Sage: Medieval Romance Beauties With Blades

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Sage ignored him and slid to the ground. She didn’t need help. Not from him.

  It was interesting. At times, she was furious with him. At times, curious. At least he had not bound her hands again.

  He tied the horse’s reins to a tree near the stream to allow the horse to drink before turning to Sage. “The horse needs to rest.”

  Sage nodded.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “More curious.”

  “About?” He rummaged through the bags on the horse.

  “You.”

  He paused but didn’t look at her. Then, he pulled out a loaf of bread and returned to her side. He sat on the ground and held a piece out to her. She shook her head. He took a bite of the bread and watched her with his bright blue eyes, waiting. They caught the sun and were the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Gorgeous.

  She mentally shook herself. “Are you a knight?” she asked.

  “Would it matter?”

  No. Not in the least. But he hadn’t answered her question. “Do you know how to use that weapon?” She jerked her chin toward his sword.

  He lowered the bread and straightened his back. He swallowed his bite before answering, “Would you like to find out?”

  A grin twitched her lips. “Yes,” she answered with more enthusiasm than she wanted to show.

  He slowly rose.

  For the first time, Sage noticed his powerful movements, his grace. Like a lion. Intrigued, she waited for him to remove his weapon. She wasn’t sure if he really intended to cross swords with her. He knew who she was. He must know how good she was with a weapon.

  He returned to the horse and retrieved her belt and sword. He walked back to her and handed them to her.

  She stared at them, so very appreciative to finally wear them again. She strapped on her belt, relishing the familiar feel. She felt whole again.

  Slowly, purposely, he eased his blade from its sheath. The hiss was a familiar sound to Sage. Anticipation burned in her veins. Oh, this was going to be fun. She ached to exercise her body, and this was the perfect way to do so. If she unarmed him, she would tie him up, take the book, and make her escape. Suspicion wormed through her. He must realize that too. So, he must be good. She would not underestimate him.

  She drew her sword. It hissed like a snake ready to strike.

  He approached leisurely, lithely, and crossed blades with her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I told you before that I wasn’t afraid of you,” Sage answered, gazing at him through the crossed metal of the blades. Fighting wasn’t her favorite thing to do, but it certainly was exercise, and after a half-day of riding, she could use it. Plus, it gave her a chance to see how skilled he actually was with a sword.

  They stood that way for a moment before he exploded in swings, striking her blade again and again.

  The tings rang out through the small glade.

  Sage was hard-put to defend herself, but she was no beginner. She allowed him to drive her back; she allowed him to think he had the advantage as she watched for a weak spot in his attack. Anything. Instead, she was impressed by his skill. He used his whole body to direct the blow, and he was quick, powerful.

  She deflected his blows. Each strike against her weapon rippled up her arm.

  He caught her sword with his and swirled his wrist in a circle. If she had not been trained her entire life to fight, her weapon would have spun out of her hand. But she was trained. Well. She grinned. It was an admirable move. But not good enough. She held the pommel of her sword firmly.

  She planted her foot and stood her ground, defending against his blows.

  The swords clanged with each blow, ringing through the forest.

  For the first time in the encounter, Sage attacked, swinging her sword at him. He leaned away from her parries, and her blade hissed through the air in a semicircle, inches from his chest. She thrust, and he dodged to the side, bringing his sword up toward her neck.

  She stepped back, avoiding the tip of his blade.

  They circled one another. Sage breathed deeply. She admired his skill. But this was child’s play. They were testing each other.

  He lunged in, and she knocked his blade aside. She pushed forward with a cache of swings until she was close enough to hook her foot behind his. When he stepped back, he tripped and fell flat onto his back.

  Standing over him, Sage put the tip of her weapon to his neck.

  He grinned from his position on the ground. “Impressive.” He brought his blade up, pushing hers away, and rolled to his feet, bringing his weapon up before him.

  Sage held her sword with two hands, unmoving. He was good. She would give him that. But she wanted to escape with the book. Playtime was over. She attacked, driving forward.

  He knocked her sword aside and deflected each of her blows, answering with his own.

  It was a dance of death, a dance of skill. Thrusting and parrying. Swords rang out through the forest like the beat of a drum.

  Sage retreated to a tree trunk and ducked his swing. It lodged in the bark above her head, and she spun away. He pulled the weapon free and continued after her with a flurry of strikes.

  She knocked them away, using a two-handed grip on the handle of her weapon for more strength. She pushed one of his arcs aside, and he stumbled. Perchance over a branch or stone, she didn’t know which. He backed into the trunk of a tree. She quickly stepped in close, placing the side edge of her blade to his neck.

  Time froze. Her arm was bent, so the sharp side of the blade pressed against his throat.

  She had him.

  She won.

  His gaze moved over her face.

  She was so near to him that their bodies were touching, and Sage could feel the heat radiating from him. She held the blade to his neck, breathing deeply. She was suddenly aware of how close they were, how her breasts brushed his chest. Even through her armor, her nipples tingled and hardened. Her gaze swept his face. From his deep blue eyes to his sensual lips. She swallowed in a suddenly dry throat.

