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It was done.
And he still had his head. For now.
Chapter 3
At the sound of the wooden chairs scraping against the floor, Sabine moved away, flattening her back against the cold stone wall. She swallowed. Hard. The plan that had formed in her head was surely the height of folly, and yet . . .
Seize opportunities that lay themselves at your feet, Sabine.
Hadn’t her parents taught her that? When the door finally opened, she envisioned Sister Christine’s frown of displeasure and took a deep, steadying breath. She had a way out, finally, and she would use it. She had to.
“I bid you a good eve, sir,” the bishop said as he walked through the door.
He stopped, seeing her, but Sabine was not looking at the bishop. Instead, she focused on the man who’d just exited behind him. They both turned her way, and courtesy of the wall torch mounted next to them, she could see the traitor clearly.
She couldn’t do it.
Too handsome by far, he stared straight at her. She knew she should shift her gaze, but she’d never followed the rules of the nunnery, despite Christine’s warnings. And she simply could not do so now.
The more she looked at him, the more certain she was this was not the man for her. He could not be controlled, which made him quite incompatible for her purposes.
The two men walked by her, the bishop murmuring his thanks for protecting their privacy. She had indeed been sent for that purpose, although the nun who’d given her the duty certainly hadn’t known what she would witness. Sabine did look down then, but not in reverence.
“’Twas my pleasure,” she whispered as the men walked by her.
Sandalwood.
The traitor smelled like sandalwood.
She continued to stare at her feet as they moved away, chiding herself for a fool’s plan. Sabine knew nothing of the visitor. Well, very little.
She knew he plotted against the king, boldly risking his life to garner the bishop’s support. Unless, of course, he knew the man’s leanings, which, as she thought about it, was a likely scenario.
She also knew he was fiercely loyal, willing to give his life for the others with whom he plotted.
Sabine could sense the danger in him as well.
“You want something of me.” The voice was husky and deep, a bit wild.
Her head whipped up. He stood inches away from her, his presence engulfing her. How had she not heard him returning?
Sabine glanced down the corridor.
“Gone to bed,” he said of the bishop.
Sabine had not expected this conversation. Not after she’d rejected her hasty plan to use what she’d heard.
“I want nothing from you, sir.”
His eyes were brown. But like hers, they held many different shades.
“Liar.”
She gasped. What manner of man was he to say such a thing? To a nun. A stranger.
The kind of man who would rebel against his king.
When he took a step toward her, Sabine did not shrink away. Not that she could move very far with her back up against the wall.
