“You don’t need to read to decode.”
“But...you do.”
Incensed and hurt that her secret was so apparent, and that he had figured it out, she lifted her chin and whirled, marching away toward the tree where the horse was tethered. She would escape tonight. What difference did it make if he knew she couldn’t read?
“Sage!” Marcus called.
She sat down with a harrumph and crossed her arms, closing off communication. Imagine! Him accusing her of not being able to read. How humiliating. How embarrassing. How correct.
She and Marcus had been making progress on the black book. Then, he had accused her of not being able to read. Of course, he was right. She couldn’t read. She could only read two-letter words—and what good was that? She could sound some of the others out. Usually. Apparently, not well enough to fool him or to decode the book.
Upset and ashamed, she refused to look at him. She had always wanted to read. It had been a fierce desire inside her to know why. And books gave answers. And knowledge. She had begged her father to find someone to teach her, but it wasn’t important to him. She always felt like an outcast among her family because she thought learning to read was important. She always felt Willow and Raven were laughing at her for her desire to read.
Oh, what was the use? Marcus was right! He had kidnapped someone to decode the book who couldn’t even read. She rose, frustrated. “So, I can’t read. What difference does that make? I can sword fight. I can pick any lock you give me. I can figure out any puzzle.” She held the book out to him. “Like this book. It doesn’t matter if I can’t read. I can sound words out. And I can certainly decode this book.”
Marcus approached her.
She fumed silently, her teeth clenched, and her fist balled, but her feelings were shattered. Her lower lip trembled with hurt embarrassment.
“I only asked because...I can teach you.”
Her anger evaporated, and she lowered the book. “You know how to read.” It was a statement. She knew he did. He had been offering suggestions to decode the book and correcting her spelling.
He nodded. “Yes.”
She looked him up and down, from his tight-fitting black breeches to over his strong chest to his full lips that were not smiling in mockery of her. She swallowed. “Why would you teach me?” she demanded suspiciously.
He shrugged those strong shoulders. “For one, it would help you decode that book faster.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. That would make sense. He wanted the book decoded. Teaching her to read would benefit them both.
Still, misplaced righteous anger simmered in her veins. She thoughtfully chewed her lower lip. He had said he would teach her to read! Hunger at the prospect filled her. The one thing she had wanted for her entire life. Raven was always better than her at sword fighting. Willow was the pretty one. Sage could work puzzles, but it wasn’t enough. “I suppose you’re right.”
“If I teach you, there is one thing I want from you.”
She knew it—there was always a catch. She put her hand on her hip, waiting.
“I want your word you will not attempt to escape.”
She blinked. That was it? Just her word? She could give him that. Joy erupted inside her, but then quickly faded. What about her family? She needed to find them and let them know she was safe. They would be searching for her. They would be worried. But everything inside her wanted to learn to read. She could always locate her family after she had learned and apologize for making them worry. Once she explained that she could read, they would have to understand. They would forgive her for making them fret over her safety.
He took a step toward her. “I can’t watch you every moment of the day. I want to be able to trust you.”
Ironic of him to ask for trust. “How can I trust you? You killed Brother Nicolas, an unarmed innocent man. How do I know once I decode this book that you won’t kill me, too?”
His gaze swept over her.
And for a moment, she thought she saw remorse and sadness. His shoulders sagged, and he bowed his head. But then, it was gone.
“I won’t kill you,” he promised in a flat voice.
She stared at him, trying to decipher the truth. She really had no choice. Her desire to read was a craving inside her. She wanted to learn to read more than anything else. To do that, she had to give him her word. She nodded. “I won’t try to escape until we’ve deciphered the book.”
Marcus agreed. “That’s good enough.” He turned his back and walked away.
Hope surged through her. He was going to teach her to read. Sage’s gaze dropped to his rounded bottom as he strolled away. She had to admire his physique, even if she didn’t admire his murderous personality.
He was no threat. She could take care of herself. And he would teach her to read!
Chapter 10
After riding the next day, they stopped for the night in a thick area of the forest. Marcus reached inside the saddlebag and pulled out a loaf. He got tired of eating bread all the time, but it was easy to carry on journeys. He broke it in half and handed one piece to Sage. Then, he pulled the flask out and uncorked it, passing it to Sage.
She took it and drank before handing it back. “Will you teach me to read now?”
Marcus grinned and picked up a stick. She was very determined. He set the flask on the ground and squatted down, etching words into the dirt. “This shan’t be hard.”
And it wasn’t. She knew the alphabet already, and she knew many of the two-letter words. He explained to her about the sounds the letters made, but she knew that, too. He moved on to simple sentences.
She was a fast learner. Eager. He was becoming intrigued at how her mind worked like a sponge. She wanted to soak in all the information he gave her. Not only was she beautiful, but she was intelligent and curious.
After a while, he set the branch down. “That’s enough for now.”
She scowled in disapproval and, with a sigh of resignation, dipped her hand into her armor and pulled out the book. She returned to the horse and opened one of the saddlebags.
