The Mercenary: Order of the Broken Blade

by Mecca, Cecelia

  Snuggled against him, she fought with herself for much of the night. Berating herself for already being so reliant on him. For wanting him so desperately. For having put herself in this situation in the first place.

  But mostly, for being alive when both her parents were dead.

  They never should have been separated.

  Somehow, Sabine finally fell asleep in his arms. And when she woke? Her husband’s hand was exactly where it had been earlier in the night, twisted through her hair and lying directly over her left breast.

  She closed her eyes again, trying in vain to ignore her body’s response. To do so would be impossible, however, when every last part of her wanted him. Sabine actually opened her mouth to tell him so. To ask for what she wanted. But something she hadn’t even known she possessed held her back.

  Somehow, she knew it would be more than one night, one act. And Guy had made it clear he was not interested in staying married. Which meant she was not interested in being intimate with him.

  A lie, of course. But Sabine had stayed strong. She’d held her tongue and—miracle of miracles—eventually fell back asleep. But not for long.

  When the door burst open, Sabine jumped from the bed, taking the coverlet with her.

  “You need to dress.”

  His features were not soft now. In fact, Guy appeared as if he were preparing for battle. She’d not seen him with a hauberk on before. Hadn’t even realized he owned one. She had seen many men wearing such shirts of mail, but none of them had looked like this. The effect was devastating to her rapidly ebbing willpower.

  Sabine no longer cared if submitting to her husband was the right thing to do. Just then, she would have done so. If not for his next words.

  “Lord Burge is here.”

  His demeanor suddenly took on a new meaning. One that had her scrambling to recover her gown.

  “I’ll explain later. Meet me outside the chamber as soon as you are ready.”

  She nodded, her heart thudding incessantly.

  He was here. So soon?

  Sabine’s hands began to tremble as she smoothed out the gown atop the bed. She’d known he would come for her. But that he’d discovered her so soon . . . And he had come himself rather than sending men . . .

  She took a deep breath, cursing the tears in her eyes for betraying her carefully constructed bravado. Why was she so afraid? He had no claim any longer. She was a married woman. But when she thought of him, the messenger of her parent’s death . . . the same man who discarded her so easily.

  “Sabine.”

  Guy lay a hand on her arm, his touch as gentle as his soft tone. But it didn’t help. She was there again, in Lord Burge’s hall, and he was about to tell . . .

  “Sabine?” Guy spun her around.

  When she blinked, the tears finally broke loose, dripping silently down her cheeks.

  Guy wiped one cheek with his thumb. And then the other.

  He breathed in so deeply, she felt compelled to do the same. And then they both did it again, and again. Her heartbeat slowed. Her hands eventually stopped shaking.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She did. Now both hands were on her arms.

  “Think of something else, for just a moment. Anything that will make you smile.”

  Sabine couldn’t do it. Not now. Not with Burge just belowstairs. Could he somehow discredit her marriage to Guy?

  “Sabine.” His tone was both hard and coaxing at the same time.

  She’d try . . .

  Sabine thought of the river that ran behind their manor. Her mother had always had a terror of water, and so the river had become a special place for Sabine and her father. They’d plunk rocks into the water, one after another, while Mother waved to them from atop the hill.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She did, immediately.

  “Control your breathing, control your thoughts . . . and you are prepared for battle.”

  He dropped his hands.

  “’Tis not a battle that awaits us belowstairs,” she hesitated. “Or is it?”

  Guy sighed. “I do not know. When I entered the hall to fetch us a loaf of bread, I heard whispers of a retinue led by a lord.”

  “How do you know ’tis Lord Burge?”

  “It did not take long for the whispers to gain a name. I came here immediately.”

  “You feared for me to be alone?”

  “Aye.”

  Though calmer, Sabine was still afraid.

  “You are mine now.”

  Her heart lurched.

  “He has no claim on you anymore and will be leaving here with the men who accompanied him. Not”—his eyes narrowed—“with you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  But then realized . . .

  “You are but one man. How many accompany him?”

  He cocked his head. “I seem to remember a similar discussion just yesterday. And you’ll remember how that ended for a certain sellsword.”

  She would really have to ask him how a sellsword differed from a mercenary like himself.

  “But certainly you would not kill Lord Burge.”

  Guy reached behind her, his shoulder brushing hers, and picked up her gown. Handing it to her, he said, “For you?”

  He turned to leave, but when he reached the door, he turned back to look at her, his expression so serious it sent a shiver down her back.

  “I would kill anyone, if necessary. Lord Burge and his men included.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter 16

  By the blood of Christ.

  After taunting Sabine the previous night, Guy had lain awake for hours attempting to calm his body. Unfortunately, the same training that had allowed him to charge into battle without breaking a sweat had failed him.

  Lying next to Sabine, close enough to touch but not touching, had been torturous. So, pretending to be asleep, he’d reached out for her. She’d come to him, nestling close, something that had only inflamed his desire.

  By dawn, his need was so urgent, he left her to take a brisk walk. Which was less than relaxing given he immediately heard whispers of Lord Burge’s retinue. Now, standing with his back against the wall outside their chamber, he watched for any signs of approach.

