Page 8 of The Mercenary

“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.