  “Well done,” he said.

  His voice was a husky whisper. And still, she did not move away from him. She had won! What was she doing? Escape! She pushed the blade tighter against his throat.

  He cocked his head slightly. “Always know how many weapons your opponent has on him.”

  She felt a slight pressure against her side, just below her armor, and looked down. He pointed a small dagger at her ribcage. Surprise and realization and finally, grudging admiration washed over her. She stepped back and lowered her sword. He was well trained. Skilled. And so very handsome.

  Shocked at the thought, Sage retreated another step. But now that the thought was in her mind, she suddenly noticed his blond hair hanging in curls to the nape of his neck and marveled at just how blue his eyes were. They sparkled as if some kind of rare gem.

  She scoffed at herself. What did she care how blue his eyes were? Would that help her decode the book? She should only care that he had ruthlessly killed Brother Nicolas and kidnapped her. Not how blue his eyes were, or the way his tunic fit over his chest and arm muscles.

  He sheathed his sword and returned to the horse.

  Sage looked down at her weapon. She could have escaped. It had been her chance. Disgusted at herself, she slid her sword into its scabbard. What would Raven say? Disappointment sagged her shoulders. She could have escaped with the book.

  At least she had a plan. She reached inside the pocket of her breeches and pulled out a small piece of parchment. She dropped it on the ground near a pile of leaves. Her sisters would know they had come this way.

  Unwillingly, her gaze followed his path and covertly watched him as he dug in one of the bags. She might be unhappy about her lost opportunity to escape, but at least she had something to distract her. And what a distraction he was.

  Chapter 9

  They traveled until sunset and rested for the night in a clearing. As the bright moon rose in the cloudless sky, Sage sat on
the ground, staring down at the open book. She finished copying the book as Marcus removed the saddle from the horse.

  She tucked the copied parchment of the book into her boot. Now she was ready to make her escape. She would do it tonight when he slept. In the meantime, she could attempt to decode the book. The challenge of figuring out the book’s secret was like a shadow constantly following her—the desire to decode the book burned in her veins. Imagine! If she could do this, she could do anything. Her father would finally be proud of her. He would finally see she was capable of more than just picking locks.

  Determined, her gaze swept the letters. The words all looked so foreign to her. None of them made sense because they were not words. When she sounded them out, they were incomprehensible. Her shoulders sagged.

  She would never decode it.

  Two pieces of parchment lay spread out beside the open book, one on either side. She flipped the feather of the quill back and forth across her lips in thought. What word was “zu” meant to be? In? Do?

  She looked from the book to her parchment where she had copied the first line. She specifically stared at that two-letter word. “Zu.” There were so many words it could be. She closed her eyes to concentrate. Of. In. To. How was she to know which word it was? She opened her eyes and gazed at the copied first line. If she couldn’t figure that out, she would never figure out the entire book. It was so frustrating. If she could only read longer words.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Marcus startled her. She whirled, her hand dropping to the pommel of her weapon beside her. Then, she sat back with an exasperated sigh. “No,” she snapped. Then, she forced herself to calm. “Sorry.”

  “Tell me what you’re working on.” He sat beside her, looking down at the book and parchment.

  “Are you offering to help me?” she scoffed. “I don’t need help.”

  “You look irritated, and it might help to talk about what you’re doing.”

  She sighed. What would it hurt? He’d never be able to figure it out, but she might get ideas from a fresh pair of eyes. “I’m trying to figure out what ‘zu’ stands for. See here?” She pointed to it in the book. “It must be a two-letter word. But there are so many two-letter words. In, of, to.”

  “Hmmm.” He stared at the page.

  The light of the moon washed over the parchment, illuminating the dark letters.

  She gazed at the first line, “Zgqk sgot xugj kgyz zu loxyz ixuyyxugj,” and concentrated on the “zu.”.

  “Both letters are in other words. See here?” She pointed to the first word. “Z is the first letter. U is here, here, and here.” Her finger skimmed along the line, pausing at the U’s.

  He bent forward, scowling. His arm brushed hers. Sage’s body tingled, and she glanced at him. His blond hair fell forward in waves. His brow was furrowed in focus. His lips pursed in a thin line.

  He was very handsome. She leaned toward him, inhaling. He smelled of the forest and leather.

  “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the second line in the book.

  She mentally shook herself and followed his finger to where he indicated. It was the second line, “Mu.” “That’s another two-letter word.”

  “They both have the same letter.”

  Prickles raced up her spine. They did.

  “What two-letter words have the same second letter?” They asked in unison.

  Sage stared at Marcus, a grin on her lips. “An? In?”

  “At. It. You should make a list.” He signaled the parchment. “Write the words down.”

  Sage agreed and flipped the parchment over. She dipped her quill into the inkpot and started writing the words. She had to go slow because she had to sound them out.

  “Go,” Marcus continued, watching her write. “Do. To.”

  “On,” Sage offered, writing the letters on the page.

  Marcus leaned forward, studying her list. “Do is spelled D-O. Not D-U.”

  “Oh.” She corrected the word on the parchment.

  Marcus nodded. “Of. He. Up. No.”

