Her Honorable Mercenary--A dramatic Medieval romance

by Nicole Locke

  Evrart felt the blood drain from his body, and nothing but instinct kept his legs holding him up. Ten years with this family. Ten years during which he had heard of their schemes and their pursuit of the Jewell of Kings—a gem that was hidden inside a hollow-handled dagger. It was a legend like Excalibur...like the Holy Grail. Whoever held the Jewell of Kings held the power of Scotland.

  It was a story. The Warstones, even the King of England, believed it. Evrart liked the story, and didn’t like to think of Ian’s mutterings about a treasure and a parchment safely hidden being part of it, though he knew it was.

  A treasure? He didn’t want to think of the Warstones gaining more wealth for more power.

  And truly he wasn’t supposed to know that the Warstones were after any of it. Ian had never, not once, spoken of it directly to him before. What would the Warstones do to his mother and sister when they realised that he had?

  Ian tsked again. Shook his head. ‘Lost! And now it may be too late for me. At least there are a few things I can do to catch my parents unawares, but I have planning to do for that... I do.’ Striding towards the door, he added, ‘Get someone to clean that up. Keep her in my chambers. She’s not to go anywhere. Anywhere.’

  Evrart needed to find his voice. ‘The garderobe?’ She’d asked for it once; she’d ask for it again.

  ‘This is why I like you. Specific. She can go there, but you’re to accompany her.’

  Evrart swallowed hard. ‘At my own convenience?’

  Ian’s expression turned dark, but Evrart held firm. The men already questioned his position, if he had to stop for a woman’s needs, he couldn’t keep order.

  ‘You have new men and they need to be trained, my lord,’ he added.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Ian said. ‘Again you prove to me why I keep you. And I like it that she is to be restricted. It might prove to be amusing.’ Ian eyed Evrart. ‘And if you don’t see her beauty now, I’m certain you will soon. There may be many interesting things whilst I am gone...’

  The hint of speculation in Warstone’s eyes didn’t bode well for him, but at least he strode out the door without another incident.

  Evrart looked at the wrecked room. There were other signs that Ian’s temper wasn’t controllable. There were slashed cushions on the bench under the window. He wondered whether the messenger had been privy to that display—if it had been a warning to him to ensure the scroll was delivered.

  What would Margery think of this room?

  Evrart looked at the thick wooden door that led to her bedroom. Silently, he stepped towards it, fisted his hand and thumped it.

  A gasp and a scurry of feet.

  Just as he’d thought. His instinct told him she was innocent. She’d seemed distraught, and she’d kept looking behind her as if an enemy was at her back. Maybe she had been forced to come here...but maybe not. Her innocence didn’t accord with the Warstones and their schemes.

  And Ian... He was acting as if he didn’t quite know what to do with her, but he had brought her here to his home. To be here, she must be tied into Ian’s need for power and information. It couldn’t be simply that she’d come across Ian threatening a messenger. He would have killed her otherwise.

  Unless she truly was that beautiful...

  Was that why the courtyard had been full of such surprise and chatter? For beauty? Evrart couldn’t imagine such a trivial thing holding so much sway. No. This was about Ian, whose intentions were layered and far too vast for him to make mere conjectures.

  And her? What innocent would press her ears to doors to hear private conversations? Had she heard anything?

  He didn’t know!

  Evrart was tempted to storm into her room and demand answers, but his duties awaited. And, in truth, it would be safer to wait.

  He’d been careful all these years to keep himself and his family safe; he would continue to be so. Despite her size, and the fear in her eyes, despite what he thought she might be, he’d wait.

  He hadn’t been around Ian for so long without picking up skills besides his ability to judge character. This woman changed matters around here. He didn’t know how, or why, but she was outside the realm of what had been occurring for ten years. Ten years during which he’d been away from his family and from the life he wanted.

  If Ian was keeping her, it was for something. And now that Ian was leaving again, it was up to Evrart to find out why she was here, and if she was useful to him.

  Because if there was any means to get home, he’d take it. If only for the fact he could bathe in peace again.

  Chapter Five

  Margery faced the bed, the window, the door. Then faced them again. It had been five days since Evrart had waved her in here, and she had willingly walked across the threshold. The room was more than comfortable, and no luxury had been spared; however, five days with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company wasn’t good.

  She worried over those letters she’d sent. Now she was here, she saw the futility of her brothers trying to help her at all. And how long would the words she’d sent her sister Biedeluue hold her back?

  Her siblings were all she had. Her father had walked away when she was just an infant and her mother, already frail from births and grief, had never recovered. She had been broken in both body and soul. As a consequence, Biedeluue had become like a vigilant mother, Mabile a gentle nurturer, and her brothers had doted on her and indulged her.

  As a child, she had once watched a game her older brothers had played of throwing hammers. All had been fine until a hammer had gone astray. Her brothers had tried to protect her, but not before she’d been hit. She had bruised far too easily, and although she’d covered as much as she could, Biedeluue had found every injury. Her scolding of Isnard and Servet had been talked about for weeks afterwards.

  Oh, she missed her family—but she didn’t miss the village she came from, and it had been a long time since she’d been there.

