he said. “Until then, someone should stay away with her. If she stops breathing, pinch her. She’ll resume quickly enough.”
The physic wandered out into the antechamber, pulling his cloak tightly about him in anticipation of the chill of the corridor. Leaving a relieved Alys to watch over Sheridan, Sean followed.
“I’ll send a guard to escort you back,” he said.
Gilby shook his head. “No need,” he said. “I welcome the solitude.”
“Very well. We shall see you tomorrow, then.”
The old man glanced at him, something of curiosity and disapproval in his eyes. “Do you plan on staying here? I would advise against it.”
“So noted.”
Gilby moved close to him. “The Chapel of St. Peter. One hour.”
“That is sooner than expected.”
“There is much to discuss.”
Sean simply nodded and the old physician shuffled out of the antechamber, closing the door softly behind him.
The time was upon them. He could feel it.
*
“She has been cavorting with de Lara since nearly the day we arrived,” Neely was obviously drunk. “We have all tried to explain to her the evils of the man, but she will not listen.”
Jocelin sat across the table from the captain of the St. James guard.
He had known the man for twenty years. Henry St. James treated him like a son, but that was never what Neely wanted.
He wanted to be the son-in-law. It was not because of the wealth and power of the St. James clan; that much was certain.
It was because of a deep and abiding affection he held for Sheridan.
He’d become quite adept at controlling himself where she was concerned.
Now, with disappointment, jealousy and liquor, the dam of control he had worked so hard to maintain had finally sprung a leak.
“Infatuated women are irrational creatures,” Jocelin said quietly.
“They are indeed,” Neely took another large swallow of the ale.
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“De Lara knows who she is. And there is little doubt that the king sent him to charm her to see what he could draw out of her. There is no telling what she is divulged to him, and in turn, to John’s cause. ”
“Are you telling me that she is untrustworthy?”
Neely’s dark eyes clouded with uncertainty. “I am not. I am merely… speculating.”
“Are you sure that it is not your jealousy talking?”
Neely pursed his lips as if to bitterly retort, but he took another drink instead. When it became clear that he would not answer, Jocelin took the bottle of ale away and stood up. He set the jug upon the nearest shelf of his small, modest accommodations near the chapel.
“Why do you come to me with this, de Moreville?” he asked. “What would you have me do?”
“Stop her. Tell her that de Lara only means her harm.”
Jocelin wriggled his eyebrows. “Were it only that simple. Do you not know of women, Neely? The more you try to discourage them, the more they will do whatever it is that you are attempting to discourage them from.”
Neely nodded or swayed; Jocelin could not be sure. He had been drinking long before he had ever sought out the bishop. Now he was down to the bare bones of emotions and shame.
“I tried to tell her,” Neely muttered. “She would not listen.”
Jocelin scratched his chin, thinking on all of the implications that clandestine communication with Sean de Lara could have. The long-term results, for both sides, could be immeasurable. He didn’t like it at all.
“Sheridan may as well have taken up games with a viper,” he said.
“And this viper will kill her more swiftly than any reptilian creature. This viper has a brain and a heart, courage unparalleled and a skill beyond compare. To keep her away from him, we must be more cunning and more skillful than he is.”
“Do you really think he is trying to draw information out of her about the resistance?” Neely was close to falling out his chair by now. It would not be long before he was passed out completely. “I cannot imagine what other purpose he may have. Surely he would not attempt to court her.”
Jocelin frowned at him. “Court her? Of course not. Men like Sean de Lara do not court women. Their life and their loves are war and politics.”
Neely tried to stand up, making a bad attempt of it. “Then you must speak to Lady Sheridan before she does something she regrets. Tell her… tell her to stay away from de Lara. Tell her that he only means her harm”
Jocelin steadied him and forced him to sit back down in the chair. “We may not have to worry over it much longer.”
“Why?”
“Because the allies are leaving the Tower tonight. War is looming, Neely. Once Sheridan is gone, the threat of de Lara will be abolished.”
Neely’s reaction was slow. “So it is tonight. Pity I did not know it. ’Twill be difficult to command in my current state.”
“You know it now,” Jocelin replied. “There is still time for you to regain your senses before we depart.”
Neely blinked his eyes, struggling to focus. “Indeed. But what if Lady Sheridan will not leave? You should have heard her defend de Lara. He was kind and considerate, she said. I fear that she will not want to go.”