Her Honorable Mercenary--A dramatic Medieval romance

by Nicole Locke

  ‘Did you just growl?’ she said.

  He was about to do so much more.

  Jeanne had done this. That quiet girl had obviously left the door unlocked so Margery could escape. What was the name of the guard who had accompanied Jeanne today? It was his last day.

  He saw her eyes move to the door to Ian’s chambers and then past him. Did she think he’d let her pass?

  ‘Are you simply intending to stare at me?’ she said.

  No, nothing as simple as that. This woman wasn’t Jeanne. She was someone who couldn’t be reasoned with. She would incur his frustration and his threats.

  He rolled his shoulders just once before he said, ‘What would it mean if I answered?’

  Her eyes went wide and her mouth twitched. Was she going to cry?

  The other day she’d had such a reaction of fear and laughter he hadn’t known how to respond or even if he should.

  Women did this...but more so around him. Fright, tears, fainting! Any movement startled them, any words said often made it worse—and not simply because he couldn’t choose the right words, but apparently because his voice was gruff...as if he had any control over that.

  Her lips were trembling and there were tears at the corners of her eyes. Evrart looked behind him. Maybe he could—

  Margery laughed.

  Evrart started to take a step back and only just remembered where he stood. Her eyes widened more, and the soft laughter grew bolder. This wasn’t like before. These weren’t tears choked out by fear.

  ‘What could be humorous?’

  She chuckled and shook her head. ‘It’s your expressions, and that shoulder-rolling thing you do.’

  If he rolled his shoulders it was because his shoulders had tightened from frustration, or anger. From all the danger, intrigue and lies. Because lives were at stake. It wasn’t a jest.

  This didn’t bode well. He was four times as big as all of her, and she wasn’t intimidated by him at all.

  Again, he knew the right course would be to put her back in the room and be done. Again, his reaction wasn’t typical.

  Wrenching his gaze from hers, he leaned against the arches to stare outside. ‘It isn’t safe.’ For either of them.

  She wiped her eyes. ‘But he’s gone, isn’t he? When is he to return?’

  He didn’t know. Not this time. In the past Ian had rarely left him behind, but now he seemed to do it all too often. Something was escalating and there was nothing Evrart could do about it.

  As far as he could tell Ian’s brothers were turning on him. But Reynold had turned on the family long before Evrart had become a part of the household, so it made no sense other than the rumour that the youngest, Balthus, was also turning away from the parents and Ian.

  But Balthus was a favourite of his mother’s. His betraying the family must be false.

  ‘You do know you haven’t answered me?’ Standing near a different arch, she continued, ‘I’m assuming you know how long he’ll be and you have been advised not to tell me.’

  This was disastrous. He should have opened the door and put her in the room. He should have returned to his duties—though none of them had held any appeal from the moment he’d seen her stepping towards him.

  ‘Your silence isn’t loud enough for me to hear,’ she said. ‘How about you nod or make some other affirmative physical gesture if I am saying something true?’

  Something light shifted in his chest. Was he going to laugh? He didn’t know this woman. Ian had ordered him to lock her in a room, either to keep her safe or to keep his home safe. Either way, he should be obeying.

  Evrart allowed himself to gaze at the woman at his side. The days he’d escorted her out of the room he’d been careful not to stare too much, though he’d wanted to. He felt she wouldn’t like it. But it was the way others still talked about her. Her hair...the way she moved her hands...and her lavender eyes.

  But lavender’s distinct fragrance wasn’t what clung to him after he left her presence. Her scent was something more distinct, something... There were times when he opened the door and instead of stepping back he held it, so she’d brush against him to enter the corridor. That scent wasn’t lavender. Lavender wasn’t addictive. And it didn’t make his body tighten or make him wish he could bury his nose in the crook of her neck.

  ‘You should go to the garderobe whilst I wait here.’

  ‘I have already been. That’s where I was when you interrupted me.’

  How long had she been free?

  ‘It’s right down the corridor.’ She pointed. ‘You expected me to wait for you?’

  He expected her to stay safe.

  He almost winced. She wasn’t safe, was she? He wanted her in that room so he could do his duty to Warstone, so he and his family stayed safe. But her being in that room wasn’t beneficial to her at all. Unless she was dangerous—which he couldn’t believe. Not when her wide eyes were on him, allowing him to see every emotion.

  Still, for all their sakes, she needed to obey.

  ‘You’ve been waiting for me for five days,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not always convenient. What if you don’t arrive on time? I’d have to clean up my own—’

  ‘Don’t say it.’

  ‘Now you want me to be quiet?’

  Why had she stayed in her room before? Because of fear or a sense of safety? Or because the door had been locked? Now apparently Jeanne had brought food and hadn’t locked it behind her. He might need to install permanent guards.

  ‘Are you thinking of putting guards outside my door?’ she said.

  He almost growled again. Who was this woman?

  ‘Not only thinking...intending to do it.’

  ‘Will they take me to the garderobe, then?’

