He raised his brows.
“I was pledged to St. Andrew Holybourne Abbey before escaping, much to my overlord’s dismay, with Guy Lavallais. The mercenary.” She would not apologize for it.
“Your father would be quite proud, I do believe.”
She leaned forward in shock, ignoring Conrad between them.
“You knew my father? But you’ve not been in England these many years.”
“Have I not?”
The plump man, his face saggy in the cheeks, smiled. And Sabine immediately understood. He had been in England, though not officially. And he knew her father because both men opposed the king. Their network had been stronger, more extensive, than Sabine had realized.
“That you should be here, at Licheford, is fitting, my dear.”
She blinked as he turned his attention to Conrad.
“Your order”—she saw Conrad stiffen at the direct reference to his secret—“is gaining support.” He gave them each a knowing look. “And notice.”
“If Salerno had not told you—” Conrad started.
“I suspect another would have,” Langton finished. “But now, at least, we have a defined course.”
“We?”
The Earl of Licheford said that one word with all of the arrogance of a man in his position. Rare, from what she’d observed, for Conrad. But he was indeed an earl, albeit a young one.
“Aye. We.”
Sabine had met many noblemen throughout her life, but even their power paled in comparison to the archbishop’s. She was not fooled by his affability.
Stephen Langton was not a man to trifle with.
“I’ve uncovered a document.” He lowered his voice despite the lack of company in the ornate hall. “One granted by King Henry, which, though never enforced, could be useful to us now.”
Sabine listened as Langton outlined the provisions in a document he called the Charter of Liberties. If John agreed to sign it, to agree to its terms, it would negate some of the powers he now abused. A widow could not be denied her dowry. Children would not be required to purchase land and titles due to them by inheritance. So many of its terms seemed simple but would have far-reaching effects on the governance of their country.
“He will never do it,” she blurted.
Both men stared.
“His alternative is to forfeit the crown,” Conrad said.
His words brought the situation home for her in a way that nothing else had. Would they truly go to war with their own king?
Aye, if that was what it took. They’d come too far to turn back now, and she had to believe John could be defeated, even with Bande de Valeur at his back. But it would take more coin, more men and . . . dear Lord. They spoke of overthrowing their king by force.
“Do you believe he would agree?” she asked the archbishop.
“I do not know,” he said, the honesty in his words highlighted by a deep frown. “I do not know,” he repeated, picking up a silver goblet of fine French wine. “But, for the sake of our country, I dearly hope he does.”
All three of them fell silent then. A wave of longing washed over Sabine, more intense for their discussion. Guy should be here. To discuss this matter. To hold her. To make love to her. To be her husband.
The part of Sabine that had feared needing him, or anyone, had retreated. Was it so horrible to be loved and protected by a man? When that man was Guy Lavallais? The answer was clearer now than it had been before coming to Licheford.
Unfortunately, she feared it might be too late.
Chapter 33
When Licheford Castle rose before him, Guy stopped. Something he’d done little of since leaving Noreham. He’d ridden hard, likely too hard, to get here. Consoling himself that his message must have arrived ahead of him, Guy took a deep, calming breath, Arion dancing under him.
Almost there.
He’d been haunted by the memory of the last time he’d seen Sabine. The look of terror on her face. The horror he’d felt at the notion that she might be hurt on his account.
He’d known then but still had not admitted it. Everything had become clear to him in his conversation with Noreham.
Guy was not so foolish to think he could live without Sabine, the woman he had very deliberately pushed away. He could only hope it was not too late.
Spurring his horse forward, this brief hesitation his last, Guy finally thundered through the gatehouse after startling the poor guards with his shouts demanding entry. He sped past scared servants and more than one of Conrad’s retainers, who looked at him as if the devil had just ridden through the gates.
Which was not terribly far from the truth.
Since that day at the tournament, he’d been to Licheford many times. They knew him here, as they did Terric and Lance, but that did not mean his mad run through the courtyard would go unnoticed. It was only when he burst into the hall to find it empty that he stopped to consider she might not be here.
Roger had confirmed this as her destination. But had she made it to Licheford safely? Had she already left?
“Guy?”
He spun around at the voice.
Conrad crossed his arms, looking decidedly angry.
“You are alive.”
He searched frantically for Sabine.
“Where is she?”
“Tell me how you come to stand here, unharmed. Did you pass the archbishop as you left? And where are the men I sent to Noreham?”
“Archbishop? Men?”
“Aye. When Sabine arrived—”
His knees buckled under him. “She’s here?”
“When she arrived with word of your capture, I sent a contingent of men to assess the situation.”
“Where. Is. She?”
And then, finally noticing Conrad’s expression, he added, “I know not about your men. They never arrived at Noreham, or if they did, I was not aware of it.”
“Guy?”
He’d begun to convince himself he would never hear her voice again. Spinning toward the heavenly sound, he took in her deep purple gown and the hair piled artfully atop her head. Sabine looked every bit the noblewoman he did not deserve.
