She stopped, feeling foolish.
Letting her hair drop, Guy moved his hand away, adjusting the pillow beneath him. He seemed more inclined to speak with her than to sleep, and she had to admit she was rather enjoying this time together. But his easy manner and good looks distracted her, and Sabine could not afford to become distracted. She had a suspicion that, if she were not vigilant, this man would remove the barriers she’d put between them before she even realized he’d done so.
“If you find a guild, they will no doubt be impressed with your craft. And ’tis a fine occupation for a lady such as yourself.”
No words could have surprised her more.
“You truly believe so?”
He did not hesitate.
“I do.”
She wasn’t sure what to say.
“After we convince Bande de Valeur to return to France, you will help me find one, a guild, before we part ways?”
“We?”
Sabine feigned innocence. “I thought you understood. I would do my part in this rebellion of yours. In my father’s good name.”
“Do you have no other family to go to?”
Sabine sighed. “I’d have appealed to them if I did. Neither of my parents had siblings, and neither of their parents live. When Burge received my wardship, my father’s lands naturally reverted back to the crown.”
“Naturally.”
“My own title is a courtesy one only, given the circumstances.”
He seemed oddly happy at that news. Turning onto his back, Guy sighed and closed his eyes. Although she was tired too, she could not resist asking, “That pleases you?”
He did not stir.
“Aye.”
“Why?”
His lips turned up ever so slowly, though he did not open his eyes.
“The things I plan to do with you are hardly appropriate for a lady.”
His eyes finally opened and sought hers.
“Sabine.”
Heart hammering in her chest, Sabine knew she should respond, but no words formed on her lips.
“You’ve simply to make an offer, and I promise”—he winked—“not to refuse.”
She couldn’t find the words to respond, but Sabine did have a pillow. She smacked him in the middle of the chest with it, ignoring his laughter and renewing the vow she’d made to herself. If for no other reason than that offering anything to this man would be the epitome of foolishness.
Chapter 12
“A word, my lady?” the Earl of Licheford called to her.
They stood just outside the keep. Guy had left to retrieve their horses for their journey to Noreham. He’d warned her they would be on the road for several nights. There was an inn along the way, he explained, but it catered more to mercenaries than lords and ladies. She supposed he was trying to protect her, but if she would risk her life at Noreham, she could certainly brave a simple inn.
“Of course,” she told Conrad, for she surely couldn’t deny him.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, watching as Guy emerged from the stables. “And for the fine riding gown. The maid would not let me refuse—”
“As I instructed her to do. You look lovely in it. My mother’s tailor made her so many gowns there are several she never had occasion to wear.”
The maid had arrived at her door with it that morning, telling her much the same story. Sabine had tried to send her away, but the woman had been quite insistent on helping her into it.
“I thank you again, my lord.”
Conrad angled toward her, his expression turning serious.
“Be patient with him.”
She did not have to ask for clarification.
“He would have you believe he cares for little, including you.”
Sabine must have appeared startled, for Conrad immediately apologized.
“I do not mean to be so crude, but there is little time for courtesy. I’ve known him for many years. Being a friend to Guy Lavallais takes some measure of patience. I can only imagine being his wife will take more so.”
“He did not explain the circumstances of our marriage?”
Conrad chuckled. “He did. And I dare say he is impressed with your craftiness. As am I.”
Sabine didn’t know what to say.
“He was raised by a man even harder than the one who strides toward us. His mother, a Frenchwoman, left them both at an early age, and I do not believe Guy ever really recovered.”
Sabine looked from Conrad to her husband, who spoke to a stablehand as they led the horses forward.
“How awful.” He had mentioned his mother was French, but now that she thought on it, it was the only thing he’d said about her. To abandon your only child . . .
“He was raised by mercenaries, never in one place for long.”
“His father, he is dead as well?”
To her surprise, Conrad shook his head. “Nay. Though where he is, none, including Guy, know.”
How . . . odd.
“I tell you this for a reason.”
She suspected the reason but said nothing, waiting patiently for him to continue.
“Guy says he craves adventure. Indeed, he doesn’t quail from danger. But he is a good man. I’d not align myself with him otherwise.”
Sabine was honored he’d trusted her enough to say so.
“I will try to remember that, my lord.”
“Conrad. And please do. I hope the knowledge brings you comfort in the trying times ahead.”
Trying times indeed. But after the loss of her parents, Sabine felt prepared for anything.
Conrad extended his hand, fist clenched. Sabine looked down at it in confusion.
“My wrist,” he said. And so she gently clasped her hand around his wrist. “Your father gave his life for a cause we continue to fight. You pledged yourself to that same cause. As such, you are a member of the Order of the Broken Blade. Be safe on your travels.”
Sabine did not understand the words, exactly, but she knew from his expression something important had just happened. Guy’s order. Had Conrad really just made her a member?
“I am not a knight,” she said, knowing a bit about such orders.
“Then an honorary member, if it pleases you.”
She tightened her grip as much as was possible around his thick wrist.
“It pleases me very much.”
Conrad nodded.
