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She cocked her head to the side. “I apologize, my lord. I am not as well-versed in politics as my husband.”

Guy nearly choked on the wine he had just sipped. She’d said it without a hint of a smile . . . God, the woman was good.

In many ways.

Of course, the memory of her sprawled beneath him in bed was unlikely to help him think a way out of the very tricky situation in which they were currently embroiled.

“Is that so?”

Her eyes did not betray her, but the slight stiffening of her shoulders did. Whether he was the only one to notice or not, they would soon find out. But to him, it was clear.

Sabine lied as ably as every man in this chamber.

“’Tis so, my lord. Though if you need assistance in other areas, I may be of service.”

When Noreham’s brows lifted at that, Guy nearly leapt up from his seat. Sabine must have sensed both reactions, as she rushed to explain.

“I noticed the tapestries in your hall, though very beautiful, could use a cleaning. My mother discovered a method that does not require removing them from the wall.”

Noreham smiled then, a seductive smile that made Guy grit his teeth.

“Permit me to speak to your steward,” Sabine cut in quickly, standing.

Guy tried to tell her to sit back down with his eyes, but she did not take his meaning. Or perhaps she simply ignored him. A more likely scenario. Either way, she left them with Noreham’s assurance his man was standing just outside the chamber.

If they made it out of this keep alive, Guy would kill her for putting her life in danger.

Because the baron’s expression left him with no doubt—this was no friendly discussion between men. It was a deadly game, and for the moment, he and Sabine were at a disadvantage. But that was about to change.

Chapter 23

They didn’t speak on the ride back. Sabine wanted to know everything that had been said in her absence, but Guy insisted it was a poor idea for them to start yelling back and forth as they rode through Lord Noreham’s lands. She knew the true reason: he was furious she’d left his “care.”

The moment they entered their room, the bed freshly made and a bowl of rosewater awaiting their arrival, Sabine spun on him.

“You look at me as if I am to blame for de Chabannes’s wretchedness.”

“Nay.” Guy walked around her as he removed his sword and belt, placing both near the bed. “Only for separating yourself from me and putting yourself in danger.”

“He was suspicious.”

“With good reason.”

“And I suspect he may have known my father.”

“A fair assumption given the way he looked at you.”

Removing his padded gambeson and boots, Guy did not even turn around to look at her.

Sabine angrily took off her own shoes and stockings, ignoring him just as assuredly.

“You are not to blame for that,” he said at last. “But I wasn’t pleased by my inability to stop him from staring at you so.”

“What would you have done had we not been in danger of being held there as traitors?”

Sabine was not sure how she felt about Guy’s jealousy, but she was most definitely curious to know how far he would have taken it.

“I’d have asked for him to join me in the training yard, where I would have earned my reputation as the greatest swordsman in England.”