“Your sister?” the same soldier echoed. “Who is that?”
“The Lady Sheridan St. James.”
“Never heard of her. What would she be doing here?”
“She would be looking for…,” Alys didn’t want to divulge too much. She tried again. “Have you seen a woman arrive here in the past hour? She would be a lovely woman, blond. That is my sister.”
The soldiers looked at each other before shaking their heads. “No woman has come here in the past hour,” the older soldiersaid. He jabbed a finger at the men on the walls. “In case you haven’t realized it, we’re anticipating a battle. If you came by yourself, then you are a stupid girl. And if not, your escort had better be prepared to pay a high price to have you returned. You are here to stay, missy.”
Alys was becoming increasingly afraid. She did not like the sense that she was getting from these men.
“Perhaps… perhaps I could go and find the king myself,” she stammered. “I know where his apartments are.”
She didn’t wait to be escorted; leaving the horse standing where she left it, she scuttled off into the darkened yard, putting distance between herself and the leering soldiers. But a couple of men ran after her and she bolted, darting across the barren yard and into the shadows.
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 someonecalling 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?”
