The Mercenary: Order of the Broken Blade

by Mecca, Cecelia

  Chapter 24

  Sabine said nothing.

  Guy’s heart throbbed in his chest, but it didn’t matter, he wanted her anyway. Even though he’d just admitted more to her than he should have, more than he’d consciously realized himself. Tomorrow would be soon enough to consider what it all meant.

  Right now he wanted only to show her pleasure, this woman who was his wife. Who had blackmailed him. Who had escaped from a destiny that would have crushed most people. Who’d been betrayed by the overlord her parents had reluctantly trusted. Who had marched from that solar today knowing full well he could not protect her.

  He would show her that she did need him.

  Guy grabbed her head as roughly as he dared and brought his lips crashing down onto hers. Always he’d held something of himself back, but not at this moment. He poured everything into her, kissing her as a starved man would consume the nourishment he needed to survive.

  He waited until she gave herself over to him completely, and then, like the savage he was, Guy tore himself away. But he’d not leave her bereft for long. She wore nothing under the riding gown, and he knew it well. Spinning her around, he divested her of the gown.

  When she stood nude before him, he was pleased to realize she did not cover herself this time. Her body was something to be worshiped, its luscious curves begging for him to touch and taste.

  “Lie on the bed.”

  He would have carried her there himself, but Guy did not trust himself to touch her. This would not be a quick coupling, his body’s needs be damned. Ignoring the ache that threatened to crush him until he sank deep into her, Guy willed her to do as he asked.

  When she did, he groaned aloud, taunted by the clear view of her backside.

  Stalking her to the bed, Guy did not waste a moment. He knelt between her legs, opened them and lowered his head.

  “What . . .”

  He didn’t answer. At least not with words. His aim was to show his wife more pleasure than she’d guessed was possible.

  Then what?

  Nay, not now. This moment was not for contemplation. It was for using his tongue to show Sabine that last eve had been only the beginning.

  “People . . . do this?”

  He could not laugh at her barely coherent words. But when she reached for his head and lifted her hips to meet him, neither could he continue without completely losing control. Lifting himself above her, he entered her much more swiftly than he had the night before, when her maidenhood had been intact.

  Her gasp emboldened him, and her wild eyes nearly made him forget himself.

  But he did not. When Sabine cried out his name for the entire inn to hear, he forced himself to pull away, grateful for his foresight in grabbing the cloth near the bed earlier.

  Guy barely heard her gasp, but he could discern a distinct and unladylike “My God.”

  Chuckling at the epithet, he stood and cleaned himself. He planned to lie back down, but Sabine’s look stopped him. She might be well-pleasured, but something was amiss.

  Afraid to ask, he swallowed back the words—only to ask her anyway a moment later.

  “Something is wrong?”

  Her nose crunched up in displeasure as Guy sat beside her. The mattress sunk under his weight.

  “Aye.”

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

  “Very wrong.”

  His stomach twisted into knots. Guy had no answer for the question she was about to ask. He needed time to think. To sort through all that had happened. To understand why she hadn’t responded to him.

  Reaching up and taking a strand of her bright hair in his hand, Guy marveled at the woman sprawled across his bed. “Tell me.”

  Her lips turned down, and he braced himself for her words.

  “I am so incredibly hungry.”

  Guy laughed at her obvious deception.

  “That can be helped, my lady wife.”

  It was the detachment between his mind and his heart that could not.

  Chapter 25

  “Do you feel much improved?”

  They sat in as secluded a spot as could be found in the inn’s great hall. Braziers stacked with coals from the main hearth kept away the chill that had begun to follow them on their travels. In all, it was a comfortable position, much more so than the previous inn.

  “Aye.”

  They had just finished eating pottage, bread, and cheese. A pitcher of ale had completed their meal.

  “You were saying, about de Chabannes?”

  Damned if he could remember.

  “Guy?”

  “You’re much too distracting.”

  Sabine rolled her eyes. “I’ve done nothing to distract you.”

  “Mayhap not. But your swollen lips and unkempt hair are doing exactly that.” He leaned forward. “I’m reminded of—”

  “My hair is not unkempt.”

  Patrons next to them looked their way. But he cared not. Let them look. He was a lucky man, and Guy could not blame them for their curiosity.

  So long as their gazes did not linger, of course.

  “Very well,” he conceded, nodding his thanks to the serving girl who took away the remnants of their meal. “He’s agreed to come here on the morrow. I’d prefer not to bring you either to the camp or Noreham Castle if either can be avoided.”

  Sabine’s top lip glistened as she took a hearty sip of ale. What he wouldn’t give to remove the moisture with his tongue.

  “And today?”

  “His way of reminding me Bande de Valeur is both well-protected and amply compensated. It will take all of Bishop Salerno’s funds, and more, to accomplish our goal.”

  “Can you not simply match whatever amount”—she lowered her voice—“the king has promised?”

  Guy wished it were so.

  “’Tis not so simple. We both are well aware of how the king deals with those he considers enemies to his rule.”

  Sabine frowned. “’Tis tricky, to be sure.”