  That sense of dark vigilance he hadn’t quite been able to shake since that first day he’d seen her roiled in denial. He shook his head.

  ‘You don’t trust them?’

  She leaned her hip against the sill, a movement which outlined the shape of her body. Everything about her was bright...almost brazen. No, brave. Her body reflected it—from her eyes upturned at the corners to the flick of her nose, the determined chin. Her breasts were moulded tightly by her gown binding. The curves were barely discernible, making a man wonder what her nipples would feel like against his tongue. But her hips... Those were fully rounded, and even in his hands they’d be a handful, something he was being made viciously aware of.

  Was she as beautiful as Ian purported her to be? She was...something. In all the women he’d come across, never had he wished to know what one truly looked like, but he did her.

  ‘The chapel with the gardens is beautiful,’ she said.

  It was quite a view when Ian left his private rooms to see such changing beauty through the multiple archways along the corridor. Not that he could see beauty the way others could—something he’d been made aware of when he was a child.

  ‘The chaplain won’t let you claim sanctuary,’ he said.

  She huffed—some sound between amusement and frustration.

  ‘Why do you keep laughing?’ he asked.

  Her brows drew in, but her mouth still held that soft smile. ‘You keep being humorous.’

  He’d never been accused of such a thing in his entire life. ‘You’re not afraid of me.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be?’

  Everyone was. Maybe not when he was but a boy in the field, maybe not to his own mother. But since he was grown, since he’d gained skills, everyone but Ian treated him as if he was deadly...always.

  For ten years it had served its purpose. He was to protect Ian—his reputation assisted that.

  But with her... Did he need to protect her from Ian, or from himself?

  His instinct said she was innocent, that Ian had trapped her in some game of his. But when she walked, she
looked around her as if she was surrounded by enemies. She did it less now than when she’d arrived, but it was still there, and it didn’t seem as if she knew that she did it. That kind of habit meant there was something in her past. As if she’d had enemies all her life. Innocent people didn’t do that.

  ‘How do you know Ian?’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said quickly, turning to gaze out through the archways again.

  The slight breeze brushed her hair about, casting almost a halo glow around her head.

  ‘You’re his personal guard?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And now mine?’

  He wouldn’t lie to her. ‘My loyalty must lie with him.’

  ‘Must...’

  She mulled that word over, but he saw no problem with what he’d said until she continued.

  ‘Then you’re in a similar predicament to me,’ she said. ‘Trapped here?’

  For his family’s sake, he could not side with this woman. ‘I’ve been with Lord Warstone for almost a decade.’

  ‘That long? Is there no hope for me?’

  Evrart let his breath out slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, which were chaotic. It was because of the desperation in her voice, the worry, and the fact he wanted to help her when he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Do you want to leave?’

  ‘You mean I shouldn’t? Is it because of the fine food or because Ian might kill me?’

  He pulled back from the archway in case anyone looked up. It would do no good if they were spotted conversing.

  She did the same. ‘You must know his intentions for me.’

  Ian’s cryptic words about her suitability still made no sense to him. ‘I don’t.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘If you did, would you tell me?’

  He should have said no immediately. His response should have been instant loyalty to Warstone, who held his family in the palm of his hand. But he wasn’t certain if that was true.

  ‘Does he know of your family?’ he asked.

  She tilted her head. ‘I told him I lived in Pérouges.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  She looked away.

  It didn’t matter if she told him or not. ‘I won’t tell him, but that won’t deter him for long.’

  ‘So they are in danger?’

  He didn’t have to answer that.

  ‘Is he a threat to your family, too?’

  It had been a mistake to talk to her. It was more of a mistake to believe he could help when he knew he couldn’t.

  ‘How many are there?’ he asked.

  She narrowed her eyes, but that did no good.

  ‘Your expressions are as open as the sky. Ian can’t have questioned you else even your silences would have given you away, and if he hasn’t questioned you, he doesn’t care to know.

  ‘So you do talk,’ she said. ‘I have two brothers and two sisters, all older than me. My father... My mother isn’t well...’ She gasped.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s difficult remembering them. There are matters I need to...’ She looked away. ‘I can’t do anything about it now.’

  He could tell she was close to her family. That there was pain in her past, and too many family members she cared about to escape Warstone’s notice.

  ‘They are all together?’

  She glanced at him again, but her gaze didn’t stay with him. ‘No.’

  ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘If I leave soon, it won’t matter.’

  She wouldn’t be leaving—but he shouldn’t be asking her questions. It would only complicate matters since he was always the one who carried out Ian’s terrible deeds. How much innocent blood had he shed? If he knew her, would he be able to spill hers?

  ‘Help me escape,’ she whispered. ‘I mean no harm.’

  ‘You could be tricking me,’ he said.

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  There was always an ulterior motive with the Warstones. Margery was Ian’s mistress—but he hadn’t slept with her. She was to have the honour of his private chambers, to eat the finest food and have whatever she wanted—except she was to be banned from all other rooms and escorted to the garderobe at the convenience of a lowly boy from a poor village.

  ‘There you are being quiet again,’ she said.

