His eyes were brown. But like hers, they held many different shades.
“Liar.”
She gasped. What manner of man was he to say such a thing? To a nun. A stranger.
The kind of man who would rebel against his king.
When he took a step toward her, Sabine did not shrink away. Not that she could move very far with her back up against the wall.
“Kind of you to guard our conversation, Sister.”
She’d not correct him. Nor would she answer him, as he was clearly suspicious of her. Did he correctly surmise that she had heard the very dangerous words he’d spoken to Bishop Salerno?
She watched him carefully, looking for any sign that her original plan might be feasible after all.
“A woman of few words.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. Before her parents’ death, many men had come to Cottingham to seek her hand in marriage. More than one of them had spoken to her in just such a tone, though none had been quite so handsome.
But that he flirted with a woman he believed to be a nun told Sabine all she needed to know. Aye, she desperately wanted to leave Holybourne.
But not with him.
“I’ve nothing to say,” she lied. Sabine might have said quite a bit if he’d been more approachable.
“Your eyes tell a different tale.”
She sucked in a deep breath.
He smiled then. Slow, taunting. As if he were privy to a secret he’d never tell.
“They move about more quickly than they should. And you closed them a moment ago. Briefly but long enough to signify deep thought.”
It took her a moment to understand.
He spoke of her eyes. He was telling her how he knew she lied.
Sabine congratulated herself on her very accurate assessment of this man. Dangerous and cunning. Her father would have quite liked him.
He moved so quickly, Sabine hardly had time to react. If any other man had grabbed her wrist that way, she’d have done exactly what her father had taught her. And he would be bowled over just now, clutching his private area.
But she found she wanted to see what he had to say.
Firmly escorting her into the room he’d just left, this time shutting the door completely, he let go of her wrist and pinned her to the spot with his stare.
“Talk to me,” he said, his tone harder than it had been earlier. “Now.”
Chapter 4
Bloody hell.
Guy had bedded all sorts of women. But never a nun. The thought of it sickened him even as his cock grew hard looking at her. He couldn’t see her hair, but Guy could easily imagine it. In his mind, it was a glossy chestnut brown.
Her temper only made her more desirable. Although he had never once noticed a woman’s nose before, hers, like every other feature on her face, displayed her anger. Her nostrils flared, as indignant as the look in her light eyes, which had not chosen just one color. That mesmerizing collection of brown and green and blue pinned him to the spot.
Knowing he should back away but unable to do so, Guy simply stared back, waiting for an answer. Looking at her in a way no man should look at a nun.
“I must get back,” she said at last. “Sister Christine will be looking for me.”
“Sister Christine is a whey-faced prig.”
His nun gasped. And then covered her mouth with her hand. Guy supposed he should have tempered his honest response. Until he realized she was smiling. Nay, laughing. Small lines crinkled around her eyes as they danced with merriment. He’d thought her beautiful before, but he amended his opinion.
She was perfection.
“So you don’t care for her either?”
She shook her head, still laughing. “Pardon me. ’Tis unkind of me to laugh at such an insult.”
“’Tis unkind of her to treat others as she does.”
Guy had met her only once, but it was enough for him to take her measure. He was about to ask again if his nun had something to tell him when she suddenly stopped laughing. Her laughing eyes had been replaced by such a fierce expression of determination, he was momentarily taken aback.
“Take me with you.”
Surely she did not just say that.
It was his turn to laugh.
“This place must be affecting me more than I feared. It sounded as if you said—”
“I’ve no wish to be here and want you to take me with you.”
“You’ve no wish . . .” This conversation was not progressing as he’d expected. “Sister?” He didn’t even know her name.
“Sabine.”
“Sister Sabine. I cannot simply abscond from Holybourne with one of its nuns.”
“You can and you will.”
She was serious.
The woman really wanted him to take her away from the abbey. He had so many questions, but none mattered. Such a thing was not possible.
“You cannot come with me. Aside from the fact that it is simply not done, even if I wanted to take you,” he stammered, “I could not do so.”
“Because of your mission?”
His eyes narrowed.
“I know of your plot. And of Bishop Salerno’s role in it. And because I heard every word spoken in here, you will take me with you.”
Gone was the mild-mannered nun he’d passed in the corridor. She looked at him with eyes blazing with conviction.
“You think to . . . blackmail me?”
“Call it what you will.”
“Then I’ll call it as I see it. And I will not be blackmailed. By a nun.”
She appeared too unconcerned by his statement for his comfort.
He would play along.
“Why, pray tell, do you wish to leave Holybourne? And why do you wish to do so with me?”
She frowned as if the question were too bothersome to contemplate.
“I stay here against my will. The fact that I need you, or anyone, to escape is more vexing to me than you know, sir. But I do, and I’ll continue to need protection once I leave. For a time. I am the ward of Lord Burge, who installed me here for coin. The abbess, of course, will retrieve the money from him should my escape attempt prove fruitful.”
By God’s own nails, this woman was actually requesting his assistance for her escape.
