Chapter Thirteen #2
Since Alys knew where the king’s apartments were, she was confident that she could find him and perhaps her sister also.
She didn’t even know what had become of de Lara after Neely and his men had beaten him unconscious; perhaps he was dead.
Perhaps Sheridan had already found that out.
If that was the case, then she would have no way of knowing where Sheridan would go next.
There was no telling what she would do in her grief.
Alys’ could hear the soldiers behind her as she approached the entry to the royal apartments.
She was having second thoughts about presenting herself to the king.
Sean had warned her off too many times and the last time she had come into contact with John, he had almost stolen her innocence.
That sickening reminder made her come to a halt and duck deep into the recesses of the dark shadows.
Alys may have been a foolish young girl, but she wasn’t entirely stupid.
She needed help, but to put herself in contact with the king again was perhaps not the best way. There was no Sean to save her tonight.
Off to her left, almost hidden by the darkness of the night, lay the chapel.
Alys stared at the mortar and wood building a moment, inspecting the lancet windows that opened into the blackness, thinking that perhaps she should speak with a priest before she proceeded.
Perhaps a man of God would help her think more clearly.
It seemed like a safer choice that visiting the king.
In the light of the half-moon, she veered off course and made her way towards the chapel.
Father Simon was very surprised to see Alys St. James.
*
For some reason, the cart had come to a halt and they could hear muffled voices through the barrier of straw and canvas.
It was pitch black inside their hiding place and Sheridan couldn’t see Guy’s face, but she knew his features were as anxious as hers.
She wondered who Gilby was speaking to, for she could hear the old physic’s voice, low at times and then louder at others.
The longer they sat idle, the more she worried.
The voices outside were growing closer. Someone shook the wagon and began moving things around.
The words became discernable and someone was questioning what Gilby had in the cart.
They clearly knew the old man for they called him by name and they doubted that all he was carrying was hay since the cart seemed so heavy.
Gilby insisted it was only hay and told the man to search the cart if he didn’t believe him.
Unknown to Sheridan and Guy, the soldier at the gatehouse would take Gilby up on his offer.
Withdrawing his sword, he plunged it into the straw before the old man could stop him.
The blade sliced into Sheridan’s right thigh.
She screamed at the top of her lungs and the sword was abruptly removed.
Suddenly, the tarp was being pulled away and the hay was being hastily removed.
She could hear someone calling Gilby a liar and the old man swearing in return.
Soldiers jumped up on the wagon, throwing off the dried grass until they revealed two figures buried in the pile.
De Braose was already injured, his state obvious.
But a beautiful blond woman lay in the straw with tears on her face and her bloodied hands over a bloodied leg. It was a puzzling sight.
Gilby leapt up on the cart with more energy than anyone had ever seen from him. He descended on Sheridan, removing her hands so he could gain a better look at the wound.
“Allow me to see what has happened, my lady,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Let me see the damage.”
It hurt terribly and Sheridan wasn’t very brave.
She sobbed and looked away as Gilby tried to assess the wound through the torn material and blood.
Sheridan’s screams had brought several men from the top of the wall walk, the king’s soldiers armed for battle and curious about the cries.
Gilby was able to gain a moderate look at the injury and began looking around for his bag.
“My bag,” he snapped to the soldiers around the cart. “Where is my bag? And for God’s sake, somebody find de Lara.”
The sergeant who had gored Sheridan stood next to the cart, directing his men with mild disinterest to find the physic’s bag. But at the mention of Sean’s name, he peered more closely at the old man.
“De Lara?” he repeated. “What in the hell do you want him for?”
Gilby didn’t look at him as someone set the black bag beside him. “Is he still at the Tower?”
“He is up on the walls.”
“Get him.”
“What for?”
Gilby’s head snapped up to the man, his white hair undulating with the motion. “Because you just stabbed his wife. He will want to know.”
The sergeant stared at him a moment. Then his eyes widened. “You lie.”
“Call him and see.”
“De Lara isn’t married. What kind of a fool do you take me for?”
