Page 47 of The Mercenary

He clearly regretted his actions from the night before. Sabine, however, did not. She tried to ignore the jolt of pain his reaction caused.

They rode through the village in silence, Sabine taking in each building as they passed. A tannery with a well alongside it. The mill and a blacksmith’s shop along a small stream that followed the path they were travelling. They passed through fields, too, some planted and others fallowed. A handsome, though small, chapel marked the end of the dirt road on which they traveled. She’d not spied that earlier. Indeed, she’d thought there were none in the vicinity. Though a large demesne separated them from the castle, the fertile green land untouched, she could see it easily.

As they approached the castle, Sabine alternated between worrying over what to expect from the lord of Noreham and what to expect from her husband.

It was the former that demanded her attention at present. It was less confusing, for one, and for another, it was more likely to get her killed in the immediate future. Two of the baron’s men rode up to them, the same crest on their tunics as was flying high overhead above the main gate. Overly large, its stone arch supported two of the largest wooden doors Sabine had ever seen in her life. She supposed without a drawbridge, any approach would be met with the same, but it unnerved her nonetheless.

“Sir Guy Lavallais?”

“Aye.” Guy rode up to them. “And my wife, Lady Sabine, if it pleases you.”

The same man who’d greeted them grunted in response, turning back toward the gate. They followed, a loud crack of thunder hastening their journey toward the inner bailey, where servants and men-at-arms already hurried to take cover. Sabine flinched as another crack of thunder filled the air, this one louder than the first. Dismounting quickly and handing their reins to a stable boy, she and Guy followed the men who’d greeted them into the main keep. When they stopped in front of a pair of double doors, she wasn’t expecting another courtyard, but a wide open space greeted them. Unfortunately, the clouds unloosed a deluge on them, so they hurried to and through another door, Sabine tripping on the raised floor beyond the doorstep.

Guy caught her before she stumbled forward. As his arms encircled her, Sabine fought the urge to grip him and not let go. Though her footing was steady, her heart beat wildly in her chest, and the great hall and its occupants fell away as she stared into her husband’s hungry eyes.

The spell was broken by a voice from the other end of the hall.

“Lavallais!”

De Chabannes stood at the foot of the head table in the great hall, as if he’d just arrived himself. She slipped her hand through his arm as they approached the lord of Noreham, who sat behind a massive head table. There was no lady that Sabine could see, just a large empty wooden chair next to him.

He was young, this lord who championed a ruthless king. And handsome, though the knowledge of his complicity made him ugly to her. Some would call him loyal, but not Sabine. To her, anyone who could close their eyes to King John’s special kind of cruelty was as much a part of the problem as the ambitious leader himself. It had taken just one story, of the Baroness of Elmwood, to sway Sabine to the rebels’ cause. The widow had been imprisoned in the Tower simply for claiming her husband’s title for her son, a common practice. Unfortunately, John wanted it back and the baroness had to choose between her son’s inheritance and her life.

This was a cause her father had taken up before most others, including the order.

Relying on her training, Sabine smiled at the lord of Noreham, nodding her acknowledgment of the mercenary leader as well. She said nothing as the men exchanged polite greetings and introductions.

The baron nodded to her. “Lavallais is indeed a lucky man to have such a lady as his wife.”

She simply smiled, thinking little of the remark, until she noticed Guy’s dark look. For a very brief moment, Guy looked like he intended to throttle Noreham, but the look disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by an expression of forced good cheer.

With the introductions no longer demanding her attention, Sabine looked upward, admiring the vaulted ceiling. By now the hall was filled with retainers and guests. No fewer than fifty people sat around them, the white table linens in stark contrast to a darkness in the hall no amount of candles could illuminate. Perhaps it felt so cold because so few females were in attendance. Or maybe it was the abundance of weapons that graced the walls around them.

When they sat at a table some distance from Noreham’s, she felt marginally more comfortable, except that de Chabannes and his men were seated opposite them.

“You want to know why I asked you here,” de Chabannes began, a mouthful of stew still making its way down his throat.

“I want to know who did the asking,” Guy responded. Though the other men at their table were obviously members of Bande de Valeur, they sat close to other tables filled with Noreham’s men. So Sabine was surprised when de Chabannes answered so openly.

“I told the baron of your arrival, and it was he who requested your presence.”

She refrained from looking at Guy, knowing it would be hard to keep any emotion from her expression. Instead, she stared down into her bowl, concerned. Neither piece of news boded well for their mission here.

Guy surprised her. “I should have expected you to do so,” he said, his tone serious.

The look that passed between the two of them did not seem like a communication between a former master and his man. This was a look of deadly understanding between equals. Except one was at a decided disadvantage. Sitting in the hall of a powerful baron loyal to the king, the table and hall filled with men who would gladly destroy Guy and his friends and those who’d joined their cause . . . aye, it was likely a position de Chabannes had intentionally maneuvered.

The meal passed without incident. When Noreham stood, so did those who sat around them. It was only when the baron nodded to de Chabannes that Sabine truly began to worry.

“C’est l’heure,” he said to Guy.

Time for what?

Sabine was afraid she already knew.

Chapter 22

Guy was essentially a prisoner here, but it bothered him more that Sabine was in the same position. Still, the thought of leaving her at the inn had been unacceptable.