Sabine dropped her hand.
So intent was she on Conrad’s gesture that she hadn’t realized Guy had joined them. He stood to the side, looking at them with wide, approving eyes.
“Take care,” Conrad said. “She is one of us now.”
For the second time in as many days, Sabine could not think of an adequate response. It had been so very long since she’d felt a part of anything. Reaching for the reins of the horse Conrad had pledged to her, she smiled to the earl.
“I will do my best,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding. “But he promises to be a stubborn one.”
Without waiting for assistance, Sabine mounted easily, enjoying Conrad’s laughter at her insinuation she would take care of Guy.
A ridiculous notion, to be sure. If there ever lived a man who could care for himself, it was her husband, Guy Lavallais of Cradney Wrens.
* * *
“Don’t move.”
Guy knew the bastards riding toward them. He was surprised they hadn’t encountered more of the sort before now. It would take them at least a fortnight to reach Noreham Castle along the eastern coast. In that time, he expected to meet more than one party that would attempt to rob them. Such was the way of travel on these roads. As usual, he’d avoided the most well-used routes, knowing such pathways were favored by the king’s men—and also Lord Burge—but these remote roads carried other dangers.
“Hold,” the sellsword called out, obviously not recognizing him. “I said hold.”
Before he could shout again, Guy had sped up enough to grab the man’s reins. Not two year
s earlier, this very same man, Dimmock St. James, had lost a match to Terric at the Tournament of the North. The dullard had failed to deliver the spoils. Terric would have refused to take the man’s horse—he had no need of it—but he never had the chance.
“Or better yet, dismount and put up your sword,” he called, seeing the exact moment the other man recognized him.
St. James, a heavily bearded man, laughed as if Guy jested with him.
“What say you?” St. James said to his two companions. “Shall I engage in swordplay with Guy Lavallais?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Nay. I think I’ll allow you to pass instead.”
“Dismount,” he growled. “And put up your sword. Or they”—he gestured to the men—“will be without a leader by the time we leave this clearing.”
It was near dark, but Guy could easily see the other men’s faces. They, at least, would not interfere. Smart men. He glanced toward Sabine, who thankfully did not appear scared. Merely curious.
St. James hesitated but finally dismounted.
Hand on his hilt, Guy stepped forward.
“I will be taking what you owe Terric Kennaugh from when you last met.”
St. James drew his sword, so Guy did the same.
“I owe the bastard Scot nothing.”
Guy yelled back to Sabine, “Turn away,” and took another step forward.
“A Scot, aye,” he continued to taunt St. James, “but one with more honor than a thousand of your kind.”
The insult hit its mark. Though his eyes were on St. James, Guy watched the man’s two companions in his periphery. He fully expected to fight all three before the day was done. A shame his wife would have to witness such a spectacle, but it could not be helped. St. James had cheated his friend and would answer for it.
“My kind? It seems we are in good company, routier.”
“If you intended to insult me, you missed your mark, St. James.”
It was true, he had run with the famed band of specialized mercenaries for a time in France. He was anything but ashamed by the association.
“I wonder, Lavallais,” St. James smirked. “Will your lady be glad to be rid of you?”
He did not let the taunt goad him. Guy would prefer not to fight in front of Sabine, but he could not let the slight against Terric pass.
“Put your sword down, pay the debt, and you may ride away with your companions.”
“I owe no debt to a Scotsman,” St. James sneered.
Guy was finished negotiating. He lunged at his opponent, and St. James deflected the blow at the last moment. They began to circle each other in the clearing, parrying their swords.
There was a reason St. James had been paired with Terric in a final match at the tourney. The man was skilled, and he matched Guy’s every swing and thrust as his companions dismounted. They likely did not think he saw them approaching, so when one slowly sauntered around Guy’s back, he assumed the worst of the man’s intentions.
Still engaging St. James, he waited to be sure the man truly intended to come at him from the rear. He wore only a padded gambeson, and though it may deflect a blow to the back, it would not save him if the man went for his neck.
By God’s own nails, the bastard truly did intend to stab him in the back . . .
He quickly adjusted his grip on the sword, bringing it under his arm, and thrust it into his adversary. Removing the sword just as quickly, he lifted it in front of him just in time to block a blow that would have beheaded him.
Turning to bring both men into view, Guy took advantage of St. James’s momentary confusion as he watched his man fall to the ground. Lifting his sword for a death blow, he stopped at the last moment. St. James had thrown his hands into the air, and his sword landed on the ground with a thud.
Both St. James and his surviving companion bent over the dead man. Guy had killed many men in his lifetime and could have told them he was, in fact, no longer for this world. If the man had not attempted to stab him in the back . . . if he’d worn proper armor . . . or if St. James had not refused to pay his debt . . . it mattered not.
The man was dead.
Standing, St. James bent down to pick up his sword.
“Leave the sword and the man’s mount. And I shall call the chief of Clan Kennaugh’s debt fulfilled.”
His voice was hard, his gaze even more so. Guy waited to see if St. James would sacrifice two more lives for his stubbornness.
