Marcus watched Sage work in the wavering light of the candle. His eyes continued to drift closed, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Unable to resist, he had reluctantly untied her wrists so she could work. She was tenacious. Focused. She sat on the floor in the corner, her knees crossed, the book on her knee. Candlelight fell about her, and Marcus studied her in his corner of darkness. She was interesting. Confident. Her dark locks formed a cave for her work, tumbling over her shoulders and down toward the floor. Her brow creased in concentration. Her lips pursed in thought—the lips he had imagined kissing before. He pushed that thought from his mind.
Most women would have been terrified of being kidnapped by a killer, but Sage showed no fear. Only certainty. She was either too confident in her abilities, or she was too obsessed with the book. Still, he had to be on guard with her. She was a Hawke.
And that was another problem. Her family. He knew they were tracking him now. In many ways, he was envious of her connection with her family. He had never been close to his. Before she passed away, his mother had spent most of her time doting on his sister. His father...was obsessed with strength. Marcus could never live up to his father’s ideals. And he didn’t want to. His sister had married, and her husband hadn’t approved of the life Marcus led. Marcus didn’t want to cause trouble between Emma and her husband, so he rarely saw his sister, even though he desired to speak with her. She was kind and loving. And he missed her.
Then there was Guillume. The closest thing to a brother he had.
And, of course, Rose.
His eyes drifted closed. But he forced them open to find Sage writing on the parchment. Damn. He couldn’t allow himself to sleep. She had tried to escape once; he was certain she would again. He could simply tell her enough was enough and extinguish the candle, but he wanted her to decode the book as much as she did. Yet, he was exhausted.
He mentally shook himself. The book. Why was it so important to Guillume? What could be in that book? He didn’t know why it was so important to Sterling, either. What did they expect to find? Gold? Riches? Something else? He had asked his cousin, but Guillume wouldn’t tell him. That only increased Marcus’s curiosity. What was Guillume hiding? Was the book worth keeping himself if there were treasure to be found from it?
Why else would Guillume commission him to get it? His mind churned. He didn’t know much about what Guillume had been up to in the last year after the suspicious death of Pope Benedict.
Marcus had been at an inn, in between jobs, when a soldier had found him and given him a missive from Guillume. His cousin wanted to speak with him.
Marcus had traveled a day to meet with him. There was no reason not to. While the missive was a surprise, he had been glad to see his cousin. It had been years since he had last seen Guillume. And they were friends.
Guillume had charged him with retrieving the book for the king. Marcus had heard how loyal Guillume was to the ruler. If Marcus had declined the charge, would Guillume have had him arrested for his disloyalty? Marcus grinned. No. Not Guillume. They would do anything for each other. Marcus had assumed this mission was something Guillume could not entrust to a stranger, hence the reason for summoning him.
In his mind, Guillume suddenly stood before him again, dark hair swaying about his shoulders as he walked with his hands clasped behind his back. “You know this is a matter of the utmost secrecy.”
Marcus nodded.
“It will be dangerous. There are others after the book.” Guillume placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I trust you. You are family.” His lips curved up in a grin.
As Marcus stared into his eyes, a red glow emanated from them. And suddenly, his teeth elongated to jagged points. Marcus gasped and jerked.
He was suddenly in the loft above the smithy. He swallowed heavily and looked about. Guillume was not there. His gaze settled on the flickering candle in the corner.
Neither was Sage.
Chapter 7
Marcus stood quickly, glancing around the small room and then looking back at the straw mattress again. Empty. Even her sheath and belt were gone. How had she moved him from the door and slipped out? It didn’t matter. He opened the door and hurried down the stairs. Had she run? If he were in her position, he would have. Anger simmered in his veins.
She had the book and her sword.
The smithy was dark. The continuous rumble of the torrential downpour sounded on the roof. Had she left the smithy in this weather? He started for the exit when he heard a muted conversation from behind the opposite doorway leading to Gareth’s chambers. He paused, listening. Two people were speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. He crossed the smithy and knocked on the door before swinging it open.
