Sage: Medieval Romance Beauties With Blades

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “I have a horse tethered near the road.”

  “And then where?”

  “I have been well-paid to deliver the book.” His cousin had commissioned him to retrieve it.

  “Deliver it to whom?” Sage asked. When Marcus didn’t answer, she continued, “Why do you need it decoded if you’re just going to hand it over to someone?” She came up beside him, studying his face.

  He glanced at her. “Why would you have the book decoded before giving it to someone?”

  Sage brushed off his statement with a rolling of her eyes. “I would want to know exactly what the book hid. What was inside.” She stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then, her eyes narrowed. “I would want to know what was so important to pay someone to kill for.”

  He grinned. He continued down the small hill, rolling his shoulder to keep her belt in place.

  “If you knew what was inside, you could either use it for your benefit or negotiate for more coin,” Sage continued.

  She might be too smart for her own good. He wanted to prove to Guillume that he was capable of any mission given him. He glanced at the darkening sky just as a bolt of lightning lit it. “It’s going to rain. We have to get inside.”

  “Inside where?”

  “We’ll go into the town. I know people there.”

  “Who are you?”

  He stopped and turned to her. “My apologies. I am Marcus de Nogarert.” He bowed slightly.

  Sage scowled at him as if trying to place him.

  He sighed softly, knowing questions would follow, and walked down the hill. “You’ve heard of my cousin, Guillume de Nogaret.”

  “Yes! He attacked Pope Boniface and had Pope Benedict poisoned.”

  “There was never proof of that.”

  “Well, he did lead the attack on Boniface. And he’s excommunicated.”

  “He will be absolved,” Marcus stated lamely. He always had to explain the actions of his cousin to those he met, which irked him. Although their names were the same, he was nothing like his cousin. “He is now the keeper of the seal and a very powerful man.”

  “To the king. Yes. I’ve heard that.”

  They walked to a dirt road lined by tall trees. Marcus led her across the path to a group of trees where a saddled horse was tied to one of them. He ran a hand along the black steed’s neck, and the horse tossed his head and nickered. Marcus whispered, “Easy, my friend.”

  Marcus looked back at Sage. She was looking down the road, possibly plotting another attempted escape. He had no time to be tracking an escaped woman. He walked back to her.

  “I want to know what secrets that book holds as much as you do.” He stared into her defiant brown eyes. They were wide and ringed with long, dark lashes. “I’ll let you hold the book…”

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and then she snapped it closed.

  “I know you lifted it from my pocket. I know you have it.”

  She shook her head as if to deny it but then stopped. “Maybe you dropped it in the tunnels.”

  “And perchance, you have it tucked inside your armor.” His gaze swept over her shapely figure, her leather armor adhering to each curve. He didn’t know where she had hidden it, but he knew it was there.

  “We should go back to the tunnels and check,” she advised.

  He stepped closer to her. “Or I can search you. That would be a much more pleasant option.”

  Her lips pursed in disapproval, and she scowled stubbornly.

  “As I was saying, I’ll let you hold onto the book for now, as I promised.”

  She grunted. “Such an honorable man,” she muttered.

  His insides tensed at the mockery. If she were a man, he would have belted her across the chin. As it was, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “Thank you.”

  Confusion flashed in her eyes before it disappeared.

  “You may hold the book until you have decoded it. Then, I must have it back to give to my cousin.” He held up a finger. “And you must promise not to attempt escape, or I will have to bind you.”

  Chapter 6

  Sage’s gaze swept over Marcus de Nogaret, assessing. He was no monk. Even though he wore the robe of a monk, he had a sword strapped to his waist. And he had her sword. It was much too expensive to abandon to a murderer. That was the only reason she had not run.

  Marcus was tall, about as tall as her father, and wore his blond hair pushed back from his face, likely to appear similar in appearance to a monk. Despite all his flaws, he wanted the same thing she did. He wanted the book decoded. And then what? After she did it—or worse yet, failed to do it—would he kill her as he had Nicolas? “I don’t trust you.”

