Chapter Nine #2
Sean had a sickening feeling that he knew what was coming. It was inevitable, given the cloud of doubt lingering over the past few days. He stopped and faced the king.
“My lord?”
John rose from his silken sling-back chair. He was a short, weak, twisted man, hardly enough of a male to be in the same category as men like Sean. The only strength he had was his royal name and the power it wielded. He was very good at wielding it.
“I wish for you to ride for the Welsh Marches,” he said. “Surely Gerard told you that, too.”
“He did,” Sean said steadily. “But I would question why you would want me to go now, of all times. We are facing a serious siege and need all of our manpower here.”
“I must not lose the Marches,” the king said. “Clifford’s castles are key. They must be held. And when you are finished securing them, you will ride on Abergavenny and raze her.”
Abergavenny Castle was the de Braose stronghold.
Sean knew this directive for what it was; a test. The king was demanding he prove his loyalty, no matter what was happening to London.
John seemed oddly certain that London would hold, as would the Tower.
He appeared more focused on insisting Sean prove his allegiance.
His priorities were twisted just as the man himself was.
Even though Sean knew exactly what was happening, it made a serious issue far more complex; were he to march to Wales, he could not ensure the fall of the Tower.
If the Tower did not fall, then the siege would break down and prove futile.
Years of planning would be waste. The allies were counting on him.
“I would strongly advise against dividing your forces, sire,” he said. “You will need your strength here to protect the Tower.”
“Go to the Marches. And burn Lansdown along your way. While most of her troops are here trying to breach the Tower, we will attack her compromised castle. We will show both de Braose and St. James in one stroke that their treachery against the king shall not go unpunished.”
So there it was. Everything Gerard had warned him about. Sean did the only thing he could at the moment; he agreed.
“By your command, sire.”
*
The smell of the food made her nauseous. She pushed it away, not even wanting to look at it. It was a lovely tray of squab and boiled vegetables, but she couldn’t muster the appetite. Alys, seeing that her sister wasn’t eating yet again, took the food for herself.
“You really should eat something,” Alys said, her mouth full. “The food is wonderful.”
Sheridan didn’t reply. Seated in the impressive solar of Watford House in the town of Eastbury, a holding of the Earl of Warenne through his wife’s family, she hadn’t eaten or slept in three days.
Three long, hellish days as the battle for London commenced.
News was coming fast and furious, sometimes hourly.
Though she should have been concerned with the outcome of the battle, all she could think about was the enemy. Sean was, after all, still her enemy.
The strong walls of Watford House had turned into a command post. Most of the allied nobles were gathered in the fortified manor house to discuss their strategies.
The rooms reeked of stale rushes and old ale, and the house in general had a bad mood to it.
Jocelin was there and Sheridan had singled him out for a particular hatred.
When she found out what he had done, there was nothing on earth that would convince her to forgive him.
“Eat something, Sheridan.”
Jocelin’s command came as he entered the chamber with Arundel and Fitz Herbert.
They had a map between them and headed straight for the large, heavily-constructed table near a set of nine very long, very thin lancet windows built into the northern wall of the room.
It allowed for light and air in the massive chamber.
While some of the nobles chose to attend the battle themselves, many of them maintained a distance while their men handled the task.
The bishops of London, Lincoln, Worcester, Rochester and Coventry had all returned to their homes, while de Warenne, Arundel, Salisbury and the Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury moved to Watford House to be near the siege.
De Neville and de Burgh had moved to a location in Kent to ride out the storm, while Fitz Gerold and Fitz Hugh remained with the nearly twenty thousand men now storming the city of London.
The atmosphere was tense even at the best of times.
War was never easy, and this war was the culmination of years of strategy.
Now, as Jocelin and the others were reviewing the latest reports from London, Sheridan could only think about returning to the city and to Sean.
It consumed every second, every moment of her day and night.
“Let us go walk in the garden,” Alys said, trying to get her sister’s mind off her troubles. “The weather isn’t so bad.”
Sheridan stood up without a word. She was a bitter, sullen woman these days.
She didn’t acknowledge Alys’ kindness as her sister placed a heavy cloak on her shoulders to protect against the chill outside.
Jocelin caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and excused himself from the gathering.
He caught up to the pair just as they were leaving the room.
“Dani,” he said softly. “Have you eaten today?”
“Nay.” She would not look at him.
“I know you are upset, but you cannot go on like this.”
“Upset?” she growled. “Nay, I am not upset. I am destroyed and you are personally responsible.”
Jocelin had been drawn into this conversation with her too many times in the past three days.
He’d tried to be logical, reasonable and kind, but she would not return the favor.
It took all of his abilities to remain calm.
These were the times when he thanked God for his celibacy and the fact that he had no daughters.
“Neely did what he had to do, what I told him to do,” he said steadily. “De Lara was abducting you and Alys to take you to the king.”
“He was not,” Sheridan seethed. “How many times do I have to tell you that Sean was taking Alys and me to safety? If he had been trying to abduct us, why was he taking us toward the Lanthorn tower?”
“Neely intercepted you near the Lanthorn,” Jocelin replied quietly. “That does not mean de Lara was about to enter it. From where we found you, he could have taken you to any number of areas in the Tower.”
“He was saving us.”
