Page 67 of The Mercenary

Powerful, at times hot-tempered if Guy were to be believed, but always in control, the earl was unlike any man she’d ever met. A lifetime ago, she’d have seen him through the eyes of an unmarried maiden. At least, her father certainly would have. But there was only one man for her.

There was only Guy.

Her heart lurched as it did each time she thought of him. Wondering where he was. If he was safe. In pain. Alive.

“Sabine?”

“I apologize, Your Grace.” Thankfully, she’d heard the conversation through her thoughts. “I’ve heard little of Pontigny Abbey”—she allowed herself a private smile—“though I do have more experience with abbeys of late.”

He raised his brows.

“I was pledged to St. Andrew Holybourne Abbey before escaping, much to my overlord’s dismay, with Guy Lavallais. The mercenary.” She would not apologize for it.

“Your father would be quite proud, I do believe.”

She leaned forward in shock, ignoring Conrad between them.

“You knew my father? But you’ve not been in England these many years.”

“Have I not?”

The plump man, his face saggy in the cheeks, smiled. And Sabine immediately understood. He had been in England, though not officially. And he knew her father because both men opposed the king. Their network had been stronger, more extensive, than Sabine had realized.

“That you should be here, at Licheford, is fitting, my dear.”

She blinked as he turned his attention to Conrad.

“Your order”—she saw Conrad stiffen at the direct reference to his secret—“is gaining support.” He gave them each a knowing look. “And notice.”

“If Salerno had not told you—” Conrad started.

“I suspect another would have,” Langton finished. “But now, at least, we have a defined course.”

“We?”

The Earl of Licheford said that one word with all of the arrogance of a man in his position. Rare, from what she’d observed, for Conrad. But he was indeed an earl, albeit a young one.

“Aye. We.”

Sabine had met many noblemen throughout her life, but even their power paled in comparison to the archbishop’s. She was not fooled by his affability.

Stephen Langton was not a man to trifle with.

“I’ve uncovered a document.” He lowered his voice despite the lack of company in the ornate hall. “One granted by King Henry, which, though never enforced, could be useful to us now.”

Sabine listened as Langton outlined the provisions in a document he called the Charter of Liberties. If John agreed to sign it, to agree to its terms, it would negate some of the powers he now abused. A widow could not be denied her dowry. Children would not be required to purchase land and titles due to them by inheritance. So many of its terms seemed simple but would have far-reaching effects on the governance of their country.

“He will never do it,” she blurted.

Both men stared.

“His alternative is to forfeit the crown,” Conrad said.

His words brought the situation home for her in a way that nothing else had. Would they truly go to war with their own king?

Aye, if that was what it took. They’d come too far to turn back now, and she had to believe John could be defeated, even with Bande de Valeur at his back. But it would take more coin, more men and . . . dear Lord. They spoke of overthrowing their king by force.

“Do you believe he would agree?” she asked the archbishop.