  “We are even on that account. Still, I must have your word, or I will have to bind you.”

  “Why would you believe me? I could lie.”

  “You are a Hawke. Your word is your oath.”

  He was right. She and her family never lied. Well, not to others. They stretched the truth quite a bit with one another, but never to others. She couldn’t give her word. She knew she would try again and again to escape him—especially since she didn’t know what he would do once he got what he wanted. “Am I to give you my word only to then be murdered?”

  “Murdered?” he echoed in surprise. He shook his head in disappointment and returned to the horse, removing her belt and sword from his shoulder.

  Sage knew she had no choice. She had to try to escape. Now.

  She had to do something. Her gaze moved over the area. The hill behind her would be too difficult to run up. He would catch her too easily. The road stretched in either direction. Trees lined the side of the road.

  It was her best bet. She might be able to lose him in the trees.

  She waited a moment longer before rushing up to him and, with all her might, plowing her shoulder into his side. She hooked her foot around his ankle, tripping him when he attempted to gain his balance. She ripped her belt free of his hold and bolted toward the trees. If she could reach them, she had a chance of losing him.

  Her arms pumped; her legs sprinted across the dirt before the trees. Her focus was on the thick trunks of the trees, even as she heard his footfalls behind her. Her breathing came in quick gasps, and blood pounded in her ears. If she could only make it to the cover of the tree line. She knew he was chasing her and pushed herself to go as fast as she could. Just a little more. Just…

  He lunged, seizing her around the legs, and tackled her to the ground.

  Sage kicked backwards, catching him in the chin, and crawled away. As she attempted to get to her feet, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back down to the ground.

  Sage squirmed while trying to break free of his grip, her fingers digging into the dirt as she crept forward, but he flipped her onto her back. She tried to hit him with her sheathed sword, but he snatched the belt from her and tossed it aside.

  He pinned her to the ground with the full weight of his body.

  She balled her fist for a blow to his face. When she swung, he caught her hand and shoved it against the ground. With her free hand, she reached up to grab his hair at the side of his head, tugging with all her strength.

  Marcus grimaced in pain, clenching his teeth, and seizing her wrist. For a moment, they were frozen in a impasse.

  “That hurts,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She entwined her fingers tightly in his locks of hair. “Then let me go.”

  His lip twitched in fury above his straight teeth. “You can pull out all of my hair, but I’m not going to let you go.”

  She knew he was right. She would eventually have to release his hair, and he would win. She tried to wiggle her balled fist from his hold, but he held it firmly to the ground. She lifted her torso from the ground, attempting to buck him off her, but he pushed her down with the weight of his body. Her mind churned, trying to come up with a solution, but she knew she had lost. There was no way to break free. Just to spite him, she yanked his hair harder
before releasing her grip.

  Immediately, he shoved her wrist to the ground, so both were pinned. He held her there for a long moment, gazing in anger down at her. His stare raked her face and settled for a moment on her lips.

  A strange tingling sensation swept through her before she lifted her chin bravely and defiantly.

  With a growl, he rolled off her and hauled her to her feet. He kept his hand shackled over her right wrist as he bent to pick up her sheathed sword.

  She clenched her teeth as he pulled her back to his horse.

  He dropped her sword to the ground and tugged open one of the saddlebags. He reached inside and dragged out a rope. “Give me the book.”

  Panic rushed through Sage, and her lips thinned in determination.

  With a quick yank, he tugged her against him, so their bodies touched, and he lifted his hand to plunge it down the front of her armor.

  Horrified, angered, she slapped at his hand with her free hand. “I’ll get it.”

  When he lowered his hand, she stepped away from him, still shackled to him by her right wrist. She shoved her hand down the front of her armor and easily found the book. She hesitated for a moment, glaring at him. A red mark had formed on his cheek where she kicked had him. Satisfied at the mark, she pulled the book free.