Marcus knew she was retrieving the quill and ink. They would try to decode the book for a little bit before sleeping.
She pulled something out of the bag and stopped, staring at it in surprise.
Tingles danced along the nape of Marcus’s neck. He stood quickly and moved to her side.
“What’s this?” Sage asked, presenting him with a small cloth doll. A piece of fabric had been tied to form a body, head, and arms.
Marcus grabbed it from her hand and shoved it back into the saddlebag. “Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing,” she accused. “It looked like a doll.”
“Forget about it,” Marcus ordered. “Do you want to decipher the book or not?”
Her mouth dropped in surprise before she closed it, shrugging.
Marcus found the quill and ink in the saddlebag and presented them to her. His tone might have been a little harsh, but she certainly didn’t need to know about the doll—the doll he had purchased for Rose.
He pushed the incident to the back of his mind and helped her decode for a while, suggesting words and ideas. But he was no expert at decoding.
Finally, he sat beneath a tree. He was exhausted from the day’s riding and needed to rest. He settled in, his back to the trunk and his sword within reach. He had to stay ready for anything. He knew others were after the book, and he knew he had to maintain his strength and stamina. His gaze scanned the forest.
He recalled one of the times he had been in a forest, watching. His gaze had been riveted on a small cottage with a thatched roof in the middle of farm fields. He had waited for hours in the brush before his sister, Emma, emerged from the house into the sunlight. Her blonde hair was tied back in a bun. She had picked up an empty bucket beside the cottage, as Marcus knew she would. She looked into it and pulled out the coin pouch he had left. She stared at it for a moment before whirling, her gaze searching the surroundi
ng countryside. Marcus knew she couldn’t see him; he was well hidden behind trunks of trees and thick bushes.
She tied the pouch to her belt and set the bucket down before hurrying inside the cottage. He remembered the satisfaction that had filled him at giving her the coin. He wished it could have been more.
Then, Emma reemerged. His breathing had hitched as though he had gasped. He would never forget that image of her holding a two-year-old girl on her hip.
Rose. It was the only thing he had given the child. Her name.
He mentally shook himself. It did no good to remember. He looked across the clearing at Sage to distract himself. She was leaning against a tree; her head slumped to the side in sleep. She must be as exhausted as he was.
He stood and moved to her. He stared down at her for a long moment. The moonlight washed over her peaceful face. He closed the book and eased it from her grasp to place it beside her, knowing she would panic if she couldn’t find it. Then, he took a blanket from beside her and spread it over her.
She turned her head with a contented sigh.
He grinned, and his gaze hungrily swept her face—her smooth skin, her high cheekbones, her full lips. He quickly turned and stalked across the clearing to his spot beneath one of the elm trees. He was thankful he didn’t have to worry about Sage attempting to escape. She had given him her word. He sat down, leaned back against the tree, and closed his eyes.
Guillume was again before him, pacing. “I have charged you with retrieving the book, and you take time to teach this girl to read?”
“I sent you word. I will rendezvous with you at our meeting spot. I will hand over the book then. You have nothing to worry about,” Marcus said. “I will not betray you.”
“Betray?” Guillume smiled. “I said nothing about betrayal. What are you thinking?”
Marcus jerked awake. The sun shone through the leaves of the trees, speckling the forest floor in shadow and light. What were these nightmares he kept having? He blinked and immediately looked for Sage. The spot she had occupied last night was empty. The leaves pressed down in her form where she had rested. He searched the area for her, anxiety clenching his stomach. But before his mind could muster any accusations, he spotted her. She was pacing with the book in her hands, mumbling to herself.
Marcus grinned and took a moment to watch her. She was slender. Her brown hair had been worked into a braid again at her back and fell to her bottom—a curvy, delicious bottom visible beneath her leather armor. Black breeches covered her long, slender legs to her black boots. His gaze moved up over her perfectly shaped breasts to her face.
She whirled, stalking across the clearing. A frown etched into the spot between her brows. She was persistent. It was one of the features he liked about her.
His horse whinnied, and she glanced up, locking gazes with him.
Caught, he quickly glanced away and stood.
She approached him. “Is there time to teach me to read before we ride?”
She was anxious to learn. It was a good thing—something to bind her to him. “After we eat, we’ll ride. When we rest, I’ll continue teaching you.”
“You can’t start now?”
He grinned. “Not now. We shouldn’t remain here.” He walked to the horse and bent to one of the bags on the ground. He pulled out a flask and took a deep drink of ale. He sloshed the liquid in his mouth and spat it out on the ground. He held the flask out to her.
She waved it away, her interest returning to the book.
Tenacious. Her determination with the book gave him another chance to look at her. Her lips were full and pursed in thought. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. She was very beautiful. He shook his head. It didn’t matter how beautiful she was. She had to decipher that book. And soon. Time was running out.
She glanced up at him, catching his stare. “Where are we going?”
“We are going to follow the Ruisseau du Carla.”
