Sage: Medieval Romance Beauties With Blades

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Marcus shook his head and held up his hand. “No more lies,” he said.

  “But…”

  “No,” he commanded and stared at her for a long moment. “We will go our separate ways in le Carla.”

  Sadness swept over her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “You should have,” he sternly said as he took the reins and began walking down the dirt road.

  Misery swept through her like a gust of wind. He no longer wanted her with him. She forced her mind from the thought and searched for something else to dwell on. The book. It was easier, safer to concentrate on that than her wretched feelings. She only wished she could decode it before Marcus left. She wished she could prove herself to him.

  She watched the road beneath her feet as they walked, thinking of their progress in decoding it. Marcus’s first suggestion of “last to first” was good, but she didn’t believe it fit. When she had substituted the letters, none of the new words made sense. They weren’t words. Just a jumble of letters. Besides, what did “last to first” have to do with treasure?

  They came to a crossroad, and Marcus walked to the north.

  Sage glanced up at the sign. Le Carla with an arrow pointing north. Another arrow pointed down the perpendicular road with a word beneath it. She tried to sound it out quietly, but the first two letters together were throwing her off. E-A. “What is this word?” she asked Marcus, staring at the sign.

  Marcus paused and looked back at her, following her gaze to the sign. “East.”

  “East,” she repeated. Last to first. The final two letters in last, first, and east were S-T. What if they were wrong? What if the word wasn’t last? What if it was east?

  Excitement left her breathless. “Marcus,” she called.

  He stopped and turned to her.

  “What if this book is not about treasure? What if it’s directions?”

  Marcus glanced at the sign and then at Sage. His face was resolute and stoic. “It doesn’t matter. It will have to be good enough that I retrieved the book for Guillume. I am not going to decode it.”

  Chapter 17

  Marcus shook his head at the tall, lanky but muscular blacksmith. “My word is my bond,” he promised.

  The air in the smithy in le Carla was thick and smelled of sulfur.

  “Ha,” the blacksmith answered, brushing his shaggy black hair from his eyes. “I’ve heard that before.”

  Frustrated, Marcus glanced at Sage. She leaned against the wooden wall of the blacksmith’s shop, watching him with crossed arms. She clearly disproved of his admission that he was not going to decode the book. But it didn’t matter. They would go their separate ways now. He was still angry with her for endangering their lives by carelessly and recklessly leaving that trail. He had hoped that telling her he wasn’t going to decode the book would make her leave.

  The blacksmith was not helping to ease his anger. Marcus was anxious to be out of le Carla before he was recognized. Yet, there was a problem. He didn’t have enough coin to pay the blacksmith to reshoe his horse.

  “No work without pay,” the blacksmith said and turned away, walking back to his anvil. He sat behind it and picked up a hammer to continue pounding out a piece of steel.

  The banging was in time to the throbbing in Marcus’s head. He shook his head in frustration before strolling to Sage. “You don’t have to stay.”

  She stared at him for a quiet moment, her brown eyes sad yet defiant. “Where am I to go?”

  There it was. That twisting of his heart. At least some of the fire had come back to her tone. “Fine. But you are not leaving this village with me.”

  She looked over his shoulder at the blacksmith. “Is he going to shoe the horse?”

  Marcus shook his head. “No. I’ll find someone else.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What’s wrong? It will take over a day to walk to another village. Why can’t he do it?”

  It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it. Marcus knew he would have the same problem anywhere he went. He had no coin. No blacksmith would shoe a horse for free. He didn’t have any items to barter with and no time to offer his services. He was hesitant to tell Sage that. She didn’t need to know he was out of coin. She might think he was unprepared for this mission. He grimaced. What did he care what she thought?

  “He doesn’t have time,” Marcus lied quickly. “I’ll leave the horse and—”

  “Doesn’t have time?” Sage mumbled in disbelief and stepped past Marcus to the blacksmith before he could stop her. “I know you are busy, but certainly shoeing one horse won’t take much time.”