  He snatched it from her hand and tossed it to the ground.

  A spear of lightning forked in the sky above their heads, and Sage cringed.

  He grabbed her free hand and pushed her wrists together, wrapping the rope around them.

  Sage scowled. She had lost this battle. But the war was just beginning. Marcus didn’t know she was leaving a trail for her sisters of ripped parchment from the page she had taken from Brother Nicolas.

  Marcus rode with Sage before him into the town. She sat sidesaddle and his hands wrapped around her to grip the reins, just in case she decided to slide from the horse and flee.

  His jaw still ached from her kick, but he resisted the urge to caress it. He wouldn’t let her know she had hurt him. He had mistaken her for a timid woman, not a woman who would fight to escape. It was a mistake he would not make again. Everything he had heard of the Hawke women was true. He would not forget it.

  Yet, he thought back to when he had to restrain her, when he was on top of her. Her lips. Her full, wet lips. When he had her pinned to the ground, his gaze had found her lips, even in his anger. It was the most ridiculous thing. And now, he thought of them again, wondering what they would taste like. He scoffed silently. That would never happen. And he didn’t want it to.

  The sky was dark, and lightning flashed above their heads, followed by a loud boom. He steadied his horse and urged the animal through the street.

  Most of the villagers were scrambling to get to cover before the storm hit. A woman seized her boy’s hand, pulling him into a daub and wattle cottage. A man led a horse beneath the shelter of a building. A child chased a duck across the road toward home.

  Marcus steered the steed toward the smithy, spurring it into a gallop. Gareth, the blacksmith, was a family friend. Marcus had known him his entire life. On his travels, his father had often visited Gareth’s shop for weapons. Many knights sought Gareth out for his expertise in sword making, including Templars and the king. He boasted loyalty to the king, but Marcus knew his true loyalty was to coin.

  As the first big drops began to fall from the sky, Marcus reached the smithy and guided the horse into the small yard.

  A young boy with bowl-cut dark hair rushed out of the wooden building to greet them. When thunder clapped overhead, the boy flinched.

  Marcus held the horse steady with a firm hand as he attempted to rear. He quickly flipped the boy the reins and swung his leg over the horse to dismount. He turned to help Sage, only to find her easing from the saddle and landing on the ground on her feet. As the sky opened with a deluge of water, he took her arm and hurriedly directed her inside the smithy.

  As he entered, he brushed the water from his eyes and scanned the room.

  It was organized chaos. Against the wall, swords, axes, and horseshoes hung, all forged by Gareth. Against the back wall, a large stone oven stood, its fire long since smothered. A bellows stood before the forge to keep the coals hot. A square anvil was positioned to the side of the forge. Beside this, a bucket of water stood nearby. Hammers, tongs, and the rest of his tools were organized around the walls. The smell of burning metal hung thickly in the air.

  A door at the side of the room opened. A short man, with a balding head and gray hair that hung in strings on the sides of his face, strolled out.

  Marcus noticed he was not wearing his leather apron, so he knew Gareth was done working for the day.

  Gareth’s gaze swept Sage and then lit on Marcus. A grin stretched his lips. “Marcus!”

  Marcus stepped forward and grasped his arm just below the elbow.

  Gareth returned the greeting, slapping him on the shoulder.

  “Good to see you, old friend,” Marcus said.

  “Old friend?” Gareth winced. “That means you need something. Whenever you call me ‘old friend,’ you want something.”

  Marcus put a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

  “Do I?” Gareth asked. “When was the last time you visited without asking me for a favor?”

  Marcus bridled, not being able to think of even one time he had come for only a visit. “I’m busy.”

  Gareth nodded. “As I suspected.” He glanced at Sage and then back at Marcus. “What is it this time?”

  “A night out of the storm is all I ask.”

