Sage: Medieval Romance Beauties With Blades

by Laurel O'Donnell

  The man lunged again, pushing the blade toward Marcus.

  Marcus retreated, pulling back from the sharp tip. He moved around the man, who continued to jerk forward, driving Marcus into the corner.

  The assassin shoved his sword forward.

  Marcus dodged, but this time not fast enough. The sharp edge of the blade grazed his stomach. He grimaced in pain.

  Sage gasped.

  The man grinned in satisfaction.

  Enough of this, Marcus angrily thought. His cousin had hired this man to kill him. His cousin. Marcus clenched his teeth. He planted his feet and prepared for the man to strike. He was going to end this. Now.

  The man’s grin faded.

  Marcus swung to his left. As the assassin brought his weapon up to parry, Marcus stabbed in, cutting his arm and slicing through his tunic.

  Surprise rocked the man, and anger burned in his eyes and clenched lips.

  Marcus held the sword out before him, ready for the man’s attack. While he stared him in the eye, Marcus could see the assassin’s body, and he watched for any movement.

  The man came in quickly from Marcus’s right, swinging his sword.

  Marcus parried, the swords meeting and clanging through the barn. Then, Marcus countered, catching the man’s blade with his own and forcing it down. He brought the handle of his sword into the man’s face, knocking him backward.

  The man stumbled away. Blood flowed from his nose, and he wiped a sleeve across it.

  The assassin then came at him with an arcing blow. Marcus knocked it low and instantly brought the tip of his sword up, running the man through at his waist.

  The assassin stood stunned for a long moment. His brow was furrowed as if in confusion.

  Marcus pulled the sword free.

  The man jerked and fell to one knee. He touched his side and came away with a bloodied palm. As he toppled forward, he swung his sword in a last, futile attempt to kill Marcus.

  Marcus easily stepped out of the way. Breathing deeply, he stared down at the attacker.

  “Marcus!” Sage cried and ran toward him, throwing her arms about him.

  He caught her and hugged her fiercely.

  She pulled back to look into his eyes with concern. “Are you well? You were cut.” She inspected his stomach, her hands skimming over it lightly until she found the rip in his tunic. She looked at her fingers to find blood.

  “It’s nothing,” Marcus insisted.

  “Nothing?” she demanded. She glanced at the man lying in the dirt and then at Marcus. “He could have killed you.”

  “But he didn’t,” Marcus said. “We need to leave.”

  “But your wounds…”

  “Will keep until we are far from here.”

  Sage scowled in disapproval. She walked to her horse and opened one of the saddlebags. She returned to him with a piece of linen. “At least stop the bleeding.”

  Marcus took the linen from her. Probably a wise decision. He lifted his tunic gingerly, ignoring the stiffness and aches from the blows he had received in his cousin’s care. He inspected the sword wound. It wasn’t bleeding badly.

  “Here.” Sage uncorked the ale flask as she walked to him from the horse. She stopped before him and dumped the flask over his cut to clean it.

  The cool liquid burned when it hit his open wound, and a hiss escaped his lips. He pressed the linen over the cut. “It will do. We need to leave. Now.” He walked toward his horse.

  Sage looked at the dead man again. “He’s not a soldier. Who do you think he was?”

  “The last assassin. I hope, the last one.”

  Sage stared down at the dead attacker with worry. “Your cousin will never stop looking for that book.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed with a sigh. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to leave the book. But after Guillume’s betrayal, Marcus did not want him to have it. Ever. He put a foot in the stirrup and grabbed the pommel of the saddle to pull himself up.

  He realized Sage had not moved. He looked at her.

  She stood over the assassin, looking down at him. She had removed the book from her armor and held it in her hand.

  “Sage,” he called.

  “He’ll never stop looking,” she murmured.

  Marcus withdrew his foot from the stirrup and walked to her side. They would always be running... He hated giving her a life like this. “No. He’ll never stop looking—not for the book and not for me.”

  Her frown deepened.