  “Sage,” Marcus called.

  But it was too late. The blacksmith looked up in irritation, running a hand across his sweaty forehead. When he saw her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Sage?” he asked.

  She put a hand on her hip, nodding.

  Marcus groaned inwardly. He had been concerned someone would recognize him. He had not even considered Sage. He stepped up behind her, murmuring, “We should go.”

  The blacksmith stood. “Sage Hawke?”

  Dread filled Marcus, and his hand dropped to the pommel of his sword, ready for a battle.

  Sage raised her eyebrows. “I should be insulted you didn’t recognize me.”

  The blacksmith put his hammer down and came out from behind his anvil. “If you were with two other beautiful girls and a hulking man, I would have recognized you instantly.” He grabbed Sage in a huge bear hug, lifting her feet from the floor.

  Stunned, Marcus watched and slowly removed his hand from the handle of his sword.

  When the blacksmith set her down, she took a step back.

  A grin lit his soot-stained face. “Heavens, girl!” His gaze skimmed over her. “I haven’t seen you in two harvests.”

  Sage grinned. “Good to see you, Peter.”

  They were acquaintances. Maybe even friends. Marcus clenched his jaw in anger. She had lied to him. She had somewhere to go. She could stay with this man.

  “Where is your family?” Peter, the blacksmith, asked, looking toward the door and then at Marcus.

  Marcus stiffened, awaiting her answer. Would she tell this Peter the truth and have him thrown in the stocks? He tensed, preparing to run.

  “We’re traveling separately right now. They are working different jobs,” Sage lied.

  A confused scowl crossed Marcus’s brow before he relaxed it. She hadn’t given him away. Why wouldn’t she tell Peter the truth?

  “Tell them to stop and say hello when they have time,” Peter muttered. He scratched his head. “It’s been so long.”

  “I will,” Sage responded.

  Peter jerked a finger toward Marcus. “Are you traveling with this man?”

  Sage nodded. “I am.”

  “You should tell him to get some coin before he asks a man to do labor. But for you, I will gladly shoe the horse.”

  Sage grinned slyly, glancing at Marcus in understanding. “We’re working on a job now. I’ll come back and pay you when we are finished.”

  Humiliation burned through Marcus. Yes. He had no coin to fend for himself. He clenched his jaw. Now, she knew. It didn’t matter that she knew. Still, he looked away in embarrassment.

  “Nah,” Peter said, waving a hand. “It’s on the house.” He swept his hand out across the horseshoes nailed to the wall around the room. “I have plenty. A good blacksmith always does.”

  Sage smiled. “And Father always said you were the best.”

  Peter beamed with pride. “He should say that if he knows what’s good for him.”

  Marcus had not been wise to forget Sage and her family were well known. He should have realized she would know people in the towns they visited. At least he would have no qualms leaving her here. She would be well taken care of. She would be safe. “How long will it take?”

  Peter glared at him with a cold stare.

  “We are grateful,” Marcus explained quickly. He got the impression that Peter didn’t like him.
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  “We’re in a hurry,” Sage added.

  The man seemed to be fond of her, which bothered Marcus more than he was willing to admit.

  “Perhaps an hour,” Peter replied. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  Sage nodded. “We’ll be back. Thank you.” She moved to Marcus’s side, an amused grin on her lips.

  Marcus looked away. He bent to pick up the saddlebags near the doorway and led the way out of the smithy. He perused the dirt road. Houses made of wattle and daub lined the street. A farmer led a horse pulling a wagon two houses down from them.

  “Are you going to leave me now?” Sage asked.

  Marcus glanced at her. “Yes.”

  “You should at least thank me for getting Peter to shoe your horse,” Sage grumbled.

  Yes. For that, Marcus was grateful. “Thank you.”