  Guy thought of his father as he waited. Because, truth be told, he had already known the visiting lord was Burge before he heard the man’s name. His father had always been wary of Guy’s premonitions, even though he’d witnessed ample evidence that they always came true. Such a thing should be impossible, after all, and Bernard Lavallais had always been the most practical of men. And so, Guy had learned to hide the knowledge he shouldn’t have. He’d never told anyone else about the premonitions. Not even Lance and the other men in the order.

  If only he’d have one concerning the enigma that was his wife . . .

  That very woman appeared, looking as little refreshed as he felt. Guy would have laughed if not for the shadow of Lord Burge.

  “Good morn again, my lady.”

  “Good morn,” she murmured back, calmer at least than before. The worry he’d spied in her eyes was still present, however, which made him want to get this matter dealt with immediately. Usually, Sabine took every challenge in turn, always ready to charge on toward the next and take on her next adversary. But this man frightened her.

  Which made him want to run a sword through Burge’s gut. He’d obviously mistreated her. And was partially responsible for her mother’s death. Had he offered her protection, she wouldn’t have been with her husband at the time of his demise.

  “Is he here?” Sabine asked in a small voice.

  Guy took her arm, leading his wife down the stairs.

  “I know not.”

  But he had his answer a moment later. His lady stiffened beside him, and a quick glance at the hall told him all he needed to know—the man who stood near the door had to be Lord Burge.

  A handsome older man, he had long, dark-grey hair and a short grey beard.
He was dressed for battle, a red and white crest of crossed swords prominent across his chest. The four men around him bore the same crest. Although Burge watched them, he did not move—rather, Guy approached him.

  The innkeeper must have sensed the tension because he immediately rushed forward.

  “No weapons drawn inside,” he stammered. “Do ye hear?”

  Burge blocked Guy and Sabine’s exit, his eyes drilling into them. Finally, without a word to either of them, he turned and left. The innkeeper’s shoulders sank in relief, and Guy winked at the man as they passed.

  They still needed lodging and sustenance, after all, when this was over.

  Burge’s men awaited them as soon as they stepped outside, having formed a semicircle on the path to the stables.

  “’Tis Guy Lavallais,” one of them said, looking at him. “The mercenary with a sword arm known even in France.”

  Good. He’d hoped at least one of them would recognize him. Though the man did not look familiar to him at all.

  “Good morn, my lord,” Sabine said prettily in a tone he was unused to, much more accommodating than usual.

  “You are going back,” he responded, his tone deep and commanding. This was a man accustomed to issuing commands.

  Unfortunately for him, Guy was not at all accustomed to receiving them. But he held his tongue, waiting for Sabine to respond first.

  “Nay, my lord. I will not.”

  He gently let go of her arm, praying she understood the reason. This was her fight, and he didn’t wish to take it from her.

  That resolution lasted all of a moment. Upon seeing the look of sheer hatred on Burge’s face, Guy stepped forward. He couldn’t help himself.

  “I am Guy Lavallais of Cradney Wrens,” he said, ensuring Burge’s man knew he’d identified him correctly. “Lady Sabine’s husband,” he finished with force. “She will not be going anywhere with you.”

  Guy momentarily relished the look of shock on their faces. But it did not last long. Burge took a step forward, as did he.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Guy laughed. A response that Burge apparently did not appreciate.

  “Visit St. Mary’s-upon-Kingsgate on your return home. Speak to Father Wheeland, who will assure you Lady Sabine and I are very much married.”

  Another step. Burge’s men placed their hands on the hilts of their swords. If they chose a fight, Guy would give them one.

  “Tell your men to stand down, or this day will be the last they see the sun.”

  No one liked that particular proclamation. Least of all Burge. He laughed, as if Guy had made a jest, but its tone rang false. Bravado only served a man prepared to fight. And though he had the numbers, Burge had not come here to do battle.

  Guy, on the other hand, had done nothing else for his entire life.

  “You are one man against five.”

  He’d have turned to smile at Sabine—hadn’t she said much the same thing to him the previous day?—but he didn’t dare shift his gaze off Burge’s men.

  “A fact that matters even less to me than your opinion of our nuptials.”

  Burge hesitated.

  Guy took advantage. Before any of the men could manage a response, he’d withdrawn his sword, the point of which now pricked the bastard’s neck.

  “At your first movement,” he said to the others but with his eyes trained on Burge, “your master dies at my hand.”

  “Please,” Sabine begged from behind. “He’s killed one man already on this journey. Leave me be and do as Sir Guy asks. Visit St. Mary’s and speak with the priest. I am well and truly married.”

  Guy smiled at Burge, silently thanking his wife for ensuring the baron knew his rank. Though it mattered little to him, such things could sway a man who cared for titles. And though he had no doubt Burge would kill a fellow knight, especially one who had a sword to his throat, it was a detail that could sway his thinking.

  “Drop it,” he growled to Burge.

  Clearly not pleased, he took a step back as Guy lowered his sword.