  “Sage,” he whispered despondently. He wanted to give her more. He wanted to make her happy. “I can lead him away from you. I can—”

  She turned to him, the frown on her brow gone. Her eyes were bright. “I have an idea.”

  Mischief glittered in her eyes, and curiosity washed away his doubt. For the first time, he had hope. Hope that with Sage in his life, it would be more than he expected. “What idea?”

  A smile bubbled on her lips. “Take off your clothes.”

  Shocked, Marcus bridled.

  Chapter 27

  Sage returned to the barn to find Marcus tugging at the brown tunic he now wore—which had previously belonged to the assassin. The tunic fell to his mid-thigh like most tunics, but the sleeves pulled tight around his biceps and shoulders. And a large red stain marred the front near his stomach. The black breeches were like a second skin around his thighs. But the clothing would do. “I moved the horses to the forest. We’re ready.”

  Marcus nodded and looked up at Sage.

  She gazed at the dead man stretched on his stomach on the floor. He wore Marcus’s green tunic and black breeches. She hoped her plan would work. The assassin’s blond hair pooled around his head on the straw beneath him. If they were lucky, it would be enough to fool Marcus’s cousin. She clutched the book in her hand.

  Marcus glanced at the assassin and then back to Sage. “Are you certain about this?” Marcus asked.

  Sage turned to him and took a deep breath, filling her lungs. “It will work,” she assured him with certainty.

  Marcus grinned, his eyebrows rising in admiration. “It’s a brilliant plan.”

  “Have you come to expect less from me?” she asked playfully.

  He eased the book from her hands. “I know how much this book means to you.”

  She recalled seeing Marcus’s face shoved into the dirt by his cousin’s men, and she clenched her jaw in anguish. She stepped forward and pressed her lips to his to relieve the torment of the memory. When she pulled back to look into his deep blue eyes, she admitted, “Not as much as you mean.”

  Marcus’s stare softened, and he ran his fingers along her cheek. “How could I have gotten so lucky? I first captured you for your skill, and now you have captured my heart.”

  “I love you, Marcus,” Sage whispered, shifting her head to press a kiss into his palm.

  Marcus’s hand slipped to the nape of her neck, and he drew her tightly against him, claiming her lips in a searing kiss.

  Tingles peppered her skin, and even though he was hurt and even though their lives were in danger, Sage felt breathlessness sweep over her. An intense need to have more of him. She groaned softly.

  He pulled back, brushing a lock of her short hair behind her ear. “We’ll have the rest of our lives together.”

  She nodded in agreement and stepped clear of him. The cool air touched her heated skin, and the space from Marcus allowed her to be rational. She opened her hand to display a piece of iron and flint. She bent and picked up some dry twigs of hay.

  “The villagers think this farm is haunted,” she told Marcus as she walked over to the dead assassin. She knelt beside him and put the hay on top of the flint. “We are simply dispelling the ghosts.”

  She struck the flint, drawing her hand down sharply with a loose wrist to produce the spark. A spark jumped into the hay, and she lifted it up, gently blowing on it until the small red ember ignited into a flame. She glanced at Marcus over the flame.

  He nodded in acceptance and encouragem
ent.

  She walked up to him, carefully holding the burning straw. The flames eagerly consumed the straw. Sage stared at the book for a moment. It had brought her to Marcus, brought them together. And it was a book. It had meant so much to her at the start of this adventure. She lifted her gaze to Marcus.

  Now, there was someone more important.

  Marcus stretched the book out toward her like an offering.

  She extended her hand forward and touched the crackling flame to the parchment pages. They flared to life as the hungry fire devoured the pages. The pages would burn, making it impossible to decode the book, but the leather binding would not. It would curl and shrivel, leaving enough evidence for Marcus’s cousin to find it.

  Marcus shifted the book, turning it this way and that to ignite more of the pages. The fire spread, its flicking tongues greedily encompassing the parchment. He held it until the flames were nipping at his fingers. Then he tossed it on top of the assassin.