He did not hesitate.
Guy ran to her, reaching his wife in four strides. He engulfed her in an embrace so tight he couldn’t be sure if the sound she made was from joy or pain.
“I was so worried.”
She pulled away, her cheeks streaked with tears.
“You were worried? What happened? What took you so long?”
Clearing his throat but unwilling to let her go, Guy forced back tears.
Conrad had not moved. Nor had Guy’s reunion with his wife softened his expression.
“We thought you dead. Or worse.”
Guy chuckled at the utter ridiculousness of his friend’s statement.
He noticed, for the first time, they were not exactly alone. In fact, the hall was brimming with people who did not hide their interest in the scene before them.
“My solar,” Conrad demanded.
Still, Guy couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He wrapped his fingers through hers and squeezed.
She was safe.
Following Conrad into his private chambers, he chose a bench rather than his typical chair. And pulled his wife nearly onto his lap.
“I’m not sure why I continue to be surprised by your antics,” Conrad said, brows raised.
Guy ignored him.
Reaching up to grasp a lock of Sabine’s hair, he twirled it through his fingers. She had to forgive him for acting like a stubborn arse before they were separated. He’d talk to Conrad later about the idea he’d had on the way to Licheford. But first . . . he had something to tell them.
“Bande de Valeur have returned to France.”
Chapter 34
Sabine was sure her expression of shock matched Conrad’s.
It was difficult to think with Guy sitting next to her, touching her. Even if it was just her hair. The gesture brought her as much comfort as she
knew it brought him. And though she was still contemplating killing him for making her worry, she sensed something had changed between them.
But for now, she needed an explanation. They’d both been so sure de Chabannes wouldn’t bend. What could have changed?
Eyes sparkling, Guy said, “Noreham is with us.”
She thought of the young lord whose father had served the king. “Impossible.”
He’d come off as so devout. So loyal.
When Guy’s eyes met hers, all thoughts of Noreham flew from her head for a moment. So much promise in his eyes . . .
“Ahem.”
She spun her head, looking guiltily at Conrad.
“I thought the same,” Guy said, responding to her remark. “Thankfully, I did not attempt to kill the man before he explained.”
“Kill him? Did he not disarm you at the inn?” Sabine thought back, attempting to remember exactly what had transpired.
“He did not. By the time I was within his walls, alone, part of me knew something was amiss.” He shrugged. “The other part of me thought to kill him before being tossed in Noreham’s dungeon.”
Having seen Guy’s sword arm in action, Sabine had no doubt he could have easily done so.
“He claims there are others like him, openly loyal to John but privately irate with his policies. The election of des Roches as his justiciar was the point at which Noreham turned.”
Sabine shook her head. “My father said many of the barons despised the bishop of Winchester nearly as much as they did John’s taxes.”
“Precisely,” Guy continued. “When John asked”—Guy inclined his head—“demanded the use of Noreham’s land for Bande de Valeur, he had no choice but to acquiesce. He claims, if necessary, he’d have turned his own men against the company rather than allow de Chabannes’s men to fight us.”
“You believe him?” Conrad asked.
“I do.”
The room was silent.
“He’d begun to suspect our true purpose.”
Sabine could guess how events had unfolded after she left. “You and Noreham both convinced de Chabannes?”
Guy winked at her, and the expression of complicity made her heart sing. This was their fight.
Together.
“Aye, lady wife. We did.” He looked at Conrad. “Between the bribe I’d already offered him and the knowledge that his host was prepared for a fight . . .” Guy frowned. “He’s many things, but Aceline is not a stupid man.”
Sabine allowed the news to penetrate.
Noreham was one of them.
He’d threatened Bande de Valeur with a battle, and Guy had offered them twice as much coin as the king. These were not the actions of men who dipped their toes in a rebellion. Like her father, they were prepared to die for this cause. Noreham, for reasons she did not yet know. Guy, as a part of his bond of friendship with the order. And she . . .
Sabine had as much reason to despise John and his rule as any, but she’d never imagined being a part of the movement that would depose him. Or, at the very least, force him to reform.
It was more than she ever could have hoped for that day at the abbey, when the mercenary’s conversation had reached her ears.
Much, much more.
Guy watched her.
“Did you see them leave?” she thought to ask.
“Aye. ’Tis what took me so long. Which is why I sent word ahead.”
Her brows furrowed. “Nay,” she argued, “you did not.”
Conrad cut in then. “Who did you send?”
They looked at each other then, all likely thinking the same thing. Guy never answered. He didn’t need to. The message never reached them. And in the game of kings, there were rarely any winners. The moves they’d made these past weeks, while necessary, were no longer secret.
“It doesn’t matter.” Conrad sat back, crossing his arms. “The king will likely notice the absence of his sellswords.”
