“Was he followed?”
“He was followed. We discovered he went straight for Rochester, who is supposed to be at St. Bartholomew’s with the other bishops. Rochester, interestingly enough, was in disguise. Once Salisbury left, Rochester sent out four riders, all four in different directions. We were unable to track them beyond the city limits.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “Something is amiss, I can feel it,” he hissed. There was panic in his features. “What do you intend to do about it, de Lara? The waves of dissention are growing. They are organizing now!”
Sean lifted an eyebrow. “One of the main pieces to the puzzle is in our vault at this moment. Though we cannot coax truths from the Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury as we would like, there is perhaps someone we can coax.”
“Who?”
His reply was as impassive as always, the features on his powerful face without emotion or care. Every man in the room was frighteningly thankful that the name from his lips was nottheir own. They’d all heard tale of de Lara’s methods of torture. They were legendary. Agony was too tame a word.
“Neely de Moreville.”
The king’s features suffered happy illumination. “Henry St. James’ captain,” he breathed. “I’d forgotten he was in our vault along with Jocelin. Surely he would know the heart of the matter.”
“It is possible, sire,” Sean said. “But, then again, he is a mere knight and perhaps not privy to the private dealings of his lords.”
John was animated with glee, paranoia. “Find out. By whatever means necessary. And take Gerard with you; his methods of persuasion can be quite barbaric.”
“By your command, sire.”
Uglier words were never uttered.
*
Sheridan sat aloneat the table in the great feasting hall. There was no Alys, no Jocelin, and no Neely. She felt exposed and apprehensive. After her encounter with Sean earlier, she also felt disoriented. Four hours later, thoughts of his kisses still clouded her mind.
The great hall was warm, well-lit and fragrant with fresh rushes. Much wine had already been served. She had imbibed more than she should have out of sheer nerves. She could only pray that William did not join the table; she was in no mood for his flirting tonight. What she wanted more than anything, at the moment, was to see Alys.
“Lady Sheridan St. James?” a male voice spoke. “Excuse me, but are you the Lady Sheridan?”
Sheridan shook herself from her lonely thoughts, glancing across the table. A man in pieces of armor stood there, short ofstature, clean-shaven, with black hair and nearly black eyes. He smiled kindly.
“May I know who asks?” she answered.
His smile broadened. “I am Guy de Braose. I believe our fathers were friends.”
She blinked as the name registered. “Of course,” she said. “I was told you were coming to London.”
He gestured to the bench before him. “May I sit, my lady?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” He settled himself down in the chair; he was, truthfully, not much bigger than Sheridan. He had a very youthful, handsome face with big dark eyes. “I do apologize for not being here earlier. We ran into some foul weather which delayed our arrival.”
“No apologies necessary,” she assured him. “We are glad you have arrived safe.”
Guy smiled his thanks and glanced around. “Is Jocelin arrived yet?”
“Aye,” she said, wondering how much she should tell him. But she knew he was a trusted ally so she told him what she knew. “There was a bit of trouble this afternoon, I am afraid. Jocelin will not be attending our feast this night.”
“Oh,” Guy’s expression washed with disappointment. “I pray his health is good.”
“It is,” she assured him. “Sir Guy, I shall be frank. The king somewhat forcibly demanded my sister’s company today and when Jocelin found out, he went to the king and created something of a ruckus. I am afraid that he was put in the vault.”
Guy’s eyebrows rose. “He threw the bishop in the vault?”
She nodded. “My captain of the guard is also there.”
