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The amount the mercenary leader had asked for would be impossible for him to deliver, even with the bishop’s support, and de Chabannes knew it.
“You must consider the damage to Bande de Valeur’s reputation if we were to renege on a promise made to the king.”
Sitting next to his wife and across from his former master, Guy tried to remain calm. But he was in the foulest of moods. His silent stand-off with Sabine haunted him. It was his fault, he knew, but that made it no easier. The end result was that he was in no mood for de Chabannes’s games.
“I’ve given you the amount we can pay, and you’ve admitted ’tis nearly double what John has pledged. And we both know you don’t give a shite about your standing with either king. So tell me, Aceline”—he used his given name apurpose—“what are you about other than to squeeze more coin from me?”
De Chabannes made a noncommittal sound and turned toward Sabine.
“What say you about your husband’s treason?”
Guy stood.
But Sabine put her hand on his arm. Reluctantly, he sat back down.
“I am but a servant here,” she said, “as you well know.”
He didn’t like de Chabannes’s look. The man knew something, and Guy had a feeling they were about to learn what that something was.
“A servant, you say? Of your husband’s? Or your king?”
“Aceline,” Guy warned.
“Or perhaps ’tis your late father who possesses your loyalty? Robert de Stuteville was his name, was it not?”
This time, his wife would not waylay him. Guy drew his sword before de Chabannes could even stand.
His former master was quick.
But he was quicker.
“Bastard,” he snarled.
De Chabannes tsked. “Is this your preferred manner of negotiation?”
Guy did not put down his weapon.
“Only with those who have betrayed me.”
Reaching out a hand, de Chabannes pushed down Guy’s sword. He allowed it for one reason—Sabine was watching.
And she was scared. He could see the terror in her eyes, and perhaps it was warranted. Killing this man would do little for their cause other than to ensure the failure of the order’s plan.
“I am a servant of England,” Sabine said, her voice unwavering.
They both turned to stare.
“’Tis your right to refuse my husband’s offer. You may also fault all of us, my father included, for opposing the king’s oppression. But Guy spoke of you as an honorable man who would not betray him, so if you will . . . please prove that his words are true.”
She lifted her chin in defiance.
“Or not.”
This was the woman who had cornered him in the abbey and forced him to marry her.
Perhaps “forced” was too strong a term. He’d never truly been forced to do anything—it wasn’t in his nature. Nay, Guy had wanted Sabine as much that day as he did in this moment.
It was a shame he’d made such a mockery of their marriage.