  Sage grunted in disbelief. “At least you have manners.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t turn you in,” Sage said. “I could have told him the truth. How you kidnapped me. How you killed Brother Nicolas.”

  Marcus gritted his teeth. “I said thank you.”

  “And while we’re at it…”

  Marcus glared at her. He was ready for a fight. “What?”

  She sighed softly. “I am truly sorry for leading those men to us.”

  Marcus’s gaze swept her face. He had been unprepared for that. Her brown hair was longer on one side of her face than the other, a constant reminder of how close she had come to dying. He fought the urge to tuck the lengthier strand behind her ear. He scanned the street. Trees swayed in the gentle breeze, and branches rustled. A few leaves rolled across the road. “How many people do you know in this town?”

  “Many,” she admitted.

  He nodded, shifting the saddlebags on his shoulder. It was time to separate. “Look…”

  “I tried to tell you I knew people in le Carla, but you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t let me talk.”

  He had been angry. He hadn’t wanted to hear her excuses. And now was the perfect time to depart. She knew people here. They would take care of her. She would be in no danger. “I think it’s time—”

  “Are you hungry?” she interrupted.

  There was desperation in her tone. She knew what he was doing. He glanced at her in resignation.

  “We can get food,” Sage hurried on as if knowing what he was going to say.

  She was only postponing the inevitable. Marcus began to shake his head.

  “You have an hour,” she protested. “You might as well get something to eat.”

  “I have no coin, remember?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I have friends, remember?”

  Reluctantly, Marcus followed her down the dirt road. Separating was going to be much more difficult than he anticipated. He had to remember that he was angry with her. But with her kindness and loyalty, his anger was fading.

  Sage led the way into the inn at the edge of the village. It was a small cottage with harvested fields behind it. Farmer William and his wife, Agnes, lived there, along with their son Jacob and their two girls, Amy and Emily. They were good friends of the Hawke family, and Sage was certain they would give them some bread and ale. She knew Marcus was out of coin and most likely hungry.

  The main room, which consisted of two wooden tables and a hearth, was empty as they entered. “Good day!” Sage called.

  Marcus glanced around uneasily. “We should go.”

  “They’re friends,” she promised him. Plus, she wanted to see how Amy and Emily were getting along. She hadn’t seen them for years. They must be...

  A slim girl with dishwater blonde hair emerged from a room in the back. She wore a brown dress that came to her ankles and black boots. She brushed her hair from her shoulder, grabbed a cloth, and met them in the middle of the room. “Good day. Sorry. We’re rounding up the ducks. Can I get you something?”

  Was she really twelve summers? Sage could only stare. She had blossomed into a beautiful young girl. Sage was so happy. It didn’t seem that long ago that she and her sisters had saved Amy and Emily from the horrible life they had been leading. “Amy?” she asked with bated breath.

  The girl scowled, and her gazed at her in confusion. “No,” she replied hesitantly.

  “Emily!”

  The girl’s scowl deepened.

  “Sage!” A male voice boomed with excitement from the doorway. A tall man with dark hair stood in the doorway. His face lit up with happiness.

  Sage gaped in disbelief. “Jacob?” He had been a lanky boy when she had last seen him. “What happened?” she demanded as he came out of the room to stand beside Emily. “You were a scrawny little boy the last time I saw you.”

  He shucked his head.

  “Told you that you were scrawny,” Emily whispered.

  Jacob gently shoved her. “What are you doing here?”

  Sage’s eyebrows rose. “Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for, but…” She smiled. “Peter is shoeing our horse.” She indicated Marcus. “This is Marcus.”

  Jacob nodded to Marcus.

  “I’ll go get Ma and Pa,” Emily said and raced out the doorway, calling for them.

  “Where are your sisters?” Jacob asked.

  “We’re working separate jobs,” Sage explained. “How are things going here?”

  Jacob grinned. “Good. The farm is doing well. We’re far enough from everything that we hear things but are left alone. No one bothers us.”

