“You’ll be wanting to give your ale more attention than my wife.”
Guy rested his hand on his sheathed sword.Others around them stopped talking and looked their way.
“You’ll be wanting to move along,” the man mocked. He and all of his companions stood, but Guy did not move. Sabine, on the other hand, backed away enough to see her husband’s face. She shivered, unaccustomed to seeing him so serious. Nay, not just serious.
Deadly.
“You’ll all be wanting to sit down,” another voice yelled from the other side of the table. “’Tis Guy Lavallais, you fools.”
Sabine had thought for sure she was about to watch yet another fight, but at those words, the men who’d threatened them, including the one who had looked at her, sat like obedient schoolboys.
Still Guy did not move away.
When the men returned to their ales, he lingered a moment longer before taking her hand and leading her to the far side of the hall.
A small empty table beckoned. When they sat, a woman immediately appeared with a pitcher and two mugs. Where had she come from? Sabine had not seen a serving girl, or any other women, earlier.
Guy poured both of them an ale and drank deeply from his mug.
She simply stared.
“What happened back there?”
His smile had returned, as if he’d not just almost gotten killed.
“I ensured your safety this night, lady wife.”
Her brows raised. “Safety? Would it not have been better to seat ourselves unnoticed? You are, after all, alone. That man was a knight and had at least four companions with him.”
Guy leaned forward, the hints of green in his brown eyes twinkling. A lone candle, paired with the moonlight streaming inside from the window next to them, cast an almost ethereal glow on an otherwise hardened man.
Until he smiled.
Now he looked like any other. Nay, most men didn’t look like Guy Lavallais, more was the pity, but the cold glint in his eyes was gone and he no longer looked like a killer.
“I am also a knight. Sir Guy, at your service, my lady.”
“I suppose I’ve not thought of you in this light, as a knight, despite knowing otherwise. This is the first you’ve used your title.”
“The title is meaningless. It is a man’s training that defines him.”
“How does someone like . . . how does a mercenary become a knight?”
“A story for another day. As to your second question? Nay. ’Twould not have been better for us to avoid a confrontation. You’re still attracting attention. It was inevitable someone would attempt to dishonor you. Now, at least, we will not be bothered.”
“Not be . . .” She stared, incredulous. “You are but one man.”
“Thankfully, one man who has been in the employ of at least two lords who grace this hall. One who has participated in enough tournaments to be known by reputation. One man, aye. But if they’re willing to forget I’m just a man, I’m happy to let them. Their stories shall keep us safe.”
“Stories about your exploits?”
Guy pushed the other mug toward her. “Aye.”
“What have you done in these tourneys, or as a mercenary, that would seat an entire retinue of knights? Surely together they could have overcome you?”
“Surely not.” He winked. “Drink.”
So she did. Sabine tried to imagine what they knew of Guy that she did not. She thought back to earlier in the day, to the moment she’d thought she was about to become a widow. Even now, she struggled to understand the sheer speed with which he’d swung his sword under his arm to slay his opponent. Sabine had attempted to lift her father’s broadsword before and knew the strength it took to do so. How strong was he, then, to enact such a feat?
Her eyes fell on his arm, now lifted for another drink. She’d seen those arms bare and could imagine the strength they possessed.
Guy caught her looking.
“Are you always so well-pleased with yourself?”
“Aye.”
He answered so quickly, Sabine knew the opposite to be true. But she remained silent.
The serving girl plopped two meat pies in front of them.
“The only fare left this eve.”
The girl’s gaze lingered on Guy. She did not even attempt to hide her appreciation for what she saw.
If Guy could dissuade roaming eyes, then Sabine could do the same.
“My husband and I thank you for the meal, and for our privacy.”
The girl stood up straight, frowning, and walked away.
Guy’s laugh prompted her to cross her arms in front of her.
“Your tongue is as sharp as my sword.”
“I will thank you not to laugh at your wife, Sir Guy.”
He cleared his throat, still smiling.
Uncrossing her arms, Sabine took a bite of the pie. After a day of riding, she was so very hungry.
“My tongue,” she said between bites, “is none of your concern.”
Leaning forward, Guy opened his mouth and touched his own tongue to his top lip. Slowly. Deliberately.
Sabine forgot to breathe.
“Alas, your tongue is very much my concern.”
Elbows on the table, he leaned even closer. “If you would but make your offer, I could show you exactly how it is so, my lady wife.”
Lord help her, Sabine very much wanted to learn of what he spoke.
“I told you,” she ground out, “no such offer will be forthcoming.”
Guy sat back, lifted his fork, and began to eat. But this wasn’t just about sating his appetite. Nay, he lingered over every bite. Once he licked his lips, allowing Sabine to see the pink tip of his tongue.
Her core clenched as it had never done before. She wondered at her stubborn refusal to indulge herself. This man was her husband, was he not? Would it not be permissible to give in to this small temptation?
Nay!
Intimacy between them would not end well.