“And how, if I may be so bold to ask, am I to offer such protection? If our escape attempt were successful?”
Guy wasn’t even sure why he asked such a question. Because it would not be happening.
She lifted her chin, giving him the distinct impression he wouldn’t like what she had to say next.
“As my husband, of course.”
Chapter 5
She hadn’t meant to say it quite that way. But Sister Christine really would be looking for her. The poor woman she’d convinced to switch duties with her would likely not remain quiet for long. Which meant she didn’t have time to bandy about.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“My . . .” He did take a step back from her then. “A fine time to ask such a question. After that outrageous proposal?”
“This?” She indicated her habit. “I am no nun.”
His eyes widened. “A novice, then?”
“Nay. Oblate. And very much against my will.”
“You . . . are not a nun.”
Had she not just said as much? “Nay. But I am in need of a husband.”
Sabine would have laughed at his expression were the situation not so serious.
“I am the ward of Lord Burge, who was overlord to my father, Robert de Stuteville, lord of Cottingham. When he was killed . . .” She paused, leaving much of the story out. “Lord Burge decided three unwed daughters, and three dowries, were too many for him. Having no desire to produce a fourth dowry, he sold me instead to Holybourne.”
“It seems you’re more in need of a rescue than a husband, my lady.” He seemed inclined to offer her neither.
“I hoped you could provide both,” she said. “As well as your name.”
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“Perhaps you should inquire the name of your potential husband before proposing marriage?” he said, his tone and demeanor more accusatory than his words suggested.
“I asked, if you will recall.”
“I don’t typically offer it to people attempting to persuade me at pain of retribution.”
No doubt Sister Christine had noted her absence already. She was running out of time.
“I am sorry for such directness,” she said, not sorry at all. “But we really should be leaving immediately. This night, if it pleases you.”
He laughed then, tossing his head back with abandon.
The man really was quite handsome, especially when he smiled. Or at least he would be, to a woman who liked danger.
She did not.
“I,” he emphasized, “will be leaving on the morrow. Alone.”
Sabine shook her head. “If you do so, all will know of your plans. Namely, to send the French mercenaries King John hired back to France.” She ignored the fact that his gaze turned murderous. “As a part of a rebellion against our sovereign.”
“You were sent to listen to a very private conversation.”
“Nay. I was sent to ensure it remained private. That Reverend Mother did not fully close the door was a happy circumstance.” She paused, then added, “I can offer coin as well.”
Silently thanking her mother for not having trusted Lord Burge as her father did, she waited for this stranger to decide on the course of her future.
“I’ve no need of a wife.”
He attempted to walk past her then.
Was he really leaving? She couldn’t let him!
“But your plot,” she said, desperate. “The king.”
He stopped, but only momentarily.
“I will not be blackmailed. By anyone.” His tone was harsh, accusatory. As it should be.
Sabine clarified to his back. “I do not wish to remain married. I only suggest it because I will remain Burge’s ward unless I marry. He will not be happy when the abbess demands the return of her coin, and he will find me.”
He reached for the door.
She had nothing left to offer. Sabine hated herself for her desperation, but she simply could not remain here. And an opportunity such as this one would not present itself again. Not before she would be forced to say the vows that would bind her to this abbey forever.
Placing her hand atop his, she offered all she had left to give.
“Please.”
Sabine hated him in that moment. Hated that his refusal had left her no other choice. His hand quickly covered hers. Spinning her around, he pinned her to the very door he’d nearly just opened.
“Let us be clear”—he grasped her wrists and held them on either side of her, and Sabine gasped as he took the final step that closed the small gap between them—“about what you’re now offering.”
Her heart raced as the foolishness of her actions finally penetrated. She’d threatened a man who’d committed treason. Goaded him and then suggested he take the coin she would need if she were to survive. And then she’d touched him and said “please,” silently offering much, much more.
But what choice did she have?
“I take you from here”—his thumbs dug into her wrists—“and you remain silent. We marry to dissuade Lord Burge from pursuit . . . and then become man and wife in truth.”
Nay, not digging, precisely. More like circling.
She swallowed. And nodded.
“When your guardian stops his pursuit, we part ways. Do I have the right of it?”
Sabine nodded again, not daring to speak.
“Divorce is costly, my lady. As I’m sure you know.”
“I have coin,” she reminded him.
As abruptly as he’d grabbed her, her would-be husband let go. Her chest rose and fell, the fireplace hissing in its insistence on being heard over the beating of her heart.
She really should be afraid of him. Of how he looked at her just now. But she wasn’t. Maybe her desperation made it so—she really did want to leave this place—or maybe she trusted her instincts more than the proper part of her that insisted she ought to run far away from him. Forget this entire plan.
“Guy Lavallais of Cradney Wrens.”
She blinked.
“You should know your husband’s name.”
Chapter 6
One day, your hasty actions will turn on you with a vengeance.
