Page 12 of The Mercenary

“Greetings, Father.” Should she share her name? She glanced back at Guy, who nodded to indicate it was indeed safe. Of course, if this man was to marry them, he would certainly need it.

“Lady Sabine de Stuteville. I was indeed an oblate and did not enter the vocation of my own volition.”

He did not appear convinced.

“And you take this man,” he said none too kindly, “as your husband willingly?”

His tone gave her pause. The priest obviously knew Guy, though their relationship did not seem an overly friendly one.

She wondered briefly what her parents would have thought of this decision. Would they have approved? Certainly Guy was not the type of man they’d have chosen for her husband, but neither would they have wished for her to be trapped inside a nunnery.

Thankfully, this was nothing more than a temporary condition.

“Aye, Father.”

Guy was watching her.

As the priest made his way toward the front of the chapel, he continued to look at her as if waiting for her to run screaming from the chapel.

He would be waiting a long time.

When he reached the front, he sighed deeply and waved them both over, indicating where they were to stand. They got into position, and without further preamble, the priest began the proceedings.

Her wedding.

Guy cleared his throat.

The priest stopped and looked at him. Then they both stared at her.

Guy glanced up, toward her head, which was when she realized she’d never taken off her headpiece. Finally understanding the priest’s stricken expression, she reached up, untucked the pins that held it so close to her face, and removed the headdress. Turning toward a bench, she placed it there, wishing she could change her gown as well.

Turning back toward the men, Sabine froze at Guy’s expression.

Had she done something wrong? His eyes were as wide as two circular trenchers, his lips slightly parted. The roguishly handsome man promptly burst into laughter, as he seemed prone to do.

What had she gotten herself into?

Chapter 8

Guy approached his wife’s door, still amazed a private chamber had been available at the small abbey. He had slept in the stable loft, a fitful sleep given the circumstances. In the unlikely event they were already being followed, Guy did not wish to linger.

His wife.

Smiling at the thought of telling his friends, none of whom would believe he was a married man, Guy knocked on the door.

No answer.

He imagined Sabine lying in bed, a mass of auburn hair spilling around her pillow. He thought back to the moment she’d finally removed her headpiece that morning. The sight of all that glossy hair, tumbling around her lovely face . . . it had shocked him that such a woman would willingly give herself to him in marriage. Even Father Wheeland could not contain his surprise.

Guy knocked again.

“A moment, if you please.”

Oddly, he felt no animosity toward the woman who’d entrapped him into marriage. Neither did he feel as if a noose hung around his neck. For a man who’d vowed never to marry, it was a curious thing. Perhaps knowing it was temporary helped matters.

The door opened, and for the second time that day, Guy was rendered speechless.

The drab black had been replaced with a gown worthy of a queen. Deep green velvet contoured a pair of ample breasts and tapered to a waist he very much wanted to encircle with his hands. And pull her toward him. Taste the bold woman who was now, if only for a short time, his wife.