She looked at Marcus. His hair was cut short, but his locks were full and curling at his nape. His chiseled jawline was grizzled with a day’s growth and in need of a shave. His nose was straight and proud. He shifted his eyes to her. Blue. Like the sky. Her gaze dropped to his lips.
Oh, she wanted to kiss him.
A group of birds exploded from the trees next to them.
Sage’s mind was foggy, but every instinct she had reacted. Her hand dropped to the pommel of her sword and her body tensed.
Marcus saw her reaction and swung his head toward the trees where the birds had flown from.
His movement was enough to snap Sage from her reverie. She shot to her feet as Marcus drew his blade.
Four men burst from the cover of the trees and bushes, rushing toward them, swords drawn. They wore white tunics emblazoned with the red crosses of the Templar knights.
Marcus stepped forward as if to protect Sage, intercepting the blow of the first knight. She would have been insulted, but she had no time.
Marcus blocked swings from the first two knights, and Sage moved to his side to join him, crossing swords with one of the others. She was quick, blocking first an arcing blow and then a swing. When another knight attacked her, her instincts took over. Her father had taught her and her sisters well, insisting on daily practices. It was second nature to her to fight. But she had never been as good as Raven.
Now, fighting for her life, it didn’t matter. She spun out of the way of a swinging blow and blocked the second knight’s arc. She kicked the other one back as he raised his blade over his head. She was taught to fight with everything she had; her feet, elbows, and even her head could be weapons. She lunged, shoving the blade into the first knight’s stomach. She was shocked for a moment when it entered. She had expected it to glance off of armor beneath his tunic.
She couldn’t dwell on the fact. She had to finish the other one. She pulled her sword free and sidestepped the second knight’s lunge. He added a hard punch across her cheek that she was unprepared for. It sent her flying to the ground. Her sword spun from her grip.
Her mind whirled from the blow. Her father would not be pleased. Her sword was an arm’s reach away. She could hear her father saying, “‘If you lose your sword, you’re dead.’” Fallen leaves crunched behind her—the knight was approaching. She waited until he was close enough before plowing plowed her foot into his knee. He cried out in pain.
She lurched toward her weapon. Her hand closed around the pommel of her sword and she rolled onto her back, holding the tip of the blade up.
The knight loomed over her, bringing his blade down, leaning forward into his blow.
Sage shoved her weapon up and, as his sword came down, she moved her head to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade.
Time seemed to stop with the knight looming over her like a canopy. She half-expected him to pull out a dagger and continue fighting. Only when blood dripped from the corner of his lips did she relax and push him off her. He tumbled limply to the ground at her side.
“Sage!” Marcus called, his voice distressed.
She turned her head, and her hair snagged, preventing her movement. “I’m okay,” she assured, lifting her hand to check what was holding her hair down. It was the knight’s long blade, impaled in the ground on her braid.
Marcus ran over to her, his concerned gaze sweeping her. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Sage answered, trying to tug her hair free. She stopped and shifted her gaze to him. “Are you?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Sage continued pulling at her locks to free her hair. She reached up to grasp the handle of the sword but couldn’t work up enough force to pull it from the ground. “I’m stuck.”
Marcus walked to the sword and yanked it from the ground. He tossed it aside and dropped to his knees beside her.
She sat up, staring at him. That was close. That blade had missed her throat by inches. Father would not be pleased. She rubbed her neck to make sure she wasn’t cut.
Marcus’s jaw dropped open in shock.
“What?” Sage demanded. Was she bleeding? Her hand moved over her neck, across her jaw. There was no injury, no blood. “What?” Her cheek stung from the blow, but there was no wound.
He glanced at the ground. “I hope you’ve always wanted short hair.” He picked something up and held it out to her.
The twisted lock of hair swung back and forth in his fingers.
For a moment, Sage gaped in confusion at it. Her braid! Slowly, dread spread through her, and she lifted her hand to touch the top of her head, running her fingers down the strands to the ends. Some strands were longer, but most were cut off at her shoulders. Her hair had used to go down to her waist. That was why she braided it—so it wouldn’t get in the way of her sword fighting.
Now, her hair stopped just above her shoulders. Stunned, she couldn’t look away from the braid in Marcus’s fingers, and she couldn’t stop feeling for the length that used to extend beyond her shoulders. All three of the Hawke sisters had long hair. What would her father say?
