Chapter Eleven #2
The little antechamber was small and chilly, with very little furnishings.
In fact, it looked as if it had been unlived in for some time.
The sun had almost completely set, giving the room an eerie feel.
Sean let go of Sheridan’s hand as Gilby shut the door and threw the bolt.
As Sean made a fire in the dark, cold hearth, Gilby took the lady’s arm gently and guided her to the only chair.
Sheridan sat in the darkness, watching Sean’s broad back as he worked the fireplace.
Gilby drifted into the bedchamber and emerged a few moments later to declare that there was a serviceable mattress but no linens.
Then he announced he would go in search of some food for the lady and left the apartments entirely.
Sean remained silent as he sparked the flint that eventually gave birth to a small flame.
Sheridan left her chair and went to kneel beside Sean, her arms going around his neck and her head against his massive bicep. It was a comforting, consoling gesture.
He patted her arm with his free hand, stoking the little flame until it picked up into a friendly blaze. She leaned against him, feeling his massive strength beneath her arms, acquainting herself with the scent and feel of him. It was wonderful.
“What did you mean about sending my army back to Lansdown?” she asked one of many questions on her mind. “Are you really?”
He sighed heavily; she could feel it as well as hear it.
“Things are by far more complicated than they were an hour ago,” he replied.
“The Marshall will be sending word to Jocelin of our marriage, but I must have your declaration on a document to de Moreville verifying our marriage and the fact that I now have control of the St. James army.”
She lifted her head from his arm, looking at him. “Neely will not take the news well.”
“As I would not expect him to, which is why I require your verification.”
“Are you going to send the army home?”
He looked at her, then. “No.”
“But you told the king.…”
“I told him many things to save both our lives,” he interrupted her softly. “You know the truth, Sheridan. The king knows only what I tell him.”
She gazed into the clear blue eyes, seeing his vulnerability for the very first time. She’d never seen that before, ever. It was at that moment the seriousness of the situation began to sink in.
“Why are you going to the Marches?” she asked, almost a whisper.
The fire was picking up steam. Sean stood up and led Sheridan back over to the chair.
He took it, seating her on his lap. She curled up against him, a deliciously wonderful moment between them.
He had never held her on his lap before.
He knew the moment her rounded buttocks settled on his thighs that he liked it tremendously. He held her close.
“I have orders to ride for the Marches,” he murmured, his lips against her forehead. “The king seems to think that I am needed more on the Welsh border than at a city under siege.”
“But why?” she was enjoying the warmth, the strength, from him tremendously. “I do not understand why he would send his bodyguard to battle.”
“More than a bodyguard, I am a knight. I have been swinging a sword longer than most.”
“I know that, but I would think that he would rather have you here.”
He debated how much to tell her. Though she understood politics by virtue of her father’s teaching, still, he did not want to frighten her.
But he felt he had to be honest with her.
He’d lied a great deal in his life, to a great many people, but he made a firm vow at that moment that he would never lie to Sheridan, no matter what.
“’Tis a test, Sheridan,” he said quietly.
“The king has doubts about my loyalty stemming from the time when I prevented him from raping your sister. He is a suspicious man by nature and my actions fueled some doubt in his mind. He has asked me to ride to the Marches to assist Clifford in fending off de Braose’s attack against disputed holdings.
He has also asked me to raze Lansdown to prove that I am more loyal to him than to the House of St. James, which presents something of a problem considering I married the heiress. Lansdown belongs to me now.”
Her head came up and her eyes were huge on him. “Raze it?” she repeated. “Oh, Sean, you do not mean to…?”
He put a finger on her lips, quieting her. “I will not raze my own castle,” he was more aware of his finger on her soft lips than the subject at hand. “When I go to the king this night, it will be to discuss an entirely new set of orders.”
“But why must you go at all? Now that we have married, surely it changes things.”
He looked at her, his clear blue eyes soft yet resigned at the same time. “I made a promise that I must keep,” he said after a moment. “Long before I met you, I made a promise to William Marshall that I would do all in my power to see John fall. I must keep that promise.”
She didn’t look entirely accepting. “But… but riding to the Marches, to battle, is part of that promise?”
He nodded slowly. “Absolutely,” he shifted her on his lap, his hands searching out new places on her torso he’d not yet touched.
“You see, before you and I found each other at the chapel, I had made the Marshall a promise that I would fulfill my mission if he would ensure that, in the end, you became mine. But your happenstance arrival changed things. Now that I have you, I still promised the Marshall that I would complete my task. And I intend to do so.”
“So you must ride to battle?”
“I must keep up the illusion that I am still loyal to the king. And that means that I continue to follow his orders. If the man wants me to go to the Marches, then go I must.”
She looked at him, scrutinizing every angle, every feature. He had explained himself and she would not argue his sense of honor.
“I have made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
He grinned. “Not at all. ’Tis I who have made the mess. But we shall get through this, have no doubt.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. She could feel his breath on her face. “Will you promise me something, then?”
“If I can.”
She wriggled her nose as she thought of what she would say. She was sure he would refuse but she would ask nonetheless. “I am afraid to stay here,” she whispered. “When you ride for the Marches, please do not leave me behind. I want to go with you.”
He didn’t outright refuse her. In fact, he lowered his gaze, perhaps contemplating her words, perhaps contemplating something else. Finally he spoke.
“I will not leave you here, but you cannot ride to battle with me.”
“Then where will I go?”
“Back to Watford House. It will be the safest place for you until this madness is finished.” His eyes took on a distant look.
“In fact, I think I shall ask the Marshall to escort you. He must inform Jocelin of our marriage and it would be good to have him as moral support for you should Jocelin rage.”
“He will rage,” she agreed, somewhat sadly. “But I do not need the Marshall’s support. I can face him alone.”
“You will not face him alone. The Marshall will be there.”
She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it when she saw the look on his face. She studied his expression for several long moments before pressing her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms around him tightened.
“Your decision is made?” she asked softly.
“It is.”
“Then do you think we could forget all of our troubles for five minutes this night and simply enjoy the happiness of our marriage?” She lifted her head to look at him.
“Since the moment we’ve met, politics and war and the king have dominated our relationship.
Can we not think of anything but ourselves for the next five minutes and feel the joy of this union? ”
He grasped her by the chin, his sharp gaze studying every line, every contour of her face.
With a seductive smile on his lips, his mouth closed down gently over hers, taking several long tastes of her honeyed lips.
It wasn’t long before his tongue plunged deep into her mouth and his hands moved to her head, holding it fast and still against him.
As his lips ravaged her, Sheridan managed to speak through his fevered attention.
“Take me as your wife this night, Sean,” she whispered. “I do not want to wait. If we are to be separated, then give me the memory of this night to hold deep in my heart until you return to me. Please.”
He stopped kissing her long enough to gaze into her luminous eyes. “We have no time, sweetling,” he murmured. “Even now, I must return to the king. Every moment I delay invites more suspicion.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Give me five minutes,” she begged softly. “You are riding to battle, Sean. What if you do not return? What if…?”
She couldn’t finish and he pulled her close to him, holding her tightly as he rose from the chair and carried her into the bed chamber.
It was cold and dark but for the weak moonlight streaming in through the thin lancet window. Sean lay her carefully down on the mattress, rough though it was, and resumed his gentle kisses. He could give her five minutes, though he very much wanted to give her more. She deserved far more.