  “That’s why we like it here,” Sage said.

  Jacob’s lips twisted in disbelief. “Says you, who hasn’t been by for years.”

  Sage scratched her strangely bare neck and shrugged playfully. “Peter said the same thing.”

  “Sage!” William hurried through the doorway, his age limiting him to a slower pace. He was an older man with graying hair.

  Sage met him at the entrance, and he wrapped her in a warm embrace. She was glad he had Jacob and the girls to help him.

  William was followed by his wife, Agnes, and his other daughter, Amy. Agnes was a kindly woman with gentle brown eyes. Her hair was peppered with silver and pulled back in a bun. Amy was a younger version of her sister.

  Affection heated Sage at being surrounded by people she trusted and loved, and she realized how much she missed her family. Then she glanced at Marcus, standing outside the group. He stood awkwardly, his gaze shifting from person to person uneasily. It was apparent he had never known this kind of kinship. Sage took his hand and pulled him into the family. “Marcus and I are working together.”

  Judging eyes turned to him, sweeping over him.

  Marcus straightened under their perusal.

  Then, William slapped him on the shoulder. “Be good to her, son.”

  Marcus looked at Sage.

  She grinned at him, hoping he felt the kindness of friends.

  “Jacob! Go and get them some porridge. Amy, ale. Emily, help Jacob,” Agnes commanded, leading the way to one of the tables.

  Sage sat in one of the wooden chairs.

  “This isn’t necessary,” Marcus protested, taking a seat beside Sage. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

  Sage looked at Agnes, ignoring him. “I see the girls are working out well.”

  Agnes grinned, glancing back at the door with a loving expression. “They are family. We all love them so much. Thank you, Sage. It was a wise decision.”

  Sage shrugged. “It was Willow’s idea. They look healthy. You all do.”

  “The crops have been good,” William admitted, scrutinizing Marcus with a narrowed gaze. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be Nogaret?”

  Marcus pulled his shoulders back and exchanged a glance with Sage before nodding. “I am.”

  William turned to Agnes. “Go and tell the children to hurry.”

  Agnes obeyed with a quick nod.

  Apprehension filled Sage. William was dismissing his wife. There was something he wanted to tell them in private.
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  When Agnes had exited the room, William sat at the table and leaned forward secretively. “Not a day ago, some men were asking after a Marcus de Nogaret.”

  Marcus stiffened.

  Sage propped her foot on the chair, bent her leg, and wrapped her arm around her knee. “We were attacked by some men in the woods.”

  “Did they tell you what they wanted?” Marcus asked.

  William shook his head. “They never mentioned Sage, either.”

  “They didn’t know we were working together,” Sage clarified.

  “At least you defeated them unscathed. I’m sure if they had known Sage was with you, they would have rethought their plans.”

  Sage grinned. “That’s the last mistake those four will ever make.”

  “Four?” William asked, confused. “Four men attacked you?”

  Sage and Marcus nodded.

  “Five men were asking after you.”

  Chapter 18

  The room stilled with tension and dread.

  Marcus looked at Sage, and they simultaneously realized there was another assassin still out there.

  She stood.

  “You can’t remain here,” Marcus said, staring at her as he rose. He couldn’t let her stay. Not with another assassin after them. The assassin had no doubt seen the fight in the woods and knew Sage was involved. She was now in this as deep as he was. “We have to leave.”

  She stepped to his side. “We can’t leave until your horse is shoed.”

  Marcus glanced at the farmer and then back at Sage. “We can’t stay here. We don’t want to endanger their lives.”

  Realization followed by concern dawned in her large eyes. “You don’t think he’d come here?”

  “I’m not willing to risk it.”

  Sage nodded and turned to the farmer, who had risen.

  “We have horses you can use,” William suggested. “We’ll get food together for you. Whatever you need.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” Marcus insisted. Taking their kindness and involving them only endangered them further.

  “You didn’t. I offered,” William said.