  Sage wrote as fast as she could sound the words out. “As.”

  “Is.”

  Sage sat back, gazing at the list. “There are so many. And this is probably not all of them.” Yet, she was already looking at the words that had the same second letter. “On and An. As, Is. Do, Go. No. At, It.” She flipped the parchment over and stared at the first line again.

  Marcus picked up the book.

  “Z is also the start of the first word,” Sage said aloud.

  “What letters do we have that the U could be?”

  Sage turned the parchment over, scanning the list. “Assuming we have all the words, which I am positive we do not, there is N, S, O, T.”

  Marcus surveyed the list of words on the parchment. His eyes moved back and forth between the book and the list of words. He leaned against her.

  His arm was firm. Sage was suddenly aware of how warm he was and how male. She glanced at him inconspicuously. He was so close she could smell pine in his hair.

  “I would say O. There are many words that end in an O.”

  Sage nodded and put an O where the letter U’s were in the first line. Then, she grabbed the other parchment piece where she had listed the alphabet and put an O next to the U.

  “What’s that?” Marcus asked, pointing to the parchment she wrote on.

  “That’s the code.”

  He reached out and took the parchment page from her, studying it.

  His hand was large, Sage noted. Firm. Capable. She briefly wondered what it would feel like if she touched it. She scowled and turned to the book. He was becoming a distraction to solving this puzzle. “This Z, the first letter…”

  He turned his attention back to the first line.

  “It is the first letter in the first word and the last letter in these two words.” She looked at him. “Which letter could it be?”

  Marcus picked up the parchment page where she had listed the two-letter words and scanned them. “D. G. T.”

  “‘To’ is a common word,” Sage suggested.

  “T it is,” he agreed with a nod.

  She dipped the quill into the ink and put the T in the places on the first line she saw the Z. She sat back, staring at the first line.

  Marcus offered her a piece of bread.

  She absently took it, biting off a piece and chewing as she contemplated. “The second line begins with another two-letter word, ‘Mu.’ According to our guess, that second letter is O.”

  “But it’s not ‘to’ because Z is T. Do? Fu? Goo? Hu? Loo?”

  Sage looked at him in disbelief. “Yes. Loo. This is a book on how best to use the privy. Everyone is searching for this book; people are dying for it—”

  He held up his hands in surrender, a breathtaking smile on his lips. “I was just going through the alphabet.”

  Sage had never seen his genuine smile before. It sent warmth spreading through her body. While she was beginning to admire him—he was skilled with a sword, and he was smart—she didn’t trust him.

  “Look here.” Marcus pointed to the book. “These words that end in T also have the same second-to-last letter.”

  She looked at the book and nodded.

  “Could that be S? A lot of words that end in T also end in S-T.”

  Lord, she wished she knew how to read. She could sound words out, but this was an entirely different matter.

  “Cost. Rest. Must. Test,” Marcus mused.

  She knew he was guessing, but it made sense. It was better than nothing. She wrote down S in place of all the Y’s. She sat back and stared at what they had. “To.” It was the only word they had deciphered. Maybe.

  Marcus grinned, satisfied and proud.

  Sage smiled at him. He was still very close to her. Their arms touched, and she felt the heat of his shoulder muscles. And she didn’t mind. She liked the way he smelled and the touch and sight of his body. Oh, this was bad. Very bad.

  “See th
is? It’s a four-letter word and a five-letter word. Could it be last to first?” Marcus asked, indicating the words.

  Sage stared at the letters. He was guessing again, but it was better than not trying. She wrote “last” and then “ferst.”

  “It’s f-i-r-s-t,” Marcus corrected her spelling.

  “Oh.” Sage altered the letters. She had sounded the word out. She couldn’t help that it sounded how she wrote it. She began to write in “‘last”‘ below the first line, in place of the letters.

  Marcus stopped her. “Do one letter at a time. Just in case it doesn’t work.”

  She did. The words still all looked foreign to her. She couldn’t sound anything out. There were too many letters missing. It made no sense to her. Her mind struggled to solve the puzzle.

  Marcus mused, “T, A, blank, L. What could that word be?”

  Sage began to work through the alphabet, plugging in letters and saying them in her mind. “Table?”

  Marcus looked at her with a frown of suspicion. “Your spelling is atrocious.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not one of my strong points.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How can you decipher this code if you can’t spell?” He straightened. “You do know how to read...don’t you?”

  Dread sliced through her. “Of course,” she lied instinctively, feigning indignation. “How could I figure this out if I can’t read?”

  “That was the third word you’ve spelled wrong.”

  Frustrated because he was right and he had seen through her defenses, Sage gathered the parchment and folded it together. Reading had always been her weakness. The one thing she wanted more than anything. It just was not viewed as important to the way her family lived. Not as important as sword fighting, or lock picking, or hunting. She shoved the parchment into the book and rose, embarrassed and angry. “So, I am not a perfect speller. That doesn’t mean I can’t read.” Even though she couldn’t.

  Marcus stood quickly, holding his hands out in supplication before him. “Sage, I didn’t mean to insult you. I just think decoding is more difficult if you can’t read.”