  The man’s shoulders rose and fell, his eyes flashing in anger. But he said nothing. Then, nodding silently to his men, he took another step backward without turning around.

  Smart man.

  “She owes recompense for the coin paid to the abbey,” Burge ground out.

  “Nay,” Sabine answered. “I owe you nothing.”

  Burge needed a dignified way out, and Guy gave him one.

  “I’ve instructed Father Wheeland to give you an original manuscript of Tibericus Psalter. Keep it, sell it. I care not. Consider it your recompense for Lady Sabine’s hasty departure.”

  Burge’s eyes widened. “I shall believe a man such as yourself would be in possession of such a manuscript?”

  “Was in possession of it. The book was once given to me by a member of the French court, but aye, you will find it is authentic.”

  This is your chance, Burge.

  Lifting his chin, the baron mumbled something about verifying the truth of his words, but Guy had stopped listening. He turned toward his wife, watching her face to ensure Burge and his men did not act foolishly. By the time he reached her side and took her arm, the men had disappeared into the stables.

  Without waiting for them to emerge, Guy escorted Sabine back into the hall. He did ensure they could see the stables from the table they chose. By the time a serving girl brought them a loaf of freshly baked bread, Burge and his men had ridden away.

  “I’ve two questions,” Sabine finally asked.

  “Only two?”

  She made a face that he was beginning to enjoy even if it was meant to discourage his behavior.

  “How did you intend to engage with all five men if they attacked you? And why did you give Father Wheeland an original text of one of the most famous French manuscripts in existence?”

  He took a bite of bread and followed it with a swig of ale before answering.

  “You aren’t curious as to how I came to own such a text?”

  Her only response was to make that same face.

  Guy laughed.

  “Very well.”

  He ignored the appreciative glance of the serving girl, who’d walked by them yet again, and peered outside, just to be certain Burge was indeed gone.

  “I could not have hoped to best all four of them if they’d attacked at once, which is why my objective was to ensure they did not do so. And as for the text . . .” He shrugged. “That you would willingly marry a man you obviously hated convinced me such a bribe may be necessary.”

  Sabine shook her head. “But . . . how did you know . . . how could you have guessed . . . ?”

  How indeed.

  He waited, but she never finished the thought.

  “I have coin to pay you for it.”

  “Keep your coin,” he said between bites. “But we should leave as soon as you are finished, my lady.”

  She did not look like she would eat, but thankfully, Sabine must have realized it would be many hours before their next meal.

  He watched her take a bite of the bread and wondered how such a simple act had never filled him with desire before. But every time she opened her mouth, Guy wondered what it would be like to taste her, to touch her without any clothing between them. Reminded of the miserable night before, he nearly groaned aloud in frustration.

  She watched him watching her.

  “I do not dislike you.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek.

  “I may have disliked the need to be rescued. And believed you were overly assured of yourself. But I did not hate you. Nor could I ever feel that way now, after everything you have done for me.”

  His wife did not hate him. What a fine way to begin a marriage, though he kept that thought to himself.

  “I do not hate you either, my lady wife.”

  And when she smiled, Guy’s stomach twisted into knots, for the very opposite feeling of hate was beginning to haunt him, as uncontrollable as the premoni
tions that sometimes intruded on him.

  Perhaps she had the right of it. The few moments of pleasure he thought to have with her on this journey would be sweet indeed. But freedom was sweeter still. And he would do well to remember that.

  Chapter 17

  After two more days and nights of torture, Sabine was near ready to break. The tension between her and Guy could be felt every waking moment. Riding throughout the day, he often looked over from his position alongside her. During meals, they spoke of their childhoods, Sabine learning more and more about this man who was nothing like what she’d expected.

  Although his mercenary father had raised him, Guy had been on his own for a long, long time. She’d asked why the two had parted ways, but something told her it was a sensitive topic. He told her they’d split over a difference of opinions but did not elaborate.

  On the final day of their journey, they stopped midmorning to give their horses a rest. Guy bent down to the stream, and although Sabine could not see what he was doing from her vantage point, she could see his backside quite clearly. When he stood, she turned away quickly, not wanting him to know she’d looked.

  Gripping the leather strips of her girdle that hung down from her waist, she twirled them idly through her fingers, thinking of Guy touching her hair in much the same way. It seemed to soothe him, and so she allowed it, but the gesture had become too frequent, too intimate. Sabine was no fool. Each day she and her husband grew closer, which would make their eventual parting more difficult, whether they enjoyed any intimacies or not.

  Just the evening before she’d almost begged him to touch her. But his words had stopped her. She’d asked what Guy planned to do next if the order’s mission was successful, and though he’d been hesitant to answer, he ultimately admitted he would like to create his own company of mercenaries. To move from place to place, mission to mission, but on his terms.

  A life that clearly did not include a wife.

  And so she remained silent. Ignored the looks he gave her by the firelight. Ignored her body’s response to his not-so-subtle suggestions. They would arrive at Noreham Castle by nightfall, or so he’d said. None too soon for her. Of course, they would not be welcomed as guests.