“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 armorand 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.”
Sean reached over the old man and lifted Sheridan into his arms. Sobbing, she threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly. He cradled her, thinking that his best laid plans had failed to remove her from the Tower. She was still here and so was the king. More than that, the opposing armies were fast approaching. The situation was going from bad to worse, but allhe could think of at the moment was tending to his wife. The need seemed to block out all else.
“That man,” he snapped to the soldiers around him, indicating de Braose. “Someone bring him. And be mindful of his injuries.”
Leaving de Vere standing next to the cart scratching his head, Sean carried Sheridan across the darkened yard toward the apartments they had so recently vacated. Gilby was shuffling behind him and even further back, two soldiers carried de Braose between them. They made a strange procession across the dark and eerie courtyard with the smell of smoke in the air from the approaching battle.
The quarters were just the same as they had left them and the fire had long since died in the hearth. Sean ordered one of the soldiers to relight the flame as he carried Sheridan into the bedchamber. As de Braose was deposited into one of the chairs, Gilby followed Sean into the room.
“Lay her down,” the old man instructed. “I must sew the gash before it begins sealing itself too much.”
Sean tried to lay Sheridan down but she clung to him. She was scared and hurt, finding comfort in the arms of the husband she was so glad to see. When he realized she wasn’t about to let him go, he squeezed her gently.
“Release me, sweetling,” he said softly. “Gilby needs to see to your leg.”
