Sage: Medieval Romance Beauties With Blades

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She pulled out the other parchment pieces and spread them on the ground beside the copy in case Marcus came over. She could use them to cover the replica of the book.

  She paused in her work as guilt made her doubt her actions. She looked at Marcus as he lifted the horse’s leg from the ground. She should feel no loyalty toward him, even if he was teaching her to read. She would decode the book with him or without him. Either way, she would have answers.

  He held the horse’s leg between his knees and used a dagger to work a rock from the horse’s hoof. His blond hair was streaked with light from the setting sun. His forest-green tunic was tight over his biceps. She sighed softly.

  Scowling fiercely, she dragged her attention back to the book. What was wrong with her?

  As he finished up with the horse’s hooves, Sage blew on the ink to dry it. Then, watching him as he led the horse to the stream, she folded the parchment copy of the book and slipped it back into her boot.

  She glanced down at the book and then the coded parchment beside it. Some words made sense, but others not at all. She heard Marcus come up to her, the leaves crunching beneath his booted feet.

  She glanced up at him. “Will you teach me to read?”

  He smiled. “We should decode the book for a bit, and then I will teach you.”

  She nodded and turned back to the book.

  Marcus sat beside her.

  “I was thinking…” Sage mused. “If we knew what the book was about, perhaps it would be easier to find words that fit the structure.”

  Marcus was silent, contemplating. “It could be about anything, but…”

  She shifted her full attention to him. Did he know more about what secrets were hidden in the book’s pages than he was saying?

  “If I had to guess, I would say it was about the Templar treasure.”

  Sage looked down at the parchment pages in surprise. Treasure? Anxiety peppered her skin.

  “It could be a list of all of the treasures. Or where it’s hidden. Or what it is. Gold. The Ark of the Covenant. Spells.”

  For the first time, Sage realized how much trouble this book could cause her. “Spells?” she echoed.

  “There are rumors the Templars used dark magic to hide the treasure.”

  Sage shook her head. “The Templars? The knights who work for God? The Christian knights endorsed by the church? I don’t believe they would use spells, especially dark magic.”

  “Maybe. And maybe, they are not as holy as everyone believes. Either way, we should keep an open mind when deciphering it.”

  Together, they worked on the book. Like the night before, Marcus gave her some ideas and suggestions. They both hunched over the book, Sage on her knees and Marcus sitting cross-legged beside her. His knee rested against her thigh, and for some reason, shivers climbed up her body. For a moment, she was distracted by his knee. The gentle brush and warm pressure sent heat flaring through her. Her breathing came in short gasps, and she wasn’t certain if it was her excitement at decoding the book or…

  She looked at Marcus. His hair was cut short, but his locks were full and curling at his nape. His chiseled jawline was grizzled with a day’s growth and in need of a shave. His nose was straight and proud. He shifted his eyes to her. Blue. Like the sky. Her gaze dropped to his lips.

  Oh, she wanted to kiss him.

  A group of birds exploded from the trees next to them.

  Sage’s mind was foggy, but every instinct she had reacted. Her hand dropped to the pommel of her sword and her body tensed.

  Marcus saw her reaction and swung his head toward the trees where the birds had flown from.

  His movement was enough to snap Sage from her reverie. She shot to her feet as Marcus drew his blade.

  Four men burst from the cover of the trees and bushes, rushing toward them, swords drawn. They wore white tunics emblazoned with the red crosses of the Templar knights.

  Marcus stepped forward as if to protect Sage, intercepting the blow of the first knight. She would have been insulted, but she had no time.

  Marcus blocked swings from the first two knights, and Sage moved to his side to join him, crossing swords with one of the others. She was quick, blocking first an arcing blow and then a swing. When another knight attacked her, her instincts took over. Her father had taught her and her sisters well, insisting on daily practices. It was second nature to her to fight. But she had never been as good as Raven.

  Now, fighting for her life, it didn’t matter. She spun out of the way of a swinging blow and blocked the second knight’s arc. She kicked the other one back as he raised his blade over his head. She was taught to fight with everything she had; her feet, elbows, and even her head could be weapons. She lunged, shoving the blade into the first knight’s stomach. She was shocked for a moment when it entered. She had expected it to glance off of armor beneath his tunic.

  She couldn’t dwell on the fact. She had to finish the other one. She pulled her sword free and sidestepped the second knight’s lunge. He added a hard punch across her cheek that she was unprepared for. It sent her flying to the ground. Her sword spun from her grip.

  Her mind whirled from the blow. Her father would not be pleased. Her sword was an arm’s reach away. She could hear her father saying, “‘If you lose your sword, you’re dead.’” Fallen leaves crunched behind her—the knight was approaching. She waited until he was close enough before plowing plowed her foot into his knee. He cried out in pain.

  She lurched toward her weapon. Her hand closed around the pommel of her sword and she rolled onto her back, holding the tip of the blade up.

  The knight loomed over her, bringing his blade down, leaning forward into his blow.

  Sage shoved her weapon up and, as his sword came down, she moved her head to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade.