“The only way to find out whether or not I tell the truth is to summon him. If I am lying, what are you afraid of?”
The man’s shock was obvious as he struggled with conflicting thoughts. “But… but if she is his wife, what is she doing in here? Why are you hiding her? And who is the man with her?”
“Go find de Lara and he will answer your questions if he allows you to live.”
The sergeant swallowed hard, his face pale in the soft moonlight.
There was suddenly a sense of panic among the men; they were scrambling, racing back up the ladders to the wall walk, shouting de Lara’s name.
The sergeant took several steps back, knowing he should probably run for his life if what the old man said was true.
De Lara would strike first and ask questions later.
But a twenty year career forced him to take a stand and face de Lara even if it meant his life.
At least he wouldn’t be considered a coward for running.
An idiot for staying, perhaps, but certainly not a coward.
As the call for Sean went up among the men at the Tower, Gilby concentrated on Sheridan’s leg.
It was a sizable gash that would require stitches but it wasn’t too serious.
He was more concerned at the moment with stopping the bleeding.
As he fumbled with his bag, Guy summoned his strength to sit up and help. He opened the bag for the old man.
“It is not serious,” Guy comforted Sheridan. “I have seen much worse. You will be whole and sound in no time.”
Sheridan wasn’t dealing well with the pain or the blood. She knew she should be of stronger constitution, but she had never done very well with that sort of thing. Lying back against the hay, she kept her head averted from the mess.
“It… it does not hurt much,” she lied, still sniffling. “Does it look bad?”
Guy smiled at her, trying to be positive. “Not bad at all. ’Tis hardly more than a scratch.”
That statement slowed her tears. “Really?” she hiccupped. “It feels awful.”
“That’s because you are not used to battle wounds,” Guy was deliberately trying to distract her.
“Once, my father was in battle on the Marches and he received three horrible wounds; one to the arm, one to the neck, and one to the foot. His foot was almost hanging off, but the physicians were able to fix it. He is as good as new. He considers each new battle scar a badge of honor.”
Sheridan’s tears had stopped although her face was wet. She gazed up at Guy with her luminous blue eyes. “I do not want a badge of honor.”
She flinched when Gilby pressed a square of linen against the wound to stop the bleeding. Guy reached down and grasped her hand, squeezing it encouragingly.
“It will be over in a moment,” he said quietly. “You are very brave, my lady.”
Sheridan didn’t reply; she closed her eyes to the intense pain as Gilby put pressure on the wound. It didn’t even occur to her that she was being comforted by a man who was wounded far worse than she was; it would only occur to her later how selfless Guy had been.
There were still several soldiers standing about, watching the event unfold. They were so involved in the scene that no one saw Sean descend the wall until it was too late. In full armor and mail, loaded down with a full complement of weapons, he suddenly appeared beside the wagon.
The truth was that from his post on the north side of the wall, Sean had seen Gilby’s wagon stopped at the gatehouse.
He had been too far away at the time to be of any assistance but he was already making haste for the gate when the events unfolded.
He had seen the sergeant jab his sword into the hay and he had heard the distant cries.
Realizing it was a female scream, he had nearly buckled in horror.
But he kept his wits about him, making his way to the gatehouse with de Vere on his tail.
He had therefore tried to steel himself. Sean’s expression was neutral when he hopped upon the cart but the color drained from his face when he saw his wife lying there with a massive blood stain on her gown. God help him, he couldn’t stop his reaction.
“Sweet Jesus,” he hissed, shoving a soldier aside that was partially in his way. “What in the hell happened?”
Gilby looked up. “One of your sergeants was very thorough in his search of my cart.”
At the sound of Sean’s voice, Sheridan’s eyes flew open and she fixed her gaze on his serious, handsome face. The tears, so recently fled, returned with a vengeance.
Sean watched her face crumple and his heart leapt into his throat. “Is it serious?” he demanded of Gilby, moving around the cart so he could be closer to Sheridan. “Will she survive?”
“She will survive,” Gilby said steadily. “Sean, I need to take her someplace warm and safe. I need to stitch this wound.”