Instead of answering, she continued to eat. It struck her that Guy had been quite correct in his assessment of the situation. Although a few people glanced their way, they garnered far less attention than when they’d first entered.
“Who are you?” she blurted.
“I have many monikers, my lady. But that of your husband is my current favorite.”
Sabine rolled her eyes.
“When we met, I thought you an arrogant bastard,” Sabine admitted.
“When we met . . .” He took a swig of ale and clanked the mug back onto the table. “I thought you a nun.”
“An easy enough assumption, given the circumstances.”
Sabine finished the meat pie, peering up at Guy occasionally.
“What do you want to know?” he answered finally.
She had so many questions, but she kept coming back to the question of his knighthood.
“All right. How does a mercenary come to be knighted?” she tried asking again.
“It was the year of our Lord twelve hundred and six,” he said with a flourish. Sabine shook her head gently at his antics. “An invasion by your king saw me fighting for Philip at La Rochelle. The very same man knighted me on the battlefield after a hard-fought victory.”
She could not have been more surprised. “You fought for France?”
“Aye.”
“Against England?”
“’Tis what I said.”
“But . . . now you risk your life to protect the very country you fought against. I don’t understand.”
“’Tis the life of a mercenary.” He shrugged. “Philip pays well. As does John, which is why my . . .” She shot him a look. “. . . Our mission will not be an easy one.”
“But you are not getting paid for this.”
“I am not. This particular mission is for the order.”
“But why? Why would a man loyal to no one risk everything for three Englishmen—”
“Two Englishmen. And a Scotsman.”
“
If you care not about the outcome?”
Guy turned serious. She’d hit upon something he did not want to discuss. Interesting.
“A story for another day.”
Sabine looked around the inn’s hall. “We’ve time for it now.”
But she could tell Guy was finished talking.
“Nay, we do not.” He stood, outstretching his hand. “’Tis time to secure lodgings and”—he smiled—“for us to become husband and wife in truth.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “But you said . . .”
She stopped, taking his hand, belatedly realizing he was teasing her. Sabine tried to summon relief but instead there was only disappointment. Silly, as it was she who had determined their course. The look he was giving her at that very moment served as the only reminder she needed that, given her acquiescence, their marriage would be immediately consummated.
Chapter 14
Guy opened the door to their room for the second time that evening. After securing it earlier, he’d left to check on the horses. And to ensure the men whom he’d tangled with earlier had moved on. He’d begun to return, changed his mind, and went to the hall instead.
He’d do better to wait for Sabine to fall asleep.
He found himself distracted by her lips. By the way she breathed in so deeply whenever she was worried. That was how he’d known she was uncomfortable as they entered the inn’s hall earlier. Hell, he’d felt much the same way. The Fiddler’s Inn was not intended for noblewomen.
But it could be for a girdler. The very idea of it . . .
Guy shook his head. She would be good at the trade, of that he had no doubt. Her work spoke for itself. But would such a life suit Sabine? Although she was certainly resourceful—the manner of their meeting had taught him that—she was also very much a lady. Refined and well-spoken. Heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Nay, he could not imagine her living in a town alone, selling her wares alongside the type of men who would sooner steal from her than they would help her succeed.
That kind of thinking was the exact reason Guy stayed belowstairs for longer than necessary. He was becoming much too entangled with his wife. She was more thoughtful than he, as Guy knew the reason she did not give in to the temptation they both felt. He would do well to follow her lead.
And concentrate on the mission ahead.
The door creaked much too loudly as it opened. The room he’d secured was small but well-appointed. Or tidy, at least. The bed was too small for them both unless he wanted to sleep nearly on top of her.
His cock answered the call. Because aye, he did want that. Very much.
“Guy?”
She sat up. Her voice was not that of a woman who had been sleeping.
“You’re awake,” he said without looking toward the bed. Best not to tempt himself.
Sabine didn’t answer, but he could feel her watching him. Removing his boots, then his tunic and hose, Guy moved to the wooden washstand. Grateful for the bowl of water, more so than he’d expected, he washed himself, remembering only belatedly the drying cloth was in his saddlebag.
“Here.”
He turned to Sabine’s outstretched hand. She was sitting up in the bed in the same shift she’d worn the night before. He moved toward her, not daring to think of her parted lips as a sign. But when she lifted her neck, he was powerless to prevent his eyes from lingering on the creamy skin there.
Guy deliberately allowed his fingers to linger as they brushed hers. Grasping the cloth, he turned away, but not before he gave his wife a knowing look. One that told her what he wanted. Despite everything that had happened that day, or maybe because of it, he wanted her.
So much death, always.
As he dried himself off, Guy thought of the man he’d slain that day. It was little consolation his own life would have been forfeit had he not reacted so quickly. Death was death. And it mattered little that he had seen it often. Each and every one haunted him, even the nameless faces of men on the battlefield.
Such was the life of a mercenary. At least the order’s cause was just. He would gladly fight for it, die for it.
Finished, Guy took out his bedroll and placed it on the floor, avoiding Sabine’s gaze. The more he looked at her, the less he would be able to resist her.
