Sean shook his head weakly. “Are you serious? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because of your wife,” Guy finally fixed him in the eye. “Make no mistake; what I did, I did for her.”
Sean gazed steadily at the young man. “I would not assume otherwise.”
Guy maintained his pointed gaze a moment longer before relenting. “Besides,” he said, averting his eyes. “You saved me from the dungeons. I should return the favor.”
Sean snorted softly. “A noble attitude. But you are not in much better shape than I am at the moment.”
“At least I am not bleeding to death.”
Sean sighed heavily, conceding the point. “Then I owe you a great deal of gratitude,” he said. “Where is Sheridan?”
“The priest is taking her from this place.”
“Where is he taking her?” Sean suddenly grew agitated. “Have they left already?”
Rapid, shuffling footfalls interrupted before Guy could answer. Gilby was abruptly beside Sean, his old face etched with a good deal of concern.
“Good God, de Lara,” the old man muttered, pushing Guy back so that he could assess the damage. “I thought you said that Gerard was dead?”
Sean lay back on the ground, staring up at the starry night and thinking so many thoughts that it was difficult to grasp one.His most powerful thought was of Sheridan; he did not want to acknowledge that he was dying but he knew it was the truth. He had seen enough battle wounds to know. He reached out and grasped Gilby by the arm as the old man inspected the groin wound.
“Do not let Simon take Sheridan away, not now,” his voice was hoarse. “I will not make it from this place, Gilby. You know this. I want to see my wife before… before I pass.”
Gilby cast a long glance at Guy, who gazed back with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. They both knew how dire the situation was and neither one would refuse the request of a dying man.
“You will not pass if I can help it,” Gilby said steadily. “But I will send young de Braose to find your wife. Perhaps they have not left yet.”
Gilby nodded sharply at Guy, who struggled to his feet and took off as fast as his injured body would allow. When the young lord moved away, Gilby began attending to Sean’s groin wound.
“Stay with me, Sean,” he said evenly. “Do not go to sleep. Stay awake.”
Off to the west, the sounds of a battle began to fill the air as the attackers broke through the gate. But Gilby ignored the sounds, concentrating on saving Sean’s life.
“Gilby?” Sean muttered.
“What is it?”
“Do you remember I told you earlier that if I die this evening, I will die the most fulfilled man who has ever lived?”
“I do.”
“I lied. I want to see my children.”
Gilby glanced at the man, giving him a half-grin. “I know you were lying,” he refocused on his task. “That is the problem with you, Sean; you are too noble. Now see what your sense of duty has cost you.”
Sean nodded faintly. “It will cost my life. But we always knew that was a possibility.”
The groin wound was bad; a main vessel had been nicked and Gilby was struggling to stop the bleeding. It had clotted somewhat but the flow was still heavy. Without any choice, he stuck his fingers deep into the wound to pinch the vessel closed, feeling Sean flinch with pain as he did so. But the man didn’t utter a sound. With his other hand, Gilby took his needle and cat gut and tried to throw a stitch into the big vein. It was messy and excruciating. In the end, he wasn’t sure if he did any good given the fact that he could hardly see what he was doing, but he had to do something. Sean was bleeding to death before his eyes.
“Stay awake,” Gilby commanded softly, wrapping up the groin and going for the chest wound. “Do not go to sleep. Stay with me. Talk to me.”
Sean was still staring up at the sky. “I am here.”
“Tell me of Trelystan. I have never been to the Marches, you know.”
“How did you know about Trelystan?”
