Page 19 of The Mercenary

Guy didn’t like the look Conrad gave him.

“That’s the second time since you arrived you’ve shown affection toward the woman. But this marriage is not a true one?”

“Nay, it is not,” he replied, too quickly. “Not at all. I will ensure Burge understands her new position. Actually, you will help with that part of my plan. And once I finish my business with Bande de Valeur, she and I will part ways.”

Conrad crossed his arms and grunted but gave no other response.

“She is a smart woman. No doubt she has a plan. Relatives, perhaps, who will keep her safe.”

Conrad laughed then, and the sound grated. “You haven’t spoken with her yet about her future plans?”

“I don’t suppose the bishop’s support of our cause, and the funds he’s offered to send de Chabannes and his company back to France, warrant any attention?”

Conrad didn’t answer. Finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, he sat back, the wooden seat creaking beneath his weight. He understood Guy’s meaning and, thankfully, did not seem inclined to harass him further on the subject of his wife.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Conrad said. “And we’ve Lord Wayfair’s support as well. Although he worries John’s rumored promise of another battle will rouse support for him from some of the southern barons.”

It was always as such. Those closest to the king in proximity were more inclined to accept his wayward tactics. They’d hoped the last wave of tax increases, along with the loss at Bouvines, for which the money had been raised, would sway opinion, even in the south. And yet, the barons to the south seemed inclined to see another battle.

“If they continue to support John after Bouvines, they are as foolish as the king.”

“You might keep that opinion contained to this chamber.”

“I’m not the one who cares what others think of me.”

Conrad snorted. “You’d make a fine earl indeed.”

It was a jest between them, and the other members of their order, that Guy had been born into the exact perfect position for him. He craved adventure, was touted as one of the greatest swordsmen in England, and would have difficulty bowing down to any overlord.

Even the king.

“Enough talk and more drink.”

He stood, Conrad following suit.

“Very well. But I have just one more question about”—Conrad cleared his throat—“your wife.”

Chapter 11

Sabine pretended to be asleep. It seemed the most prudent thing to do as she waited for Guy to arrive. Conrad—the earl had insisted she use his given name—assumed she and Guy would share a chamber, a reasonable assumption for a man and wife.

Although certainly he must understand their circumstances? He had named the earl as a co-conspirator, as “more than a friend.” Wouldn’t he confide in such a man? But Guy hadn’t objected to the sleeping arrangements.

On the road, he had insisted on giving her his bedroll—the only one they had. He was a mystery, this temporary husband of hers. Crude one moment, noble the next.

I will gladly accept your other offer as well before we reach Noreham.

She said she’d not offer herself to him, and she’d meant it. But the way he looked at her . . . Sabine couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to relent to desire.

A reckless thought.

The door opened.

Although her back was to the door, she listened as he removed his boots, but she could not discern what else he may have removed. A splash of water and then silence. Had he used the sage and salt mixture that had been provided? And the linen strip of cloth for his teeth? Had he taken off his hose or tunic? Surely he would not sleep in the nude, as many were wont to do, with her in the same bed.

Finally, when she could no longer take the suspense, the feather bed sagged with his weight.

“You are awake, my lady?”