  Leaving with Josse had been the right decision, but difficult. If her family had had any way of surviving without his help, she wouldn’t have done it. But given her mother’s frailness, and her siblings toiling as hard as they could, what else could she have done? She’d needed to help them because they’d lost so much simply because she had been born.

  The reason she’d left with Josse had been to help her family. And the coin she’d earned had helped. But she hadn’t received what she should have from Roul before she’d been ripped from his home, and Ian wasn’t paying her.

  It was all the worse because Mabile had written to her about her latest pregnancy. She’d need help with taxes and food and such, and now she was stuck here with silk cushions and generous helpings of fine food while her family went without.

  ‘Stuck!’

  She shook herself. Muttering, pacing. It was only a matter of time before she didn’t finish her thoughts or her sentences, like Ian.

  Ian—who had left the day after they’d arrived. His goodbye had held more distraction than actual words. In a moment of clarity, she had seen a man who was fighting against himself and losing. Yet she couldn’t pity him. Not when he had trapped her here, not when he had most likely killed that woman, and not when he got that look in his eye as if he was prepared to do the same to her.

  She’d asked again what he intended to do with her, and he’d answered that he’d know when he returned. As if that was an answer!

  She moved to the window again although she tried to avoid it as much as possible. Ian’s courtyard was extensive, and at least provided much to watch, but her interest often went to the far corner, and if she sat just so...strained her neck a bit...she could see the lists, where day after day the men trained.

  Some days they trained with swords, others they just wrestled. Then there were days when their weaponry was laid out on wool blankets or stretches of leather, when one man would lift it and display its worth and purpos
e.

  One man...one warrior...who held the attention of many as he gave instructions, as he ordered dangerous men as if they were mere boys.

  Evrart held her attention, too.

  It wasn’t just that he was easier to see because he was wider and taller than the rest. It was because...he was different. He didn’t look as if he belonged. Maybe it was because he held himself a bit apart, or maybe because after the training the men avoided him. She didn’t know.

  But it was the interaction between them that intrigued her, despite her knowing better. Despite him not speaking to her again since that first day.

  Day after day he’d—

  A tapping on the door.

  Not a knock, not even a fist.

  Margery, feeling a bit lighter, called out for Jeanne to enter.

  Jeanne stood with a tray. A guard was behind her, with his hand on the latch before he closed the door. The servant was younger than Margery and no wider than a broomstick, with light brown hair and eyes. At first she had stuttered when Margery talked to her. So Margery had kept trying.

  It hadn’t taken much to draw the poor girl out, and she was decent company. No, better than that—she could almost see them being friends if it wasn’t for the cruel man who kept her trapped.

  ‘Is this where you want the tray?’ Jeanne indicated the table with her chin.

  Margery tried not to smile. ‘Perhaps.’

  It was a game she had played since the first day: ordering different food or asking Jeanne to arrange the placement of a spoon or a bowl in a certain way, to delay her from leaving the room too soon.

  That first day Margery had been certain Jeanne thought her mad. Though even then Jeanne had answered some of her questions. The second morning, however, Jeanne had caught on to what Margery was doing when she’d asked for a small tapestry to clean her hands, and if there wasn’t one to supply thread so they might do one together.

  Jeanne had laughed and continued the game, as well as answering questions and letting Margery know a bit about the people here. They had delayed so much since that first day that the guard who was there had stopped banging on the door for them to hurry. Jeanne might have changed her mind in thinking her mad, but the guard had clearly had his opinion confirmed.

  ‘Is this satisfactory?’ Jeanne looked up through her lashes, moved the spoon a little to the left, and then more.

  ‘So how is Thomas today?’ Margery asked.

  Thomas was a little red-haired boy who had been trying to help Cook in the kitchen. But the man drank, and apparently there had been an accident. She only knew any of this because on that first day Jeanne had kept fumbling until Margery had been certain she’d collapse. It hadn’t taken much encouragement for Jeanne to share her worries.

  ‘The swelling around his nose is easing. Still can’t see through his one eye, though.’

  ‘And Cook?’

  ‘He’s...’ Jeanne mouth tightened. ‘He will be well.’

  Why the man hadn’t been banished, Margery didn’t know.

  She must have frowned, or made some sound, because Jeanne said quickly, ‘It isn’t his fault—it just isn’t. Thomas set him off, that’s all—surprised him. And Cook thought Thomas was—’ Jeanne shook her head. ‘He picked him up, but then the light hit him, and when he realised it wasn’t... He tossed him away,’ she said. ‘It’s only been a few days. He needs time, that’s all. Time... He prepared this for you.’

  On the tray was some overly buttered raston, well-aged cheese, and finely cut meat. It was a meal that in childhood would have delighted her. Now such a meal came at a price she didn’t want to pay. She truly just wanted some firm bread she could chew on. It would last longer and it would remind her of better days with her family.

  As for Cook... It wasn’t her place, Margery knew it, but she couldn’t let children be harmed. She knew what it was like to be suddenly lifted at the whim of an adult. And she’d never been harmed. Thomas had.

  ‘Why doesn’t the steward do something?’