“Neely saved you. Understand that, girl, and you’ll live longer.”
Sheridan was as close to striking someone as she had ever been in her life. “Neely did nothing of the kind,” she hissed. “Neely’s jealousy is raging so that he would do or say anything to gain favor with me right now. And God only knows what he has you convinced of.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. Surely he has you convinced that I am stark raving mad because of my association with Sean.”
“We have been through this, Sheridan. I do not believe you are thinking clearly. It was good that we removed you from the Tower when we did to get you away from de Lara’s influence.”
Flustered and furious, she turned away from him, wishing she could tell him what Sean had told her about his loyalties.
But she would remain steadfast to her promise and not reveal Sean’s true self.
All her life she had admired and loved Jocelin.
Now all she could see was a suspicious, foolish old man.
She walked away from him without another word.
With a heavy heart, Jocelin let her go. Though they were at odds, still, he was sorry.
He knew that she was stubborn like her father, sometimes to the point of blindness, and this was simply one of those times.
Once married to de Braose, providing the young man survived his adventure in the Tower, she would return to her senses. He was sure of it.
Outside of the manor, it was cool and clear for January.
Fat puffy clouds danced overhead as Alys led Sheridan into the elegant formal garden.
Lady de Warenne was an avid gardener and all manner of flowering shrub covered the grounds.
Though most were dormant at this time of year, some still held their bloom.
Alys fussed over the one and only blossom in the entire garden, inhaling its non-existent scent until she sneezed.
But Sheridan had no interest in the garden. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Though they’d spent much time walking the pebbled path, she’d paid little attention to the surroundings. She could have been in a blighted desert for all of the attention she was paying it.
Finding the small lover’s bench lodged under a silver birch, she sat on the cold stone and brooded.
She could still feel the delicious sensations of Sean’s lips against hers and the extraordinary power of his embrace that made her feel as if nothing else in the world mattered.
She would give anything to feel that again, but the more time passed, the more impossible that chance seemed.
She was terrified that Neely had killed Sean in his jealousy; all she knew was that Neely had struck Sean across the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, sending Sean to the ground in an unconscious heap.
She had seen all of it. She had fought with Neely even as he had picked her up and carried her from the Tower grounds, so much so that she had ripped several gashes with her fingernails into his neck.
Neely hadn’t so much as uttered a sound as the pain tore through him; he held her tightly and carried her off on horseback.
The last Sheridan had seen of Sean was several Glastonbury men kicking his limp body in the moonlight, pounding the man they had all grown to fear.
It had been a horrible sight, one she tried desperately to forget.
But she couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried.
She and Neely had ridden for an hour before reaching Watford House.
Sheridan had been exhausted and nearly incoherent by the time they arrived at the fortified manor.
Neely had left right away to return to London but not before making all attempts to apologize to Sheridan; he didn’t want her hating him.
Her response had been to spit on him. He had his answer and, bitterly, returned to the brewing battle.
So Sheridan found herself still at Watford House, feeling no differently than she had three days ago.
Her anger had turned bitter, her hurt to anguish.
She was learning to hate those around her, including Alys.
It was wrong and she knew it, yet her reason was unsteady these days.
She was desperate to find Sean, desperate to know if he had survived the ambush.
Dead or alive, something inside of her had to know.
As she sat on the small lover’s bench beneath the barren tree, she began to realize that her only course of action, her only hope, was to escape back to London. Foolish as it was, she could think on nothing else.
Alys was still studying the shrubs and ended up chasing a lizard across the pebbled path.
Sheridan watched her younger sister, knowing she could easily manipulate the girl into obeying her wishes.
If she was to escape this place, then she had to remove herself from Alys’ presence. The plan in her mind began to grow.
“Alys,” she said softly. “Would you do something if I asked you?”
Alys perked up. “Of course, Dani. What would you have me do?”
Sheridan averted her gaze to her hands, resting in her lap. She found that she couldn’t look her sister in the eye. “I find that I am rather hungry. Would you go to the kitchens and prepare a meal for me?”
Alys’s features lifted joyfully. “Of course I will. What would you like?”
Sheridan shrugged. “I have a craving for an almond pudding. But that would take much effort, wouldn’t it?”
“Not at all,” Alys said, thrilled that her sister was actually interested in food. “I’ll tell the cook to prepare it right away. Is there anything else you would like?”
Sheridan pretended to think. “I would like fresh bread. White bread, without a hint of brown in it. And lots of butter.”
Alys nodded swiftly, making mental notes of her sister’s wishes. “Almond pudding and fresh bread. I will tell the cook right away.”
As Alys sprinted for the entry into the manor, Sheridan stopped her. “Alys, you will stay and make sure they prepare everything fresh, will you not? I cannot stomach anything that is not freshly prepared. And I trust you to see that it is done correctly.”
Alys nodded eagerly and dashed inside without another word.
Sheridan waited until she was sure Alys wouldn’t return before bolting from the bench.
She remembered where the stables were from the day they had arrived.
Wrapping the deep green cloak about her tightly, she made haste for the livery and prayed with every step that her deceptive request to Alys would give her enough time to do as she must. She didn’t care who she lied to or who she coerced, just so long as she could get away from Watford House.
She had to find Sean.