Page 27 of The Mercenary

His smile had returned, as if he’d not just almost gotten killed.

“I ensured your safety this night, lady wife.”

Her brows raised. “Safety? Would it not have been better to seat ourselves unnoticed? You are, after all, alone. That man was a knight and had at least four companions with him.”

Guy leaned forward, the hints of green in his brown eyes twinkling. A lone candle, paired with the moonlight streaming inside from the window next to them, cast an almost ethereal glow on an otherwise hardened man.

Until he smiled.

Now he looked like any other. Nay, most men didn’t look like Guy Lavallais, more was the pity, but the cold glint in his eyes was gone and he no longer looked like a killer.

“I am also a knight. Sir Guy, at your service, my lady.”

“I suppose I’ve not thought of you in this light, as a knight, despite knowing otherwise. This is the first you’ve used your title.”

“The title is meaningless. It is a man’s training that defines him.”

“How does someone like . . . how does a mercenary become a knight?”

“A story for another day. As to your second question? Nay. ’Twould not have been better for us to avoid a confrontation. You’re still attracting attention. It was inevitable someone would attempt to dishonor you. Now, at least, we will not be bothered.”

“Not be . . .” She stared, incredulous. “You are but one man.”

“Thankfully, one man who has been in the employ of at least two lords who grace this hall. One who has participated in enough tournaments to be known by reputation. One man, aye. But if they’re willing to forget I’m just a man, I’m happy to let them. Their stories shall keep us safe.”

“Stories about your exploits?”

Guy pushed the other mug toward her. “Aye.”

“What have you done in these tourneys, or as a mercenary, that would seat an entire retinue of knights? Surely together they could have overcome you?”

“Surely not.” He winked. “Drink.”

So she did. Sabine tried to imagine what they knew of Guy that she did not. She thought back to earlier in the day, to the moment she’d thought she was about to become a widow. Even now, she struggled to understand the sheer speed with which he’d swung his sword under his arm to slay his opponent. Sabine had attempted to lift her father’s broadsword before and knew the strength it took to do so. How strong was he, then, to enact such a feat?

Her eyes fell on his arm, now lifted for another drink. She’d seen those arms bare and could imagine the strength they possessed.

Guy caught her looking.

“Are you always so well-pleased with yourself?”

“Aye.”

He answered so quickly, Sabine knew the opposite to be true. But she remained silent.

The serving girl plopped two meat pies in front of them.

“The only fare left this eve.”

The girl’s gaze lingered on Guy. She did not even attempt to hide her appreciation for what she saw.

If Guy could dissuade roaming eyes, then Sabine could do the same.

“My husband and I thank you for the meal, and for our privacy.”

The girl stood up straight, frowning, and walked away.

Guy’s laugh prompted her to cross her arms in front of her.