  Jeanne looked horrified. ‘Steward avoids Cook—Michael—and long may that last.’

  Margery didn’t understand this household. Something tragic had happened with Cook, but Jeanne was loyal and wouldn’t tell her. Still, if there was anything she could do...

  ‘Will you tell me why? I promise not to say a word. Or maybe I could say something to help, and—’

  There was a bang on the door. Margery dropped the hard cheese onto her lap, and Jeanne turned around.

  ‘I’ve got to go.’

  The guard hadn’t given them any time today. ‘Why are you following his orders?’

  ‘They’re not his orders.’

  Evrart’s.

  Whatever thoughts she’d had that he might be different had been just wishes or false hope for escape.

  ‘No asking me to help you escape today?’ Jeanne said.

  Margery laughed, shocked that this woman she’d met only a few days before could somehow discern her thoughts so well. She would like her as a friend.

  ‘I’ll give you rest for today—but maybe you should warn Evrart that matters won’t be so easy for him.’

  Jeanne’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t believe that would be good.’

  Why did everyone fear him?

  ‘Why? Perhaps it would provide some entertainment.’

  ‘Oh, you truly shouldn’t provoke him! No. That wouldn’t...’ Jeanne pressed her lips together, seemed to come to some decision. ‘Are you truly planning to escape?’

  Margery blinked. Jeanne hadn’t asked a direct question before—especially not about who she was or why she was there. Her first response was to answer in the same teasing vein they’d established, but seeing the earnest concern in Jeanne’s expression, she answered with the truth.

  ‘I do want to. I shouldn’t be here, and I fear I’ve made a mistake that may harm people I care about. But I don’t see how I can. Not with the guards, the walls, those vast fields. And the fact I can barely ride a horse.’

  Jeanne’s expression eased and her eyes softened. ‘Doesn’t mean you don’t wish for better things, does it?’

  Margery poked the soft bread on her tray. ‘Better things like some true bread.’

  Though she smiled, Jeanne narrowed her eyes. ‘You won’t make me go down there again...’

  ‘Ian did say you were to serve me anything I desired,’ she said, though she wouldn’t force Jeanne to run around today simply to give her more company. The guard was already impatient. But it was an idea that could be used another day...

  ‘How about something else?’ Jeanne asked suddenly.

  Margery almost blurted out that Jeanne shouldn’t be concerned. The servant had other duties and might get into trouble with the steward. But Jeanne looked almost eager, so she said, ‘Such as?’

  Jeanne snatched the tray and stared at the door behind her. ‘Let me see.’ Jeanne gave a quick nod, and then carefully went out the door.

  Margery caught a glimpse of the guard who’d followed Jeanne up here before Jeanne shoved the almost full tray into his hands and talked to him, her words continuous and never letting him say a word in reply. Then Jeanne’s hand was on the latch as the door closed.

  Margery waited for the distinct scrape of wood and iron as the door was barred. When that didn’t happen, Margery waited some more. Then she realised what Jeanne had given her instead of bread.

  A way out.

  Chapter Six

  Evrart blinked, then blinked again. He wasn’t mistaken. Margery was in the corridor, heading towards the stairs. He stopped his long strides up the staircase. There were no others behind her, and he heard no other sounds other than his footsteps. This tower was empty save for its captive—who shouldn’t be freely roaming any corridor.

  Evrart cursed. If Ian had been in residence she would have lost her life, h
er toes, her feet. She could have been hurt in any of the numerous ways he’d watched Ian use to torture his enemies. She could have been passed to some of the newer mercenaries who were out to prove themselves to the Warstones.

  He didn’t trust those new men even when he faced them in the lists. Until he’d gathered all the information on their families, something Ian insisted upon to ensure loyalty to the Warstones, every day he was prepared for some act of betrayal.

  What would a faithless man do to a lone woman who was reported to be uncommonly beautiful and Ian’s mistress? If there was an enemy amongst them, and they thought she was important to Ian, she’d be used as bait. Of course if she was captured by Ian’s enemies she’d be killed. Ian wouldn’t bother to rescue her.

  And that dark thought of another man touching her, of any of those new men touching her, let alone slicing a blade across her throat, brought again that sense of dark vigilance inside him. Something far more seething than the desire merely to protect.

  How difficult could it be to keep her locked in a room? He’d checked on her three times a day since Ian left. Five days of opening the door and waving her towards the garderobe whilst he waited down the corridor. Five days of guarding her from those new men, and from any acts she might do against the Warstones.

  He hadn’t talked to her since that first day because it wasn’t safe. Not with the way she was with him...not with his reaction to her.

  He needed to know more about her. He’d tried to get information from the men Ian had travelled with, but they had not been forthcoming. Any knowledge they had divulged had made his hands curl to fists, though what they’d said wasn’t anything more than what any man had said. He just didn’t like it. Not when it came to her.

  Training was hard for them all that day.

  Yet all his precautions had been for nothing, for here she was, taking a few more steps closer to him as if he wasn’t about to unleash himself upon her.

  He took the final stair. All the responsibility for this woman fell on his shoulders. If he failed in his one task, his family would be at risk. And this woman played games?