“If I never see you again, then know that this brief moment in time has made my entire life worth living,” he murmured. “Nothing else on earth, nothing else I have ever done, can compare. You are my angel and I will love you, and no other, in this life and beyond.”
With that, he was gone. Sheridan didn’t even have the time to reply. She stood there a moment, in shock, digesting his words and unaware of Gilby’s sympathetic gaze upon her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Sean. She continued to stand for the longest time, gazing at the closed door, feeling hollow. She wasn’t sure that she would ever see him again and the thought nearly killed her.
Gilby finally encouraged her to gather her cloak so they could leave. She had to go back into the bedroom to retrieve it, but one look at the raw stuffed mattress where she had experienced her first intimate taste of her husband brought floods of tears. When Gilby came back into the room to see what was keeping her, he found her curled up on the old mattress sobbing as if her heart was broken.
The old man wished he had a potion to heal such a thing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“…. in reflection, I should have known what the outcome would be. As opposing armies clash with a mighty cheer, so it seemed that I should also clash with those I had once served….”
The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara
1206 – 1215 A.D.
“Where have youbeen?”
It was the first question out of John’s mouth when Sean appeared in the king’s private dining room adjacent to his bedchamber. There were a few retainers present but, for the most part, the king was supping alone. Sean realized it was because of the anticipation of Lady Sheridan; John had not wanted to share her so he had dismissed most of his entourage. But Sean was entering the room alone and instantly, the king’s fury, and distrust, was peaked.
“I was seeking safety for Lady Sheridan, sire,” Sean replied steadily, his clear blue eyes locked with the king’s black orbs. “She is too valuable to the cause not to amply protect. I apologize if I was gone overlong.”
D’Athée stood several feet behind the king, watching Sean with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Truth be told, he was enjoying this; Sean de Lara had been the perfect son for nine long years. Too long to serve in someone’s shadow. D’Athée could see that perhaps now there was a chance for him to be the favored retainer of the king. He was pleased with the fact that de Lara’s reputation was fading before his eyes.
John’s gaze lingered on Sean for several long moments; it was clear that his distrust of the man was growing. No matter what he had told him about marriage to the St. James woman, there was more to it. John could feel it. Others had even suggested it and, being a pliable man, John would readily agree. It was sickening to think his Shadow Lord was turning on him, turned by the head of a woman no less. After a properly suspicious pause, he returned to his food.
“I told you to bring her to sup with me,” he said casually. “Why did you disobey?”
“She has fallen ill,” Sean replied. “This day has been too much for her. Rather than tax her further, I have locked her away where she can rest. She will be well enough to entertain you another day.”
John lifted a dark eyebrow at him. “I do not want her another day. I wish to see her today. Go and get her.”
Sean could feel the test of wills coming. It was faster than he had anticipated. How he handled the king’s demands could very easily dictate the course of his future and the decisive end of nine horrible years. He could not destroy it now, not when all eyes were upon him. But he was facing a situation that he had never before faced; that as a husband protecting his wife. A man protecting the woman he loved. There was something overwhelming about that realization, fierce and crazed yet controlled and deadly. As much as he wanted to snap the man’s neck, he knew that he could not.
“It must be another day, sire,” Sean replied. “She is in no condition for socializing. If you push her, she will fail, and her health is very weak. She will be no good to us dead.”
John’s black eyes flared. He stood up, knocking over his chair in the process and placing himself up against Sean as if to forcibly intimidate him. But there was a tremendous difference in size and height, and the king merely looked like an angry childstanding before a man of Sean’s stature. Sean didn’t flinch as the king thumped him on the chest.
“Since when do you deny my orders?” he snarled.
Sean met him steadily. “I have explained to you my reasons, sire. They are beyond our control and I would ask that you trust me in this matter.”
The king’s cheeks flushed and his mouth began to work; Sean, Gerard and the few other retainers in the room could see that he was working himself up to a fit. It was a fast rise. When his fists began to clench and unclench and the veins on his neck throbbed, they knew the worst was coming.
“I do not believe you,” he hissed. “You have married this woman to keep her all to yourself. I have seen her; she is a beauty. You want her all for yourself!”
“I married her to better serve you, sire,” Sean answered steadily.
“Liar!” John screamed, spittle flying from his lips. Reaching out, he slapped Sean across the face, hard. “You are keeping her from me and I shall not have it. Do you hear me? I shall not have it! Bring her here if you value your life, de Lara. You will not disobey me!”
The slap hadn’t hurt in the least but Sean was beginning to sweat. He was starting to lose his patience against a madman and that was not a good sign.
“A dead heiress will do you no good,” he repeated as evenly as he could manage. “Bear in mind that I have lied, killed and absconded for you for over nine years. I know for what purpose you wish to see Lady Sheridan and it is not simply to talk to her. I know you well, sire, and I tell you now that whatever you have planned for her will kill her. She will not be able to handle it in her present state. Is that what you want? To kill her?”
The king lashed out again and hit Sean with a balled fist, once on the arm and once on the jaw. It was hardly enough to take notice and Sean watched as the king began to foam at the mouth.
“You are sworn to me, de Lara,” he sputtered, backing away from the mountain of a man. He jabbed a crooked finger at him. “You are sworn to me and must do what I command. And I command you to bring the woman!”
Sean’s face did not change expression. “I regret that I must deny you, sire.”