  He was about to respond when the hairs on his neck rose. Spinning in his seat, Guy turned just in time to catch the unmistakable view of four men wearing the emblem of three lions on their surcoats.

  They sat on the other side of the hall, out of Sabine’s line of sight.

  “What is it?”

  His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

  “King’s men. Four of them.”

  Sabine’s eyes widened.

  “Listen carefully,” he said to his wife. “I want you to wait until someone walks by us. When they do, step out in front of them and make your way to the stairs. Bolt yourself inside our room, and do not answer for anyone.”

  Her eyes widened. “And if they are here for you? For us? Will they not break down the door?”

  He watched the table but could see no movement with so many sitting between them.

  “If that happens,” he said without looking at her, “it means I am dead,” he answered honestly. “And will have taken at least some of them with me. I’ve a knife in the room that I want you to strap to your leg. If you’re taken, use it. Escape by any means necessary, Sabine. Imprisonment means death.”

  He looked toward the men then back to his wife long enough to be sure she heard him.

  Though Sabine lost color, she did not flinch. She nodded as if he’d asked if she would like for him to fill her mug with more ale.

  “Do you understand?”

  She didn’t have time to answer.

  “Now!”

  A serving girl was walking past their table, providing the perfect cover. He watched as Sabine did exactly as he had instructed, using the girl to hide her escape. Guy did not dare to move in any way until she was safely through the door that led to the second floor. Once she was gone, however, he moved quickly.

  Using a variation of the trick he’d advised her to use, Guy hid behind a knight and made his way to the edge of the room, where he could see the king’s men more clearly. One of the men looked around the hall.
Precisely what he’d expect him to do if he were here searching for someone.

  Cursing de Chabannes under his breath, Guy prepared to defend himself. Although he had trouble believing the Frenchman would betray him without first hearing the terms he brought, he could think of no other explanation. Perhaps his former company leader had turned him in but not Sabine, although he couldn’t rely on that.

  He would take the bald man first. He was the largest and most likely to cause real damage. Timely, as he was also the first to stand. His companions followed, and Guy unsheathed his sword as quietly as possible. He’d positioned it along the wall so as not to draw attention to his movements.

  Either you kill all four of them or Sabine remains in danger.

  Guy was ready.

  When the men rushed forward all at once, he turned and nearly raised his sword to greet them. Except Guy belatedly realized they were rushing toward the door of the inn.

  Not toward him.

  “Lord Berkshire, you are—”

  In the ensuing scuffle, Guy could not hear anything but shouts. From the king’s men? Lord Berkshire? Before long, both parties had stumbled through the door, the soldiers spiriting their prisoner off into the night.

  Following them, Guy attempted to get past the crowd, and he managed to get close enough to see the men had already mounted, the unfortunate nobleman between them. Already whispers reached his ears.

  “Not paying his taxes . . .”

  “He comes here often. Good man . . .”

  “They go too far to arrest such a man as Berkshire.”

  “His only son killed at Bouvines.”

  Guy had heard enough. With the king’s men well away from him, he made his way through the crowd once more, this time to get back inside.

  To assure himself she was safe.

  Chapter 26

  Sabine paced back and forth as Guy and de Chabannes met belowstairs, the room as stifling today as it had been all week. Three days had passed since the incident. After the king’s men had come, and de Chabannes had failed to do so, she and Guy had agreed not to venture far. Which meant this room, the hall below, and the inn’s grounds had become quite familiar.

  Much as she and Guy had become familiar with each other.

  Though she still saw glimpses of the arrogant mercenary she’d first met, the Guy who had sat quietly by the fire telling her tales of tourneys and battles was very different. She’d commented on it one night as they supped in the hall.

  “Which Guy Lavallais is true?” she had asked, not for the first time, after he grabbed her hand, pulling her up to dance as the fiddler launched into a lively tune.

  “This one or the slightly arrogant one who spits at danger and swaggers through every hall as if it is his very own kingdom?”

  His answer had been to spin her around.

  “Slightly?”

  Though they were not the only people dancing, they were easily the most visible. With the caution Guy had been taking lately, it seemed a strange departure.

  “I was being kind.”

  He pulled her close. “Kinder than last eve,” he whispered in her ear. Sabine’s core clenched in anticipation of his next words. “Do you remember, lady wife? When I asked for a moment’s respite?”

  “A moment? ’Twas more than a brief moment, and if I recall, your hand had strayed—”

  “Ahh, I do remember now. I was surprised to find you wet and ready again so soon.”

  Sabine looked both ways, mortified by the thought that someone might have heard them. The fiddler had stopped playing, and she tried to sit back down.

  Instead, she found herself in Guy’s arms, at his mercy.

  “I am both men.” Sabine shivered at his husky tone. “And did warn you. I am no gentleman.”

  She disagreed. The only place he was decidedly a mercenary was in bed, where he was merciless in his quest to please her, something he did splendidly well. Yet he still pulled from her each time they lay together. He said nothing about it. But neither did she.

  And Sabine knew why.

  Guy had spoken more of his desire to form his own company of mercenaries. He admitted he’d turned down offers from two of his friends, Terric and Conrad, to captain their men-at-arms. Although he would have been proud to serve either man, he told her, he didn’t like the thought of being rooted to one place.