After half a day riding, Marcus dismounted and led the horse along a stream. He had traveled this route before to avoid the public roads and any encounters. This path was the perfect route to evade Sterling and the Templar knights.
Sage sat before him on the horse, peering into the open book. She had been distracted on their ride. He had remained quiet to let her think. It gave him time to plan and to ponder, which could be a dangerous thing.
His mind wandered back to Rose. The last time he had seen her was in Emma’s arms. Before that was when she was a baby. A little, crying baby that he had held in his arms as he rode through the night to Emma’s cottage. The child had not stopped wailing the entire way; her high-pitched screeches had echoed through the darkness. He knew he could not keep her because he had no idea how to comfort her, let alone raise a baby. But Emma did. She would make a perfect mother. And she had just lost her baby during childbirth. A more fitting situation, there could not have been.
When he arrived, Emma opened the door for him. Her husband, Ross, stood just behind her with that eternal disapproving glare. Without any questions, Emma took the baby, cocooning it in love. Rose had stopped screaming instantly.
And for a moment, for one brief moment, Marcus had longed to raise the child himself and be a father.
That had been three years ago. And he had done everything in his power to support the child. He gave most of the coin he made to Emma, even though Ross had forbidden him from returning. Ross could not forgive him for abandoning the babe. But nothing Ross said to him could compare with the guilt Marcus felt.
He forced his thoughts from the child and his sister. All his love, everything he cared about, was in that cottage far away from him. As it should be.
This mission offered him the chance to make significant coin for the child and Emma.
He thought about the mission, the book. That damned infernal book. What was in it? It didn’t matter, except that he was curious. Guillume had offered him a lot of coin to retrieve it. He was hoping that if he decoded the book, Guillume would give him even more coin. And he could give every schilling to Emma.
Still, why was the book worth so much? What was in it?
“Do you have a child?” Sage suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
“Why do you ask?” he wondered, avoiding the question.
“Because of the doll.”
He considered her question in silence, deliberating whether he should tell her or not. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “But I am not raising her.”
Sage twisted in the saddle to look at him. “Why?”
“I can’t raise a child with the life I lead,” he admitted. “I’m a mercenary. I work for coin. There are days I don’t know where my next meal is coming from. I would never subject a child to that.”
Sage was silent, considering his answer. Strands of her hair had come free of the braid she wore and bounced gently with the movement of the horse. “My father did exactly that. He came to get us when my mother died. We used to hunt and fish when he didn’t have coin to buy our next meal.”
“Are you saying I am wrong?” he asked, indignant.
“Is she with her mother?”
Marcus shook his head, trying not to show his disdain. “No.”
“Where is she? Who is raising her?”
“My sister,” Marcus admitted. “Rose is happy and healthy.”
“But she doesn’t have her father.”
The familiar guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he clenched his jaw.
“Where is her mother?” Sage asked.
Marcus shook his head as he thought of Cassandra. Beautiful. Vain. He had believed he had loved her. “She didn’t want her.”
Sage’s lips tightened in disapproval. “And you took your daughter to your sister to raise?”
Marcus nodded.
“How old is she?” Sage asked.
“Three summers,” Marcus said softly, longingly.
She turned in the saddle to look at his face.
Marcus knew he had given away too much. His d
esire to see his daughter, his remorse at having someone else raise her. “She might be mine, but she has a different father. My sister’s husband.” As Sage opened her mouth to reply, he cut her off with a stern tone, “It is for the best.”
Chapter 11
They rode the rest of the day in silence until the sun began to set. Sage concentrated on the book, not the sorrow in Marcus’s voice when he spoke of his daughter, not on the way his strong arms wrapped around her to hold the horse’s reins, and certainly not on the way his thighs caressed hers.
As the sun began its descent, Marcus pulled the horse into a clearing near the stream. “We’ll rest here for the night.”
Sage looked up from the parchment at the surroundings. Trees lined the small open area, sheltering and secluding it. As Marcus dismounted, brushing against her shoulder, prickles danced along the nape of her neck. Odd. She shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. He wasn’t an honorable man; financially taking care of his daughter didn’t overrule that he had killed Brother Nicolas in cold blood.
She slid from the horse, clutching the book. She had to remember he was a killer.
The sun was dipping low, spreading red and pink wafts through the sky. It didn’t give her much time to decode. She quickly removed the quill and ink from the bags before strolling to a tree. She crossed her legs, sitting down with the open book. Her gaze rose to Marcus, who removed the bags, cared for the horse, and checked its hooves.
Sage watched him for a moment. His movements were reined power. His back was straight with confidence.
A distraction—that was what he was. She opened the book and couldn’t help casting another glance at him. When she saw he was working a stone from the horse’s hoof, she slipped the parchment from her boot, turned to the last page of the book, and made sure she had copied it correctly. She went over the letters on the page, working diligently to make sure it was accurate. She cast secretive glances at Marcus. So very handsome.
Sage worked as rapidly and as precisely as she could. If she got even one letter wrong, it could spell catastrophe.
Sage: Medieval Romance Beauties With Blades Page 7