Terric had said as much to him when last they spoke, just before this trip to Holybourne. Upon reflection, Aceline, whom Guy had once fought beside as a member of Bande de Valeur, had said much the same.
It would seem both men had taken his measure.
As he waited in their predetermined spot near the abbey’s stables, Guy refused to doubt himself. He’d seen such sentiments get men killed. But that didn’t mean he was happy about the prospect of marrying a stranger, or any woman really. Even one as beautiful as Lady Sabine.
Not Sister Sabine.
I am no nun.
No four words had ever jolted him as those had, the effects of which he still carried with him. Bloody hell, the lady had blackmailed him, yet all he could think of was tearing off that headpiece to see more than just her face.
A noise from within demanded his attention. When a stable boy walked past a moment later, Guy stepped deeper into the shadows. It had gone against his instincts to leave Sabine alone with information that could destroy his mission. But her obvious desperation to leave the abbey had inspired him to do something quite unusual.
He trusted her. If only to gather her belongings to meet him here.
After speaking to the bishop again, explaining that he would be leaving sooner than anticipated, Guy had decided against seeking out the Reverend Mother. She would know in the morn he was responsible for Lady Sabine’s hasty departure. A pretty farewell, under the circumstances, seemed ill-advised.
He’d come for Bishop Salerno’s support and received it. Nothing else mattered. Except keeping his companion quiet long enough to ensure she did not jeopardize his mission.
“Are you there?” she called out, barely attempting to whisper.
She would get them both killed.
Guy grabbed her arm before she even saw him.
“Shhh.”
He nodded toward Arion, his jet-black destrier hidden in the shadows behind the stables. Understanding, she allowed him to lift her into the saddle. He nearly groaned as he did so, his suspicions confirmed.
The long black frock attempted to hide a small waist and curves that begged to be explored. And it mostly succeeded. But he knew better now. And damned if the biggest threat to the order’s rebellion wasn’t this slip of a woman with dangerous knowledge and an even more dangerous body.
Guy didn’t waste time dwelling on thoughts of her waist, or any other part of the non-nun’s body. Being caught absconding with a lord’s daughter, one the Reverend Mother had paid to acquire, was not part of his plan this eve.
Tying off her bag, Guy mounted in front of Lady Sabine, letting Arion’s movement dictate Lady Sabine’s actions. When she did indeed wrap her arms around his waist, Guy smiled into the night. He had no use for a wife. But if this woman willingly gave herself to him, Guy would accept the distraction.
One day, your hasty actions will turn on you with a vengeance.
He’d not yet fathered a bastard babe, to his knowledge. And Guy had no intention of doing so with his soon-to-be discarded wife. Thankfully, there were ways around such an affliction.
“I am surprised you took my offer.”
He didn’t turn in his saddle or acknowledge her words except to nod toward the abbey’s lights, which they passed as they rode forward. Silence was their ally, and she seemed to understand his meaning. But as the torches dimmed, Guy’s grip on the reins relaxed. The gates of St. Andrew Holybourne Abbey were neither closed nor guarded. As they slowly passed through marshland in the darkness, quiet pervaded all around them.
“Your
offer was quite compelling,” he said at last.
“Not to share your treasonous plan?” She said the word with less vehemence than he’d expected.
“Nay.”
Guy let her think on that answer as he smoothed his mount’s mane. Arion did well at night, his steps sure. But a bit of encouragement never hurt matters.
He could tell the moment she understood. Her arms stiffened against him, and Lady Sabine shifted in the saddle. Cursing under his breath, Guy concentrated on the black fabric of her skirts, which hung across his leg.
Think of her as you first saw her. As a nun.
It didn’t work.
So instead, as they rode farther away from the abbey, he did something even more unusual than agreeing to take a bride.
Guy talked to her.
Not that he didn’t enjoy talking to women. Before they fell into his bed.
“So why do you believe this Lord Burge will attempt to reclaim you? Surely if we make our way to Noreham Castle, he will not follow.” Noreham was where he’d find Bande de Valeur—the next part of his mission.
If the lady had overheard his entire conversation with the bishop, she already knew their destination. There was no reason to disguise it.
“You underestimate him, sir.”
The soft-spoken nun was all but gone. His companion had an acid tongue, apparently, and was not afraid to use it.
“Guy. ’Tis unseemly to speak so formally to a man who will be your husband.”
For some reason, Guy wished to goad her.
“Unseemly?”
He smiled into the night. Oh, it was almost too easy to set her off.
“More so than the current situation which I find myself in?”
“When I claim my payment for services rendered, I’d very much enjoy hearing my name from your lips. My given name, that is.”
Her sound of disgust, not unexpected, was followed by silence.
“How could I have thought you honorable?” she muttered. Prompting him to laugh, too loudly.
“I assure you”—he braced himself for a tongue-lashing—“Sabine. I am many things, but no one has ever accused me of being honorable.”
He’d thought she’d respond to that, if only to lambaste him for using her name without permission, but she merely sniffed.
The Mercenary: Order of the Broken Blade Page 2
