John looked at him, a flicker of annoyance in his black eyes. “Why not?”
“Because her father was at the heart of the baron’s rebellion against the crown. Since his death, his family has the pity of his allies. To summon the daughter, to take your rights as king,may inflame the barons even more. They will not view your bedding the daughter of their beloved dead ally kindly. You may be inviting more than you wish to deal with at this time.” He moved towards the king, his blue eyes full of the grim reality of the situation. “The rebellion is like a simmering pot, waiting to boil over. One small incident and it could explode. But if you still desire the girl, I will bring her.”
John sniffled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his tunic. It was apparent that he was contemplating Sean’s words. John trusted very few people and de Lara was one of them. The man had never steered him wrong in all of the years he had been in his service. He could see the implications as explained.
“I will consider your words,” he said after a moment. The king was never one to agree with his advisors outright. He always manipulated the situation to make it appear as if they were agreeing with him. “Go, now. Prepare my litter.”
Sean left without another word, listening to the cries of the woman in the king’s bed as d’Athée raped her in the presence of the monarch.
*
Three days later,Sheridan still had not caught another glimpse of the enigmatic Sean de Lara. She faced the realization that de Lara had no more interest in her than a honey bee had in a wilted flower. Aye, she had been a pretty thing to flatter for an evening, but that was evidently the extent of it. She was coming to feel like Alys did at times, that men were non-committal and easily distracted creatures. It was the first time she had ever felt the sting of rejection.
It wasn’t even a sting. It was more like a foolish feeling. No man had ever captured her attention enough to warrant more than a passing thought. But de Lara had. Moderately depressed,she had decided by the third day that she wasn’t going to linger on him any longer. Moreover, Jocelin had plans for a clandestine assembly by the end of the week and that was where her focus needed to be. All of the hopes and dreams her father had provided for were finally coming to fruition and her sense of optimism was palpable. She couldn’t let thoughts of a man sidetrack her.
But hopes for a new day for England could wait, at least for the moment. Today, she decided that a visit to the Street of the Merchants would be in order. There had been rare times that she had been let out of Lansdown to shop in Glastonbury or in Trowbridge, and she had discovered that she was something of a lavish spender. If she liked what she saw, she bought it. Unfortunately, she’d not learned the art of bartering, as her rich father had simply advised her to make the purchase regardless.
Her mood improved with the prospect of shopping. Alys, after having slept until late morning, barely awoke in time to join her. Alys wasn’t a spender, however; she was interested in the food rather than the merchandise. The Street of the Merchants was bordered by the Street of the Bakers, which was convenient for both sisters. The Avenue of the Jewelers, in the Jewish sector to the north and east, wasn’t far off, either.
It was a cool day. The fog had rolled in sometime during dawn and had not yet abated. There was mist in the air, enough to make Alys’ hair frizz but not enough to truly dampen. Sheridan dressed carefully for the day in a gown of undyed lamb’s wool, soft and clinging, accentuating every curve. She wore a belt of silver thread and uncut citrine stones, the tassels of which trailed to her knees. The cloak she wore was heavy wool, of the same undyed color, with a stiff, protective collar and a rabbit fur lining. Her hair was pulled into a single thick braid that draped delicately over one shoulder.
Alys, as usual, was a mess until her sister stepped in to help. In short time, she was dressed in dark blue wool to protect against the chill. Her hair, however, was unmanageable with the mist in the air but, given her maiden status, she let it flow down her back like a giant frizzy mess. All she could speak of, as they left the apartments with their maid and escort, was the bread she would soon be tasting. All Sheridan could think of was the fabric she would soon be buying.
There was another great feast tonight in the Tower in honor of some victory the king accomplished against his brother, Richard, many years ago. Sheridan didn’t keep track of such things, for they were petty family squabbles as far as she was concerned. What mattered was the here and now. There was, however, one benefit to this victory feast; as much as she pretended not to care otherwise, she knew de Lara would be somewhere in the hall. If she were to purchase a wonderful fabric and have it back to the apartments by the nooning hour, her maid could baste together an acceptable gown by suppertime.
Her thoughts were idiotic. She knew that even as she climbed into the litter that her men had brought from the stables. With her sister beside her and the maid on a small gray palfrey behind them, they moved from the Tower grounds through the new gate in the Lanthorn Tower and proceeded out to the avenue along the edge of the Thames.
The river was shrouded in mist as the sun struggled to penetrate. Sheridan was glad for her cloak, as the temperature had dropped considerably now that they were outside the protective walls of the Tower. They were nearing the massive bridge that led over the Thames when she caught sight of what she thought was a rat. It was certainly not an unusual site. But as her caravan grew closer, she saw that it was a tiny little dog. Asher litter passed, the little dog sat on the edge of the road, its tiny tail wagging. She sat bolt-upright on the litter.
“Stop,” she commanded. “Neely, bring me that pup.”
Neely was on his charger at the head of the column. Those closest to him heard his audible, impatient sigh. He lifted his three-point visor, of the latest style, and fixed upon the little mutt. His initial reaction was to contest the request, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Whatever the lady wanted, he would oblige without question. It had long been a policy with him in the hopes that someday, the lady would see him for more than the captain of the guard. He was convinced that blind obedience and kindness would someday be the key to Lady Sheridan’s heart.
Armor groaning, he dismounted his steed and clanged to the edge of the dirty avenue. The little dog didn’t run; he merely gazed up at Neely with his big black doggy eyes. He was a white beast with little legs, short hair, and a big brown spot on his back. Neely reached down and scooped the mutt into one hand.
He walked over to the litter and extended the hand that held the puppy. Sheridan gently took the dog from his mailed grip.
“Look at him,” she cooed. “He is freezing, poor little thing.”
The dog wagged his tail happily and licked her furiously on the chin. She laughed out loud as Alys, not strangely, began to complain.
“’Tis cold, Dani,” she said. “We must keep moving.”
Sheridan was consumed with her happy little acquisition. Neely gave the order to move out and the procession continued to the road that led from the bridge and deep into the bowels of London.
The streets leading to the merchant district were cold, dirty and, at times, dangerous. Neely was on his guard as they made their way through the narrow avenues, passing by citizens of London whose faces were dark with suspicion and curiosity. By the time they reached the busier merchant district, the sunwas starting to peek through the fog. Sheridan, having fallen in love with her little pet in the short trek from the Tower to the commercial quarter, perked up at the sight of the merchant stalls.
She climbed off the litter, leaving the dog enfolded within the heavy woolen blanket that had covered her. Though the sun threatened, the air was still cold and she pulled her cloak tightly about her. Her eyes fairly glittered at the sight before her.
Neely approached. “If it pleases my lady, I will have the litter bearers wait here. I will escort you into the avenue.”
Sheridan nodded. “You’d better bring another man. I intend to purchase many items today and may need another pair of arms.”
Neely emitted a low whistle and motioned to one of his more seasoned soldiers. As the man stepped forward, he turned back to Sheridan.
“If my lady is ready?”
She grinned. “Always.”
