Page 15 of The Mercenary

“Sabine?”

Her eyes flew open, the dream lingering with her. Nay, not so much a dream as a memory, one that had haunted her for weeks.

She’d fallen asleep leaning against a tree, an unlikely spot for slumber, although they’d had precious little rest since departing Holybourne Abbey. After leaving the abbey where they’d married, they’d ridden well into the night. When Guy finally signaled it was time to stop, Sabine nearly fell off their mount and embraced the ground. He’d prepared a fire then, and the warmth had lulled her to sleep.

And into a nightmare.

Handing her a piece of meat and a chunk of bread, Guy sat next to her.

Much too close.

That morning, Sabine had thought he intended to make good on his promise to consummate the marriage. Despite having the opportunity, he had not taken advantage of her.

The mercenary was more honorable than she had first imagined, certainly more so than he claimed. Which did not account for her disappointment when he did not so much as claim her lips.

They ate in silence, watching the fire and sitting awkwardly together. Until he handed her a skin of ale. His fingers brushed against her, apurpose.

“What did you dream?”

His tone, devoid of its typical edge, was one of concern. Who was this man? The arrogant mercenary she’d met? The brazen traitor she knew him to be? A man who could easily claim her body but instead spoke to her as if he cared for her well-being?

“Why do you ask?”

He took back the skin.

“Are you always so suspicious?”

Her answer to that was immediate. “Aye.”

She’d been taught to be so.

She leaned forward, the bark of the tree behind her cutting into the thin linen shift. When Guy had first suggested she remove her travel gown, she’d laughed, thinking him mad. But it had soon become apparent the only possession left to her upon arriving at Holybourne would be quite impractical for this journey, and so Sabine had relented.

Thankfully, it was a sturdy linen, more like a simple gown than a chemise. But it still lacked the layers of material to which she was accustomed in such company.

“If you’ve little desire to converse, perhaps we should pass the time with other activities?”

Smiling, she took a bite of bread.

“Do you ever relent?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

“If I did”—he placed the skin between them—“you would be dining now with a corpse.”

“Has life so mistreated you, then?”

She chanced a glance at him. The wide-open linen shirt gave her pause. Looking away quickly, she stared at the fire instead. He had the body of a mercenary. Not, of course, that she knew any others. But she could imagine it must be a difficult life indeed. And Sabine knew near-constant fighting was the danger to which he referred.

The result: arms nearly as thick as the tree against which she leaned.

“Not at all, my lady. I’m still here, am I not?”

By his standards, Sabine should be thankful she was alive rather than lamenting the life she’d lost the day her parents were both killed.

“I suppose.”

“You never answered my question.”

An owl’s call did so for her. Without realizing it at first, she moved slightly toward her husband. It was the first time Sabine had ever seen such darkness. If not for the fire, she’d not be able to see her own knees tucked up in front of her.