“You’d sleep on the floor?”
Cursing under his breath, he muttered an affirmation.
“’Tis unnecessary. There is space here, beside me.”
Guy looked up then, and even in the dim moonlight streaming into the room through the sole window, he knew that look.
Sabine’s eyes fluttered upward, but it was too late.
“What exactly are you offering, Sabine?”
He deliberately drew out her name, his meaning clear.
“A bed to sleep in.”
“Nothing more? ’Tis a small bed.”
“Nay. Nothing more.”
Though he admired her bravado, Guy nearly laughed at her expression as he moved toward her. Did she think he would decline the offer? Had she made it expecting him to do so?
“Many thanks,” he said, as formally as he could.
Lying next to her, as he expected, their bodies kissed in a way they had not. Her legs, her hips . . . but still he would not relent until she did so first.
“Good night, Sabine.”
Though he closed his eyes, Guy knew sleep would not come. If he had not slept the previous night, knowing she lay beside him in the large bed, or the night before that, lying beneath the stars with her, he certainly could not manage it now. He had a feeling he’d not sleep until they parted.
A thought he wished to avoid.
“Guy?”
He smiled, eyes still closed.
“Aye, my lady wife?”
“You are . . . quite large.”
He knew she referred to their close proximity but could not let the comment pass.
“So you did stare overly long at my braies? I thought as much. Thank you for saying so.”
He waited. It didn’t take long.
“I did not mean—”
Opening his eyes and spinning toward her, Guy propped himself up on his elbow. The sight of her auburn tresses, tumbling down around her breasts, was too great a temptation, and he took hold of a lock, twirling it gently around his fingers. His hand brushed against a very full breast with each twirl.
“I knew to what you referred,” he admitted.
“Why do you do that?”
He allowed his hand to linger on her covered breast a bit longer each time he wrapped her hair around his fingers. Inching closer and closer to the center of the mound, he finally found his mark. As he’d expected, her nipple hardened beneath his hand.
“I love the color of your hair, the feel of it beneath my fingers. When it was covered, I imagined it would be a soft brown. But nay, this suits you more. Bold, like my lady wife.”
She swallowed.
“Not that.” Her eyes begged him not to make her say the words, so he relented and did it for her.
“Ahh, you mean, why do I allow my finger to caress your hardened nipple with each pass?”
Pink stained both of her fair cheeks. “Aye.”
Dropping the pretense of toying with her hair, though he did enjoy doing so, Guy tossed the tresses aside so he might lavish his attention on Sabine’s breasts. He rubbed his thumb back and forth, easily feeling her arousal even through the linen shift, then took her nipple between his fingers and pinched, ever so slightly.
“You said you would wait until I offered myself to you,” she said.
“Mmmm . . .” He cupped her then, nearly overwhelmed by the need to do so without any offending material between them. “I do believe you already did?”
Her eyes widened.
“The very night you asked for me to take you.” He clarified, “The night you blackmailed me.”
Leaning toward her, so close he could smell the mint on her breath, Guy removed his hand from her chest.
“Does that mean . . .�
�
Again, she did not put what she wanted into words. No matter, he had plenty of words for what he would like them to do together.
“Does that mean I will finally taste the sweetness of your lips? Continue my exploration of your body, your breasts? Or that I will slide into you and then spend this night making love to the woman who is already mine, in the eyes of both God and man?”
He almost felt sorry for her.
Guy should not do this. His words tortured both of them. By God’s own nails, he had never wanted anything more than to do every last thing he’d just described.
But she would ask for it.
Sabine nodded.
And because he was a bastard, Guy opened his mouth and very deliberately licked his lips, wetting them. “Nay,” he said, waiting for her reaction. “I’d not hold you to that early offer. ’Twas made out of desperation.”
Lying back down, he forced his eyes to close once more.
“Next time, I’d have the offer be made out of desire instead.”
He smiled at the strangled sound his dear wife made.
Chapter 15
Sabine had never felt less refreshed. Sitting up, she groaned. Guy was gone.
The light streaming in through the window alerted her to the hour, but although she’d slept later than usual, she hadn’t slept much. It had taken her most of the night to drift off to sleep. Even after Guy’s breathing had turned slow and steady with sleep, she’d lain awake, shocked that he’d found rest when she could not.
At one point, he’d shifted toward her in his sleep, and Sabine could not resist staring at him. His features looked so much softer in sleep. Lips that he’d wet, no doubt intentionally, luring her in as she watched. Her eyes had wandered lower, to the marking on his arm she’d always wondered about, a fleur-de-lis etched in black. Sabine watched as his muscles shifted beneath his flesh every time he moved.
And then something unexpected happened—he pulled her toward him in his sleep, bringing her close until her head was cradled on his shoulder. She allowed it because it felt so very natural, and because he didn’t seem to know he’d done it. Still sleeping peacefully, he sighed. Such a human sound from a man who often seemed more than mortal.
The Mercenary: Order of the Broken Blade Page 6