Gareth and Sage looked up as he opened the door. They sat across from each other at a wooden table, a bowl of pottage before each of them. Sage’s bowl was pushed aside and empty. She held the book flat before her, the parchment next to it, the quill in her hand.
Marcus’s hot gaze swung to Gareth in silent accusation.
“Poor girl was hungry,” Gareth explained. “Are ya starving her?”
Marcus shifted his gaze to Sage. She had likely started to make a run for it, but Gareth had seen her. Marcus was sure that was what had happened exactly. His eyes narrowed.
Sage grinned innocently.
“Ale?” Gareth asked.
Marcus nodded and sat beside Sage. His gaze scanned the parchment as Gareth stood to retrieve a flask of ale from a nearby bench.
“Gareth was glad you untied me,” Sage commented. She placed her hand flat on the parchment. “He said it was unmanly to tie a woman.”
Marcus ignored the insult. “He doesn’t know you as I do.” It was almost as if she was hiding the document from his view. “Did you need your sword to get food?”
She grinned a half-smile. “You never know who you might run into.”
Marcus grunted in disbelief. His stare moved to the parchment. “Any luck?”
Sage shrugged. “That depends on what you mean by ‘luck.’”
He couldn’t see much beneath her splayed fingers. “Then I shall be more precise in my wording. Have you decoded any words?”
Sage looked down at the text and then at the book. “No,” she finally admitted.
Her movement was strange. It was clear she didn’t want him to see the parchment. His stare moved over what he could see of the page, what her hand was not covering. None of the words made any sense.
She quickly folded the document in half and tucked it inside the book.
She didn’t want him to see what she was doing. His gaze slowly, suspiciously, shifted to her eyes.
Sage glanced at the mug of ale before her. She picked it up and drank deeply.
What was she hiding?
Sage set the pottery mug down and pretended to study the book. “It’s difficult because I am guessing.”
He stared hard at her.
She kept her gaze on the book, furrowing her brow as if in thought. She felt his intense gaze on her, and she mentally told herself not to panic. Even when Gareth gave Marcus the flask, he didn’t take his stare from her. Had he figured out what she was doing? Her father had told her never to underestimate anyone. She ran a finger along the letters in the first line of the book. She wasn’t even close to deciphering the words.
That was not what she was doing.
She was copying the book.
She had spent the entire night working on it, refusing to sleep. She had carefully copied each letter, each sentence. That way, she could leave Marcus with the book and still have a copy of it. He would not come after her when she escaped. Or so she hoped.
The boy, Thomas, had been incredibly helpful, securing three extra pieces of parchment. The copy of the book took up the front and backside of one-and-a-half pages. On the second page, she had listed the alphabet, as she had seen Brother Nicolas do. Next to the G, she wrote an A. Just as she and Brother Nicolas had deciphered. Below the alphabet, she wrote the first lin
e and replaced all the G’s with A’s. But she had not even begun to decipher any of the words. She wanted to make certain she had a copy of the book first.
Marcus finally turned away from her and took a deep drink of the ale.
Sage relaxed, letting a small, silent breath escape her lips.
“Sage came down and was hungry. We began to talk,” Gareth explained.
Marcus slowly lowered the flask. “What did you talk about?”
“Thomas,” Gareth offered. “And a little about the Hawke family.”
Sage grinned. She had purposely mentioned her family in case they came looking for her. She hoped Gareth would tell them she was safe, so they wouldn’t worry.
Marcus’s stare was back on her.
She snapped the book closed. “We also spoke about Gareth’s smithy and his skill, the weather, and the town.”
“You’ve been down here for a while.”
Sage shrugged. “You were sleeping.”
His blue eyes narrowed slightly.
She stood up. “Thank you for the ale and conversation, Gareth.”