Thankfully, he did not.
For the first time since the fight had erupted, Guy chanced a look back at Sabine. He could not discern her expression, but she was safe. Nothing else mattered.
When St. James moved to leave, Guy nodded to his fallen companion in disgust.
“You would leave him there, on the road?”
Exchanging a glance and a near-identical grunt of displeasure, St. James and his man reluctantly lifted the fallen sellsword from the ground. Guy picked up St. James’s sword and hastened to Sabine and his abandoned horse. He mounted and guided Sabine past the men.
St. James’s question floated up to him.
“The horse?”
“I’ve changed my mind. Keep it. I’ve no use for him where I am headed.”
With that, they rode away from the ill-fated clearing, regret for the loss of life bubbling inside him. He would have much preferred to kill the man responsible for that day’s events. Guy looked at Sabine then, listening for any sounds to indicate they were being followed.
“Are you well?”
She did not seem so. His wife’s face was devoid of color.
Sabine shook her head. “You . . . you were nearly killed.”
Guy laughed, not meaning to sound callous but unable to hold back his reaction.
“Nay, wife. Not nearly so. If I had thought for a moment my life was at risk, I would not have engaged the man. I’d not leave you unprotected on the road.”
She blinked. “But . . . there were three of them. And . . .”
He waited, but she never finished the thought.
“I was never in danger,” he assured her. “I’m sorry you had to witness such a thing. But there was no help for it. That bastard St. James lost a match to Terric but failed to forfeit his prize. ’Twas too dishonorable an act to be overlooked.”
“Honor,” she murmured. “A quality you yourself claim not to possess.”
He could not deny it.
“I believe, husband, you are not quite who you claim to be.”
Another statement he could not deny.
“But I aim to learn who you are before this journey has ended.”
Chapter 13
To Sabine’s surprise, Guy stopped at the inn after all. Although small villages usually grew around castles or chapels, like mushrooms on a log, there were none nearby. This village consisted of only ten or so structures, a waterwheel, and the stone building where Guy had stopped.
The Fiddler’s Inn.
A wooden sign hung from its roof, creaking as it swayed back and forth in the wind. As they moved closer, Sabine realized a wooden bridge connected the inn to another building similarly appointed. Stone-bottomed with a second floor made of wood and thatched roofs, it looked slightly odd and disproportional, but as the September sun began to set, the light emanating from within made it quite appealing.
“I thought we were not stopping here?” she asked, allowing Guy to assist her down.
They’d not spoken much since the incident, the ride uneventful for the remainder of the afternoon.
Guy continued to hold her hand once she was on the ground, much to her relief, and she allowed herself to grip his fingers.
“Any woman who witnessed what you did earlier today and kept such calm . . . Fiddler’s will be as tame as an abbey.”
He did let go then, and Sabine immediately felt the loss of his touch.
“I am not so unaffected as it would seem,” she admitted. Earlier in the day, Sabine had started shaking at the thought of that man lying on the ground, unmoving. The unstea
dy feeling had eventually subsided, but the swiftness with which he’d died . . .
She hadn’t even had time to warn Guy. The scream had stuck in her throat even as she watched the man stalk behind him.
“Many thanks,” Guy said to a stablehand who took their mounts. He slipped the man a coin and then reclaimed her hand, threading their fingers together.
“Here, we are man and wife in truth.”
For a moment she misunderstood his meaning. He seemed to realize it, for he leaned toward her and whispered, “Anytime, my lady. I await your pleasure.”
Her breath caught at his words. Until a waft of stale ale assaulted her as Guy opened the front door. For a village so small, the hall of the inn was certainly bustling. Nearly every table was occupied. To her eyes, the place resembled a tavern more than an inn. Of course, she’d only stayed at one other inn, many years ago, so she did not have much basis for comparison.
When everyone in the room turned to look at them, Sabine had the momentary urge to hide behind Guy. But she’d promised herself she would not besmirch her parent’s memory by being any less fearless, strong, and loyal than they had been.
While it appeared she was the only woman in the room, she would not be ashamed of it. Nor would she let anyone frighten her because of it.
They would have you believe they have something you do not possess. But ’tis not the truth, Sabine. A woman brings life into the world. Remember that.
Reminding herself of her mother’s words, her mother’s strength, Sabine tried not to grip Guy’s arm too tightly. Besides, she would be alone someday, navigating situations like this one. She could not allow herself to rely on Guy.
“If anyone yells at you, ignore them. If they touch you, tell me.”
Sabine hated that his words brought her such comfort. She didn’t want to need him.
An especially burly man, a knight by the look of him, gave her the exact kind of glance Guy knew she’d receive. An appreciative one, tinged with a slight sneer.
At that exact moment, her husband stepped between them, Guy towering above the other man, who was seated at a table with several others. She couldn’t see either of their faces now, but the knight’s companions were well within her view. There were four of them, making her wonder if Guy valued his life at all. He really did seem inclined to seek out quarrelsome situations.
The Mercenary: Order of the Broken Blade Page 5