  Sage strolled to the back of the barn, cupping her hand about the burning hay. She stooped, touching the fire to some old hay on the ground. She waited until the fire ignited the hay before moving to another spot. She walked to three different locations in the barn, starting different fires before dropping the burning hay on the ground. She backed to Marcus’s side, watching as the fire spread quickly across the dry straw and up the side of the wooden barn.

  She glanced at the book. The leather cover blackened further as the fire inside scorched it. For a moment, she didn’t think the fire would catch on the clothing or the hay around the assassin. Then, the flames crawled onto the green tunic and erupted in dancing fingers of fire.

  The fire crept across the assassin’s back and into the surrounding hay.

  Together, she and Marcus watched as the blaze spread through the barn, crackling across the hay on the floor and ascending rotting beams.

  Sage looked at the assassin. The fire was growing, claiming his corpse in its inferno.

  The scent of burning flesh wafted to Sage, and she covered her nose against the stench.

  Marcus took her hand and guided her away to the door of the barn. They waited as the flames sizzled and snapped, spreading eagerly across the floor to the wooden walls. The orange-and-red flames quickly scaled the walls, sending thick black smoke up to the opening in the ceiling.

  Sage glanced one last time at the book. The leather cover was twisting beneath the heat, the pages charred and blackened.

  It was sufficient for her. The book was gone. She hoped it would be enough for Marcus’s cousin. She hoped he would believe that Marcus was dead. She squeezed Marcus’s strong hand.

  It was done. She pushed the door open.

  A shadow rose before her, a sword glinting in the light of the fire.

  Sage’s hand dropped to her pommel and then stopped. The red from the fire behind her cast flickering light over the woman holding the sword.

  Sage inhaled.

  Behind her, Marcus reached for his weapon.

  But Sage couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. She recognized the face before her. The armor. The hair.

  “Raven,” she gasped.

  Epilogue

  Sage’s heart jumped and hammered in her chest as relief engulfed her. For a moment, disbelief filled her. Raven. Could it be?

  Raven tossed her sword aside, and the two women lurched forward to embrace each other tightly. Sage buried her face in Raven’s shoulder. The familiar scent of Raven’s rich leather armor overpowered her. She never wanted to let her go.

  Raven pulled back to look at her with a wrinkled brow of concern.

  “Are you well?” both asked at the same time.

  They let out a relieved chuckle.

  “What happened to your hair?” Raven asked, her gaze brushing over the short strands.

  The crackling behind them exploded into a roar as a beam collapsed, sending burning embers into the night air. A warm blast of hot air surrounded them.

  Marcus hooked an arm around Sage’s waist and moved her away from the barn, casting a wary glance at Raven.

  Sage clasped Raven’s hand and tugged her with them, afraid if she let go, she would lose her again.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man followed Raven. His brows were lowered in a frown as he contemplated them. The heat from the barn blew his black strands forward. He seemed unaffected as he bent to pick up Raven’s sword. His dark tunic was as dark as the sky, and he had a sword strapped to his waist.

  Raven’s stare whisked over Marcus and rested on his familiar hold on Sage. Her brow furrowed in disapproval, and she released Sage’s hand as the other man handed over her sword. Raven exchanged a grateful glance with him before sheathing her weapon.

  They traipsed through the harvested field to the forest line where the horses were tethered. Sage ducked beneath a branch and stopped beside her horse. She glanced at Raven with happiness. She was so glad to see her.

  Raven met her gaze with a smile on her lips. “Where’s Willow?” she asked.

  Sage’s joy evaporated. “She’s not with you?” Sage asked, glancing beyond Raven, expecting Willow to come bounding out from around a tree.

  “No. She disappeared in the chateau at le Bezu. I thought she was right behind me, but she wasn’t,” Raven explained.

  Worry ignited within Sage. Where was Willow? She and Raven exchanged concerned looks.

  Raven took a deep breath. “We’ll find her.”

  A large crash sounded from the barn, drawing Sage’s attention. Through the trees, she saw the fire encompass the structure, sizzling and snapping. Angry red flames reached for the sky. Thick gray smoke rolled into the sky from the burning barn.

