She shook her head, still buried against his neck. “No,” she wept. “I want to stay with you.”
Sean and the physic passed glances. “I will not leave you,” Sean promised. “I shall stay right here until he is done.”
After a few encouraging kisses to her forehead and more words of reassurance, Sheridan eventually let him go and he laid her upon the bare mattress. He could see how terrified she wasjust by looking at her; the luminous blue eyes were edgy. His heart ached for her.
So he sat down and held her hand as Gilby gave her a bitter potion to drink and put seven fast, small stitches into the soft white flesh of her right thigh. Sean remembered that thigh from his brief taste of her, remembering its texture against his hands and feeling warmth in his loins from the mere thought. So he distracted himself by stroking Sheridan’s head, comforting her as Gilby finished the last of the stitches. She had, remarkably, kept quiet the entire time, mostly due to the potion Gilby had given her. It had calmed her sufficiently to the point of putting her to sleep.
When it was finally over, Sean watched her sleep for a few moments before casting a long glance at Gilby.
“Remember the last time you gave her a potion?” he asked pointed. “We could not wake her for hours.”
Gilby glanced at the lady as he put his things away. “This is not the same stuff. She will sleep through the night, no doubt, but it should not have the same effect on her.”
Sean returned his gaze to his wife, sighing heavily at the sight of her pale, sleeping face. He was relieved that the crisis, for the moment, was over. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered. “It has already been an eventful evening and it is not even half over with.”
Gilby tied up his bag. “What are you doing upon the walls? I thought you were going to the Marches.”
Sean stroked her soft cheek with a big finger. “The king has changed his mind. He wants me here, at the Tower, leading her defenses.”
Gilby nodded casually, putting his bag to the floor. “The Marshall should be pleased.”
Sean looked at him. “Do you know where he has gone?”
The old man shook his head. “I have been with young de Braose and your wife. I have no knowledge. You’d best check with the priest.”
Sean returned his gaze to Sheridan, breathing heavily as her sleep deepened. “I had to kill Gerard,” he muttered.
Gilby looked up at him, watching emotions play across the usually emotionless face. He thought of the ghastly bear of a man who was always at Sean’s side.
“Is that so?” he lifted his eyebrows. “It must have been an excellent fight.”
Sean sighed again, his gaze on his wife as he spoke. “The king demanded I bring him Sheridan. When I refused, he ordered Gerard to do it. So I killed him.”
Gilby shook his head. “Feel no remorse, de Lara. The man was a beast.”
“I do not feel guilty. But I have signed my death warrant.”
“Why?”
Sean suddenly seemed weary; some of the strength went out of his voice as he spoke. “Because the king’s trust in me was already dangerously brittle,” he let out a blustery sigh and wiped his hands over his face. “In killing Gerard, I killed the only other bodyguard that the king permits such close access to him. Now it is only me and the king has already seen me disobey him this night. If I know the man, and I believe that I do, he now fears me as well as distrusts me. Although he can live with distrust, he cannot live with fear and, like any creature, will do what is necessary to alleviate the threat.”
“So he will have you killed?”
“More than likely, he will try.”
“But he loves you, de Lara. He has taken great pride in your horrific reputation. Are you so sure he will turn on you?”
Sean nodded, slowly. “I would be surprised if he did not. I have shown him that I no longer mindlessly obey and that I willkill in order to refuse him his wishes. I have revealed my true self.” He shook his head, hanging it in a rare display of emotion. “Nine years, Gilby. I have ruined nine years of hard work, blood, sweat and pain.”
Gilby was listening seriously. “Then if that is the case, you must flee. Do what you must to sabotage the Tower defenses, but leave this place and take your wife with you. You are much more valuable to us alive than a dead martyr.”
Truth be told, Sean already had a plan in place to sabotage the Tower’s defenses. It had been decided long ago between him and The Marshall; as far as Sean still knew, as he had not been told differently, the allied army had orders to approach and attack from downriver; the fires to the north were only a diversion. Sean’s plan focused the Tower’s army on the north wall and well away from the river.
Sean scratched his head, feeling some need to confirm that the plan, as it was intended, still held. “That is why I need to find out where the Marshall has gone,” he told the old man. “Though I am still at the Tower, things are not as they once were. The situation has changed.”
Gilby moved for the door. “Let me find Father Simon. Perhaps he knows something. I will return.”
Sean put his hand on him. “Nay,” he said. “I will go. I move faster and more undetected than you. Stay with your patients until I return.”