Gareth nodded.
Sage returned to the loft.
Marcus rose to follow her, but Gareth seized his wrist.
“Are you mad?” Gareth hissed.
Marcus scowled at him. “Sometimes.”
“She is Sage Hawke. A Hawke.” Gareth released his wrist, shaking his head. “I can’t protect you from this.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Marcus,” Gareth pleaded, holding his hands before him, palms up. “They will come looking for her. It’s the Hawkes! John Hawke is a legend. I can’t lie to them. Not even for you.”
Marcus placed his hand reassuringly on Gareth’s shoulder. “I never asked you to lie. I only asked for shelter from the storm.”
Gareth sighed and bowed his head. “You always make me feel guilty. But this…” He glanced up at the ceiling as if gazing at Sage. “I don’t know what you are messed up in, Marcus. But this is big. And dangerous.”
Marcus chuckled. “Stop. You are frightening me,” he mocked and turned to walk out of the room. “Thank you for your help. We will be gone before sunup.”
As Marcus emerged from the room, the boy who had greeted them hopped merrily down the stairs from the loft. Marcus caught his shoulder. “What were you doing up there?”
“The lady needed more parchment and ink,” the boy answered proudly.
Marcus cast a glance at the loft. “Is that all?”
“I brought her a flask of ale.”
Marcus grimaced. He didn’t think that was all that the boy had brought. Sage had made a friend. A friend who would bring her whatever she asked him to. She was clever and resourceful. But there was one thing he had that she didn’t. Marcus released the boy’s shoulder and reached into his coin pouch. He tossed him a coin. “Tell me whatever she requires.”
The boy gazed at the coin in surprise and then nodded enthusiastically, a lock of dark hair falling before his eyes. “Aye.” He scurried away.
Marcus watched him. Most people valued coin over everything else. He grinned, pleased with himself. He could match wits with Sage. The only problem was, did she ever sleep? He had to sleep to be fresh and on guard for those following him. He had no doubt Sterling was tracking him, as well as the Templar knights. He had to stay one step ahead of all of them.
When he came to the loft, soft candlelight flickered over the small area.
Sage was stretched out on the straw mattress, an arm over her eyes. Neither the book nor the parchments were anywhere to be seen.
His gaze moved slowly over her body. Her tight-fitting leather armor covered her torso like a second skin. Her breeches fit snugly to her shapely legs. She must have tucked the book and parchment back into her armor as she had before. His gaze perused her curvy form again. He couldn’t imagine where the book was. Her leather armor fit perfectly over her breasts and down over her hips.
His stare lingered on her hips for a moment before he cleared his throat. “We need to set up some rules.”
No response. No movement.
“Sage?” he called. But she didn’t move. It was then he realized she was asleep. An exhale of relief escaped his lips. Finally!
He closed the door and positioned himself before it, stretching out. He would catch some rest before she woke again. Then, they would talk.
When Marcus awakened in the morning, Sage was still sleeping. He silently departed the room, pausing in the smithy to tell Gareth not to let her leave if she woke. Gareth grumbled something and continued pounding out a piece of steel on the anvil. Marcus didn’t hear what he said, and he didn’t think he wanted to know.
As he left the smithy, something caught his gaze in the wet dirt at the side of the doorway. A small beige item that looked incredibly out of place in the damp mud. It could have been the petal of a flower or a piece of onion. He shrugged it off and continued, walking briskly down the road until he came upon a man in a straw hat leaning against the side of a wattle and daub building. The man was whittling a bird.
Marcus stopped before him. He handed him a coin. “Can you get a message to Guillume de Nogaret?”
The man turned the coin over in his hand and then looked up at him from beneath his large, brimmed hat. “Aye.”
“Tell him I have it, and I’ll rendezvous with him in five days’ time.”
The man nodded; his hat bobbed with the movement.