“But he doesn’t know the identity of the men who are behind the unification of his opposition,” she said as Guy rubbed the palm of her hand with his thumb.
“Yet,” Conrad said.
“And women,” Guy added.
At another time that would have made her smile, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before they were unmasked. Too many people knew for the secret to remain in the dark much longer. Guy. Conrad. Lance. Terric.
Her father would have been proud to know them.
“I would speak to Conrad for a moment.” Although she didn’t wish to leave, she was swayed by the plaintive tone in Guy’s voice. He released her hand, and she stood and left.
“Do not venture far,” he said as she walked through the door. “We need to talk.”
* * *
“Where are we going?”
Since emerging from Conrad’s solar, Guy had been acting . . . odd. She’d assumed he would want to speak to her at once, but instead he’d disappeared, leaving her with the earl. Who had promptly led her out of the solar, their destination unknown.
“I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Sabine rolled her eyes.
“And I suppose you’d never break an oath with a member of the order.”
Conrad smiled at her as they made their way across the small courtyard, making her scowl in return. The man had refused to tell her anything.
Where Guy had disappeared to.
Where they were going now.
Why Guy had asked for her to leave.
She wondered if his other friends were equally infuriating.
“But supper . . . ,” she started, reminding him that the rest of Licheford was even now preparing for the meal. One they could not begin without the earl.
“Can wait.”
Sabine stopped trying. She did not fully understand Guy’s bond with the other men of the order. Although she’d always wished for a sibling, it had never happened, and her friendships had never been as close as the brotherhood shared by these four men.
To her surprise, Conrad led her into a building she immediately recognized as the smithy. Guy stood there next to a bulky man who was presumably Licheford’s master smith. Wielding the smith’s iron hammer had given him much the same physique as the two much younger men.
“A woman?”
Both Conrad and Guy gave the man a look that had him staring down at his feet.
“Master Irwin, will you pardon us a moment before we begin?” Guy asked. Although it was not really a question. When the older man walked out, Conrad left them too.
“’Tis not where I’d imagined our reunion,” Sabine said.
He reached her so quickly, she had no time to react. His kiss was unlike any of the others they’d shared. It was both strong and soft. Passionate and loving. It answered the question she’d had since Guy returned. And well before that, really.
Sabine kissed him back, only to find herself bereft of his company once more.
“I love you, Sabine.”
She hadn’t known what to expect, walking in here with Conrad, but it had never occurred to her that he might profess his love.
But she would accept it nonetheless.
“I am so sorry for the answer I gave that day. I should have told you the truth. That I do not want to part with you ever again. That I would be proud to call you my lady wife for the rest of my days. But”—he swallowed—“I’ve little to offer you. The life of a mercenary . . .” He shook his head. “Conrad has agreed for us to remain here. If we are still alive when this is done.”
He looked at her with such expectation, but Sabine knew what her answer had to be.
“No.”
His stricken expression prompted her to clarify her answer.
“You—we—cannot stay here. You’re not meant for that life, and I would see the world with you instead.”
“My mother—”
“I am not your mother,” she said as gently as possible. “And you know it well.”
He was still afraid. She could see it in his eyes.
She poured everything she was into those words.
“I love you enough to accept that I need you,” she continued. “More than that, I want you. By my side.” Did she dare be so bold? “In my bed.”
“Sabine . . .”
“I know.”
And she did. Sabine had enjoyed the time she’d spent with Master Roger—it had given her a glimpse of the life that could be—but she’d found something she wanted more.
When Guy pulled off his linen shirt, Sabine could not have been more surprised.
“I don’t believe this is a good time”—her eyes fell to his stomach—“or place for . . .”
Her boldness, apparently, had its limits.
“And Conrad is just outside.”
Guy grabbed her hand and placed it on his arm. Just over the marking that bound him to Lance. Covering her hand with his, Guy held her gaze.
“This mark was once a symbol, a reminder that there are those who do not fit so nicely into the three pillars of society. Lance and I . . . are different. But so are Conrad and Terric. They are lords. Wealthy men of great influence who chose to befriend a blacksmith and a mercenary. Men who now risk themselves for a cause bigger than any of us individually.”
“What are you saying?”
“This”—he squeezed her hand—“means more now that each of us has marked ourselves with the symbol.”
“You mean to say everyone in the order has one?”
Guy nodded, then released her hand.
“The smith made Conrad and Terric’s, though theirs are hidden to the world. And he would make yours too.”
The smith.
The man standing outside even now.
Did that mean . . . did Guy bring her here to . . .
“Do you mean for me to be marked as you are?” She shook her head. “I was not there that day,” she pointed out. “I’m not one of you.”
Guy smiled. “But you are.”
Her gaze moved back to the table where a wooden block and a metal dish filled with black powder sat. Guy meant for her to bear their mark. To be . . .
The Mercenary: Order of the Broken Blade Page 14