  She understood what it meant. His feelings for her had clearly caught him off guard, but his plans didn’t leave room for a wife and a child.

  Then again, Sabine had also not expected to meet a man she wished to keep as her husband. She’d become accustomed to the notion she would have to take care of herself.

  When the door creaked open now, Sabine nearly ran to Guy. Part of her had feared he would not come back.

  But something stopped her. The look on his face, perhaps.

  She had never seen him quite so angry.

  Slamming the door behind him, Guy proceeded to pace back and forth as she’d been doing.

  “He is a bastard,” he spat, tossing his sword and scabbard onto the bed on his next pass. “De Chabannes does not intend to make this easy.”

  “What did he say?”

  Sabine sat on the edge of the bed, watching her husband walk to and fro.

  “He will consider the offer.”

  She waited, but Guy said no more.

  “And?”

  He stopped, ran his hands through his hair, and looked her in the eye. Two large strides brought him to the bed. Sabine thought he intended to kiss her as he leaned down. Instead, he snatched up the recently discarded scabbard, attached it to his belt, and then grabbed his sword.

  “He was not at all remorseful for having alerted Lord Noreham to our presence. He said little and agreed only to consider my offer carefully.”

  He turned toward the door. “I cannot stay here any longer. Come.”

  Shoving aside her disappointment, she asked Guy where they were going.

  “To the village. I dislike the man but don’t believe he’s told Noreham about our true purpose. We should be safe enough.”

  Sabine did not remark that her father had said much the same, that she would be safe enough with Lord Burge, when last she saw him. Burge was no longer a threat. And if de Chabannes did not betray them, their only concern was for his decision. If the French mercenary stayed, ready to fight for John, the order’s short rebellion would be over.

  Or their victory would be much less assured, at any rate. The momentum would turn against them.

  We should be safe enough.

  She hoped her husband was right.

  Chapter 27

  Guy thanked the smith for sharpening his sword and left the shop. He smiled at the thought of how his friend Lance might react to this blacksmith’s disorderly shop. His friend was nearly as insistent on keeping order in the smithy as he was of the righteousness of their cause against the king.

  “’Tis good to see you smile.”

  “I thought of Lance,” he admitted as he and Sabine moved away from the smithy. The day was hot for September, and the ground unusually dry from a lack of rain.

  A good day to explore the village.

  “That mark,” she said, nodding to his arm. “You said he has one too?”

  Guy waited until a group of Noreham’s knights moved past. Thankfully, they had not even glanced their way.

  “Lance and I met before the others, at an earlier Tournament of the North. My father had commissioned a new sword from his father months earlier.”

  “His father was also a smith?”

  “Aye. One of the best. But a mean bastard too.”

  Sabine tripped, though Guy could not see any obstacles in front of her. He took her arm anyway, and he found he was reluctant to let go.

  So he didn’t.

  “When I collected my father’s sword, I met Lance for the first time.”

  “And the marking? The fleur-de-lis on your arm?”

  He instinctively tightened his grip on her
arm, still tucked through his. “A reminder. Lance and I received the marks together. Then later Terric and Conrad followed our lead.”

  They slowed.

  “A reminder of what?”

  She looked up at him with such sweetness and sincerity, he could not do aught but answer her.

  “The three points commonly represent the three estates. Commoners, nobility, and clergy. ’Tis a reminder we do not accept that. Lance is now lord of Tuleen, but he is also a blacksmith.” He shrugged. “I am but a mercenary. Son of a mercenary and a common woman.”

  “But you will be the leader of men someday.”

  It was not a question. Sabine said it with such unshakable certainty . . . Her support, her belief in him, made Guy feel as if the sun had come up twice that day.

  “Aye,” he said simply.

  When her eyes widened, Guy turned to see what Sabine was looking at behind him.

  His heart sank into his stomach. It was as if their pleasant day had just been catapulted into darkness. He’d seen the look on her face and knew what it might mean.

  And Guy simply wasn’t ready for it.

  * * *

  Sabine could not believe it.

  Despite the size of Noreham Castle, this was not an overly large village. Even in large towns, girdlers would often come for market day and then move on to the next town.

  But there it was. A wooden sign bearing the image of a decorative belt chape, swaying back and forth with the breeze.

  “Could it be?”

  Even as she asked, Sabine knew this was indeed a girdler’s shop.

  “It would appear so.”

  She had already pulled her arm from Guy’s comfortable grasp. Still incredulous, Sabine ran into the small wooden structure. Belts of all kinds lined every surface. When the older man behind the table looked up from his work, his gaze inquisitive, she remembered her mother’s warning.

  You’ve a skill, but that matters little to most men.

  Additional words were unnecessary. Sabine knew few women had ever been accepted into a girdler’s guild. Her own father, though proud of her handiwork, had never allowed her, or her mother for that matter, to bring her wares to the market. He’d claimed it would be inappropriate due to their station, but Sabine had long suspected that was only a part of what made her father uncomfortable. If they’d been men, he likely would have felt differently.