  Gareth glanced at Sage again. He draped an arm around Marcus’s shoulder and led him into a corner away from Sage. “Do you have something else to tell me?”

  Marcus watched Sage intently as he inhaled and let it out slowly. “Nothing you want to know.”

  Gareth’s face fell with seriousness. His lips pursed. “Do not get me involved in anything, Nogaret. I don’t want trouble.”

  “That’s why I’m not telling you.”

  Gareth rolled his eyes. “One night. That is all. You and your ‘friend’ can sleep in the loft for the night.”

  Marcus nodded, grateful. “Thank you.” He glanced at Sage. “This way.” Marcus guided Sage up a set of stairs to a door. He opened it and allowed her to enter before he did.

  The room was small, with one straw mattress against the wall across from the door. A lit candle and flint and steel lay near the door.

  Sage stalked across the room and sat on the straw, leaving Marcus to stand before the door. He closed it softly.

  She glared hotly at him until the boy knocked quietly on the door. When Marcus opened it, he handed him a meal of bread and ale. Marcus bobbed his head in thanks and shut the door. He offered some to Sage, but she lifted her chin and turned away, refusing to eat. She sat with her back against the wall, and her knees pulled up to her chest, watching him.

  Marcus ate. He was no fool. He was going to need all his strength to watch her. He did not untie her. He couldn’t trust she wouldn’t try to escape again. Although, she didn’t have the book. Marcus dropped his hand to his pocket to be certain. With relief, he felt the rectangular shape. That gave him reason to hope she would not attempt another escape.

  His gaze shifted to her belt and scabbard resting beside him. He knew he would return her sword to her soon. Foolish as he was, he wouldn’t keep it. She would be safer with her weapon in case robbers or Templar knights attacked them.

  When he had finished eating, he extinguished the candle and stretched out on the hard floor in front of the door.

  Thunder rumbled over their heads, and the onslaught of rain hitting the roof pounded through the room. Gareth had seemingly vanished. It was better that way, Marcus thought. Gareth didn’t need to interact with Sage. Who knew what she would tell him?

  A Hawke.

  Of all the women, why did it have to be a Hawke?

  She was trouble.

  Her family would be searching for he
r. Relentlessly. But nothing would stop him from delivering that book to his cousin and collecting the reward. Nothing.

  He heard movement and glanced toward the mattress against the opposite wall. As a flash of lightning lit the room through a slat at the bottom of the door, he saw her sitting up like a specter in the night. “Are you well?”

  “I would like to see the book,” she replied quietly.

  “For what?”

  “It is difficult to decipher if I can’t see it.”

  Marcus hesitated, wondering what type of trick this was. But she was correct. She couldn’t decode it without seeing it. “You should sleep. We’ll be riding for a while on the morrow.”

  “I should. But I can’t.”

  After a moment of indecision, he reached into his pocket and pulled the book out. He handed it to her.

  She took it eagerly, even though her hands were bound.

  He felt guilty, leaving her bound. But she had brought it upon herself. He would have been happy enough to leave her unbound. Now, she had made that impossible.

  “Can you light the candle?” Sage asked.

  Suspicion narrowed his eyes. Was he this mistrustful of every one of her requests? With a sigh, he leaned forward and used the flint and steel beside the candle to light it.

  “I need a piece of parchment and quill,” she replied.

  At least that was an innocent request. He opened the door and called down to the boy, instructing him to bring parchment and quill.

  Then he closed the door and sat back against it. Thunder rolled overhead. His eyes rested upon Sage. She had removed her hair from the braid, and now her brown locks hung in waves about her shoulders. She was a thin girl, but he knew from personal experience that she could fight.

  She was not concerned with him. Her full concentration was taken up with the book.

  A knock came at the door, and Marcus opened it slightly. The boy handed the quill, parchment, and ink to him. Marcus nodded appreciatively before shutting the door. He passed them to Sage.

  He leaned back against the door, relaxing one hand on his bent knee. It was going to be a long night.