  It wouldn’t be long before the villagers, and even the soldiers, arrived.

  “We should leave here,” Marcus suggested, staring at the barn.

  Sage nodded. She gathered up Marcus’s hand and turned to Raven. “I want you to meet Marcus.” She looked at his grateful eyes and grinned. “This is my sister, Raven.”

  Raven greeted him with a curt nod. “This is Sir Landyn,” she introduced, indicating the man with them.

  Sage’s gaze moved over him. Dark, wavy hair hung to his strong shoulders. His square chin was raised, evaluating her.

  “Are you in trouble?” Raven asked.

  Sage swiveled her gaze to her. She shrugged and grinned. “Always. The king’s man, Nogaret, is looking for us.”

  Raven’s mouth dropped and then closed into a thin line of displeasure. She shook her head.

  “He’s looking for a book Sage decoded,” Marcus clarified with pride in his voice.

  Warmth heated Sage’s heart as she stared at him. His lips were curled in a grin of respect as his gaze burned into her.

  “A book?” Raven wondered. “The book we brought to Brother Nicolas?”

  Sage nodded.

  “Why is he looking for it? What’s inside?”

  “Directions,” Sage answered. “To what, we aren’t sure.”

  Later that night, after escaping the village and riding for half the night, Sage insisted they stop so she could treat Marcus’s wounds. Sheltered off the road, beneath tall trees that waved in a soft breeze, they rested. Sage knew Marcus couldn’t get far enough away from the village.

  She tended Marcus near a small stream as Raven and Landyn sat beneath one of the thin trees. Sage reached around Marcus, wrapping his ribs with a cloth. He was bruised and beaten, with black-and-blue marks already appearing on his torso, but he would recover. “You’re quiet.”

  Marcus’s gaze focused on Raven and Landyn where they sat paces away, leaning into each other and speaking quietly. “I saw him at le Bezu,” Marcus said softly.

  Sage glanced over her shoulder at Landyn. He held Raven’s hand, stroking it gently, lovingly, and speaking to her in whispered tones. It was strange to see Raven allowing a man to touch her so intimately.

  Marcus bent close to Sage. “I don’t trust him.”

  Sage inhaled and watched her
sister. Raven bowed her head at something Landyn said to her, and a grin spread over her face. “But Raven does,” Sage replied. “That’s enough for me. It has to be enough for you, too.”

  Marcus’s lips thinned in disapproval, but he finally nodded.

  She ran a hand over one of the ugly, blue bruises on his ribs.

  He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingertips.

  “They would have killed you,” she said remorsefully.

  “But you reached me first.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers in gratitude. “It makes me happy to think how angry Guillume must be that I escaped.”

  “Hopefully, he thinks you’re dead, remember?”

  “I almost was.” His look softened as he stared into her eyes. “Sage, I owe you everything.” He took a deep breath. “I want to marry you.”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re just thankful that I saved your life.” She waved his offer away.

  He caught her hand, drawing her attention to him again. “No. I love you. I want to share my life with you. I want to be with you forever.”

  She gaped at him in disbelief as her heart beat wildly in her chest. “Me? Really?”

  “If you’ll have me.” He bowed his head in remorse. “I don’t have much to offer you.”

  She dipped her head to capture his gaze and stared tenderly into his eyes. “You have everything I want. There is no one else I would rather spend my life with. If you really want to marry me, I would be honored to be your wife.”

  He pulled her against him and claimed her lips in a deep kiss.

  Wife, Sage thought with glee. Then, she wrapped her arms around his back and gave in to his passionate kiss. Desire flooded through her veins at his expertise touch, at his heated kiss.

  When they separated, Sage wore a grin that would not fade. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she reached to the ground and picked up his tunic to hand it to him.

  As he pulled it over his head, she turned away and sat on the ground, sighing in contentment. It was almost too much to believe. If Willow and her father had been there, everything would have been perfect.