  Time seemed to stop with the knight looming over her like a canopy. She half-expected him to pull out a dagger and continue fighting. Only when blood dripped from the corner of his lips did she relax and push him off her. He tumbled limply to the ground at her side.

  “Sage!” Marcus called, his voice distressed.

  She turned her head, and her hair snagged, preventing her movement. “I’m okay,” she assured, lifting her hand to check what was holding her hair down. It was the knight’s long blade, impaled in the ground on her braid.

  Marcus ran over to her, his concerned gaze sweeping her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Sage answered, trying to tug her hair free. She stopped and shifted her gaze to him. “Are you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Sage continued pulling at her locks to free her hair. She reached up to grasp the handle of the sword but couldn’t work up enough force to pull it from the ground. “I’m stuck.”

  Marcus walked to the sword and yanked it from the ground. He tossed it aside and dropped to his knees beside her.

  She sat up, staring at him. That was close. That blade had missed her throat by inches. Father would not be pleased. She rubbed her neck to make sure she wasn’t cut.

  Marcus’s jaw dropped open in shock.

  “What?” Sage demanded. Was she bleeding? Her hand moved over her neck, across her jaw. There was no injury, no blood. “What?” Her cheek stung from the blow, but there was no wound.

  He glanced at the ground. “I hope you’ve always wanted short hair.” He picked something up and held it out to her.

  The twisted lock of hair swung back and forth in his fingers.

  For a moment, Sage gaped in confusion at it. Her braid! Slowly, dread spread through her, and she lifted her hand to touch the top of her head, running her fingers down the strands to the ends. Some strands were longer, but most were cut off at her shoulders. Her hair had used to go down to her waist. That was why she braided it—so it wouldn’t get in the way of her sword fighting.

  Now, her hair stopped just above her shoulders. Stunned, she couldn’t look away from the braid in Marcus’s fingers, and she couldn’t stop fee
ling for the length that used to extend beyond her shoulders. All three of the Hawke sisters had long hair. What would her father say?

  The thought sent dread through her again.

  Her father would say that was too close of an encounter. She had been careless. She bowed her head under his imagined chastisement. And then, he would say never to mind her hair. She was alive. Instead, she should figure out who these knights were.

  “Are you well?” Marcus asked with sympathy, lowering the braid to place it on the ground.

  Sage nodded. Her father was right. She stood and looked around at the two knights near her, and the other two Marcus had slain lying steps away. “I’m alive. You’re alive. Hair doesn’t matter. These men wanted to kill us.” She stood over one, her gaze coming to rest on the crimson stain spreading across his white tunic and on the red cross on his chest. Templar knights. But were they, really?

  Her eyes narrowed. “These men are not Templar knights.”

  Marcus glanced at them. “They wear the crest of the order.”

  Sage bent and lifted the knight’s white tunic to reveal a brown tunic beneath. “They were disguised as Templar knights. But he wears no armor. This man is no knight.”

  Marcus moved to the two other men he had slain. He knelt at one’s side and peeled back the man’s tunic. “No armor on this one, either.”

  Sage stared down at the man she had killed. His dark hair lay across the weed-covered ground. His eyes were open and glassy, blood trickling from his lips. It must be because of the book. That was the only thing they had of importance that was worth killing over. Wasn’t it? She looked at Marcus. His hands skimmed the body of the fallen man, searching. How much did she truly know about him? Could someone want to kill him for another reason? Or was it an enemy of her father?

  She glanced back at the man on the ground. But why were they disguised... Who would want to frame Templar knights? A sudden chill of realization ran down her spine.

  The king.

  It was rumored that the king owed the Templar knights a huge sum of coin, and he did not like how powerful they had become. Still, this was sloppy, as if it were organized quickly. Surely, the king would have been able to send more skilled men, or at least men who wore armor. Sage doubted it could have been the king.

  Marcus cast a glance at the surrounding forest. “We should leave here and find another place to rest for the night.”

  Sage nodded, her gaze scanning the darkening woods. She quickly moved to the book and collected the parchment, ink, and quill. She placed the book in her armor and put the ink and quill in the saddlebags by the horse.

  Marcus searched the men, removing daggers, coins, and anything else of value.

  Sage glanced again at the four deceased false Templar knights. Who were these men? Had the king truly hired them? Who would want to kill them?

  What had she gotten into?

  Chapter 12

  Marcus purposely backtracked and rode through the stream, attempting to throw off their trail anyone following them. Who would want to kill them? This had to be about the book; there was no other explanation.

  When he was convinced that they were safe and no one was trailing them, he stopped the horse near the stream. A small clearing surrounded by thick trees offered them a hidden spot to rest. The tall trees at the edge of the stream would shelter them. They would hear attackers sloshing across the stream. There would be no element of surprise.

  Sage slid from the horse, and he dismounted. He tethered the steed to a tree.

  “We should take turns on watch,” Sage suggested.

  “I don’t think we were followed,” Marcus assured. Guilt weighed heavily on Marcus’s shoulders every time he happened a glance at Sage, which was often. Her short hair was a testament to how close she had come to losing her life. The blame built, brick upon brick inside of him, weighing him down. She shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t worth endangering her life. He still had to admit that without her help, the men would have most likely overpowered him, taken the book, and killed him. She had helped to defeat the four attackers.