As Marcus turned to go back to the smithy, a white tunic with a red cross on it caught his attention. He paused. Two knights strolled down the street, the red cross on their chests emblazoned for all to see.
Templar Knights.
Chapter 8
Light brightened the inside lids of Sage’s eyes. She opened them and blinked at the sunlight filling the room. She sat up, immediately running her hands across her torso, feeling inside her armor for the book. The book pressed up against her ribs. It was still there. She mentally scoffed to herself. What did she think? That Marcus would have searched her while she slept and removed it from inside her armor without her knowing? He wasn’t that skilled.
She looked around the room for him, but he wasn’t there. She had almost finished copying the book the night before. She had started decoding it in case Marcus asked her about deciphering it. She could show him the work she had done by displaying the alphabet parchment. She reached into her armor and pulled out the book, staring at it. She ran her thumb thoughtfully over the leather. She loved the feel of the soft cover against her fingertips, the weight of the book, and even the smell.
But she knew that to escape, she would have to leave it. Leave it with a man who killed Brother Nicolas. Nicolas had warned her not to trust anyone. And she wouldn’t.
She opened the book and removed the parchment. She glanced toward the open door but saw no one. She only heard the tinging of a hammer striking steel and knew someone was working in the smithy. She turned to the last page, grasped the quill and ink, and began copying the book—only one page to go.
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and quickly blew on the parchment to dry the ink before folding it and tucking it into her boot. So close to finishing! She turned the book to the first page when Marcus appeared in the doorway
“You’re up.”
She looked up…
And froze.
He had removed his monk’s robe. He wore black boots that came up to his knees, black leggings that fit snugly against his muscular thighs, and a dark green tunic that covered his torso, open at the neck to a V. His belt and scabbard were wrapped around his waist.
Sage’s mouth dropped slightly. She hadn’t known he had such a strong physique. His tunic clung tightly over his arms and chest. She closed her mouth and tucked the book into her armor before standing. Her gaze swept him, and she put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t like pretending to be a monk?”
“I wanted to be less conspicuous. We will be leaving soon.”
She gla
nced longingly at her belt and sheath, where they lay on the floor. “Where are we going?”
He ignored her. “How is the decoding proceeding?”
She shrugged. “It’s difficult. It will take time to figure it all out.” And even more time because she couldn’t read.
“The sooner you decode that book, the better it will be for all of us.”
That sounded like a threat. Her stare traveled over him. “I’m doing what I can.” She put her hands together at the wrists and held them out for him to bind.
He looked at her hands and then at her face. “It would be less conspicuous to travel without having to tie you.”
She lowered her hands. Less conspicuous, but foolish. She nodded.
“I do not want to have to chase you again.”
“You won’t have to,” she agreed.
“You won’t try to escape again?”
She grinned. “Next time, you won’t find me.”
He sighed softly in resignation and held his hand out. “Give me the book.”
Stupid, she berated herself. She stood defiantly still for a long moment before tearing the black leather-bound book from inside her armor and slapping it into his palm.
He nodded and gathered up her sword and belt. Then, he swept an arm out for her to move down the stairs.
He was pretty smart to realize she wouldn’t attempt escape without the book or her weapon. If only she had finished copying the book. She descended the stairs, thanked Gareth, and stepped outside.
Thomas held the reins of the horse. When the boy turned to the horse to check the bridle, Sage glanced down. The small piece of parchment she had dropped the night before was still there. She was using the parchment from Brother Nicolas’s desk. Last night, she had ripped it into several small pieces and put them in the pocket of her breeches.
She grinned. She was leaving a path for her sisters.
As they rode along the road, Sage wondered where her sisters were. Had they met up with her father, as they intended to? They must be searching for her. Where were they?
She and Marcus had been riding for half the day when Marcus steered his steed off the road and into the brush. A stream ran behind a set of trees, off the main road. He dismounted and reached up for Sage.
Sage: Medieval Romance Beauties With Blades Page 5