  He hadn’t been talkative as a child. As a man, he had trained himself to be quiet.

  ‘Are we to stare outside for the rest of the day? Or will you shove me back in the room?’

  ‘You’re not safe running about.’

  ‘So you keep saying—and I wasn’t running about,’ she said. ‘I was using the garderobe.’

  ‘And heading to the stairs.’

  Her eyes darted. If this woman had schemes, she wouldn’t be able to hide them. ‘You can’t lie easily.’

  ‘How would you know? And I’d be a fool not to attempt an escape.’

  Or ask him to help her. People didn’t usually ask him for anything nor did they talk to him for any length of time.

  ‘I’m still not scaring you.’

  ‘Why do you keep asking me that?’

  Her eyes never left his. For once, he didn’t look away. He needed to know.

  She huffed again. ‘You don’t scare me when you’re not quiet. Or when you move.’

  He opened his mouth, closed it. ‘My quiet scares you?’

  She shrugged.

  He wanted to stay here longer. Ask her more questions. But he’d do it not to find out her purpose here, but because he wanted to know her.

  Forcing himself, he faced the room behind them and opened the door.

  Something like disappointment flitted across her eyes. ‘I thought we were past that.’

  ‘We’re not past the harm that could come to you, and until then...’

  She raised a brow. ‘There is an “until then”?’

  He could make no such promise. Ian had said matters would be ‘interesting’ whilst he was gone. Evrart couldn’t shake the idea that whatever was happening inside him, whatever was changing because of her, was part of it.

  He couldn’t let it be! He’d been part of Warstone’s schemes once, when he had been brought here, but he refused to be part of them anymore. Simply talking with Margery was likely a trap, and one he slowly was falling into.

  Thus, it was a relief when, without another glance, Margery entered the room and he locked the door once again.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Margery stopped with the spoon halfway up to her lips. It took her a moment more to close her mouth and straighten. Another moment to realise the contents of the spoon were dripping and set it down.

  It would take more than a moment for her to find some semblance of calm when the object of her entire morning’s thoughts stood on the opposite side of the table where she sat.

  Evrart.

  It had been a few days since Jeanne had left that door open for her, and she hadn’t done it since. Margery had specifically asked her not to, and there had been no mistaking Jeanne’s relief.

  Margery was simply happy she hadn’t been punished. The guard, however, who had escorted Jeanne, had been banished from the fortress. Margery didn’t know what that entailed, and thought it prudent for her ability to sleep not to ask Jeanne nor Evrart, whose expression now looked as formidable as ever.

  He must have come straight from the lists. Someone most likely notified him she was dining in the Great Hall, and he didn’t look pleased.

  From her window, she could admire his training—the sweep of his arm as he extended his sword, the way he crouched and dug his heels in so no man could move him.

  Outside, he looked implacable. Fierce. However, something between them had changed since that day in the corridor.


  It wasn’t so much his allowing her to use the garderobe, though they did exchange a few words now, it was the way he looked at her.

  Unlike when she had first arrived, his gaze lingered now. Stares from men she was used to, but Evrart’s were different.

  He looked at her as if she was something unusually intriguing, and he never stared at her hair or her eyes. No, when she caught him he was usually staring at her wide hips.

  She could almost swear his neck would flush, but couldn’t be sure. However, just thinking it so set her imagination off in ways she hadn’t expected.

  Men were men, and she tried desperately to avoid them. Josse, her first lover, was much older than she, and he had been gentle. As far as doing what she’d had to to gain coin, it hadn’t been as terrible as she’d thought. Roul, however, was cruel and liked pain.

  Though both men had treated her differently, both had had the same territorial gleam in their eye. The same one Ian had had the night he’d caught her: a look of cold interest that had nothing to do with her as a person, and everything to do with her as a possession.

  Evrart had never, not once, looked at her that way. If she hadn’t been so certain he’d ignore her question, she would have asked him about it. Because not knowing what was in his eyes when he looked at her and failing to contain her own wonderings about it was keeping her up at night. And instead of worrying about escaping, or Ian’s return, or her family, she thought and dreamed of Evrart.

  He’d caught her escaping in the corridor, but he hadn’t punished her, or raised his voice. Instead he’d asked her questions of her family. She could think of no purpose for that except he thought he could help them. He was Ian’s personal guard...but she was beginning to believe he was something for her, too.

  She no longer avoided the window but stared outside constantly—not just at the lists, but elsewhere, in the hope of catching a glimpse of him. And now here he was, mere feet away.

  Up close, she was enticed by the dusting of dirt, the sweat of the man. The way his skin glistened and his chest heaved. She could hear the cracking of his neck as he snapped his head to the side and she scented hot iron, some herb he’d bathed with, and him.

  Before she knew what she was doing she inhaled again, drawing in that scent a bit more, until there was a tightening inside her. Her body had reacted the same when she snuck into his room the day before and lifted his abandoned tunic to her nose before she caught herself. And all the while he watched her, his eyes moving from her slightly parted lips down to the table.