  He took a deep breath as he removed the saddlebags from the horse. It was that damned book. So many people were hunting for it. Sterling. The real Knights Templar. And now...the mysterious attackers who had been dressed as Knights Templar.

  He looked at Sage. She stood by one of the trees, the leather-bound book in her hand. She was always trying to decode it; always had the book in front of her. And yet...she couldn’t read. She certainly could sound words out. But it would be difficult and time-consuming to put sentences together and even more difficult for her to decipher the book.

  The more he thought about the fact that Sage could not read, the more convinced he was that she would take too long to decode the book. At the chateau, he had overheard her and Nicolas talking. But it was clear he had misheard. Sage was not a decoding expert.

  If she couldn’t read, if she couldn’t decipher the book, then she was of no use to him. He tried to ignore the remorse swirling inside of him at the sight of her chopped locks. He didn’t want to drag her across the countryside if he didn’t have to. Not with so many after him and the book. Marcus glanced over his shoulder at Sage. She held the book before her, her lips moving in silent rhythm as she sounded words out.

  He knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath in preparation and looked at Sage. Her pert little nose was buried in the book. One would think that after the confrontation, she would be scanning the forest for attackers. “Sage.”

  She glanced up in a daze and then blinked, coming to her senses. She approached him, her curvy hips swaying with her steps. “Will you teach me?”

  Stunned, Marcus stared at her for a moment. It was as if being attacked by killers was an everyday occurrence for her. Her uneven locks, shorter on one side than the other, only added more resolve to Marcus’s conviction. He looked down at the saddlebags in his hand. “You are free to go.”

  Surprise washed over her features before a scowl settled on her brow. She glanced around at the forest and then pinned him with a confused, angry gaze. “But you haven’t taught me how to read.”

  This was for the best, Marcus reminded himself. He would not take responsibility for her. He didn’t want her hurt because of him. He licked his lips and gazed at the book, holding his hand out for it.

  She retreated, pulling it protectively against her chest. “You promised to teach me to read.”

  Marcus lowered his hand and lifted his chin. “I made the promise under false circumstances.”

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “Have you ever decoded a book?”

  Her frown deepened. “What does that have to do with your promise?” she demanded.

  “When I kidnapped you, when I made the promise to teach you to read, it was under the assumption you had decoded before.”

  “Are you saying you don’t think I can do it?” she demanded.

  Marcus tried to remain calm. Couldn’t she see he was doing this to keep her safe? “I’m saying you can’t read. That will make deciphering the book difficult.”

  Her brows drew down harshly, angrily, over her eyes. “You don’t think I can do it,” she insisted.

  “Sage,” he pleaded.

  “You don’t think I can decode the book,” she accused with a clenched jaw.

  “Not right now,” he admitted.

  She went silent. Her composure wavered with hurt. He saw it in her eyes, in the small quiver of her chin. The sudden need to comfort her washed over him.

  He fought the urge and tried to explain, “I think in the future you probably could—”

  “Don’t,” Sage snapped. She straightened her shoulders. “I can do it now. You’re making a huge mistake.”

  He shrugged in agreement. “Probably.” He held his hand out for the book.

  “Your daughter is lucky to be with someone else, someone who doesn’t blatantly break their promises,” she said harshly.

  Her words wer
e barbed and hit home. They were a repeat of his own opinions that had echoed in his mind. He knew she only said it to hurt him. And it did. He thrust his hand out to her, demanding the book.

  “I thought you wanted to decode this book. I thought you wanted to know what it said, why your cousin wanted it so badly.”

  She was right. He did. But she couldn’t do it.

  “I do,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

  “Then let me finish. Let me work on it. Give me a couple of days,” she pleaded.

  He shook his head and held his hand out firmly.

  Her shoulders sagged. She reluctantly handed him the book.

  He took it and a stab of regret sliced through him. Ridiculous regret. He knew he was right in this matter.

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

  She deserved to know the truth. He couldn’t give her the entire truth. It would be insulting to her if he told her he was doing it to keep her safe. She was a Hawke. She didn’t need protecting. “I saw real Templars in the last village,” he admitted.

  “Templar knights?” she repeated. Her gaze traveled over his face.

  “They are searching for me, for the book. If I am caught, I don’t want you punished for my actions.”

  She chuckled. “I wouldn’t be.” She crossed her arms. “Remember, you were the one who kidnapped me. You were the one who killed Brother Nicolas. Don’t worry. I’ll tell them the truth.”

  He sighed softly. “Your family is also tracking us.”

  Sage turned and glanced over her shoulder as if she expected them to appear from the forest. “How do you know?”

  He gazed at her in disbelief. She knew they were. Why deny it?

  She shifted uneasily.

  There was something suspicious in her movement. He stared at her warily for a moment. “You know they are.”

  She nodded. “Probably.”

  “Definitely.”

  She reluctantly nodded again. “I’m surprised they haven’t found us already.”

  “What do you think they will do when they find us?”

  A grin spawned over her lovely lips. “Skin you alive.”