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Having seen Guy’s sword arm in action, Sabine had no doubt he could have easily done so.
“He claims there are others like him, openly loyal to John but privately irate with his policies. The election of des Roches as his justiciar was the point at which Noreham turned.”
Sabine shook her head. “My father said many of the barons despised the bishop of Winchester nearly as much as they did John’s taxes.”
“Precisely,” Guy continued. “When John asked”—Guy inclined his head—“demanded the use of Noreham’s land for Bande de Valeur, he had no choice but to acquiesce. He claims, if necessary, he’d have turned his own men against the company rather than allow de Chabannes’s men to fight us.”
“You believe him?” Conrad asked.
“I do.”
The room was silent.
“He’d begun to suspect our true purpose.”
Sabine could guess how events had unfolded after she left. “You and Noreham both convinced de Chabannes?”
Guy winked at her, and the expression of complicity made her heart sing. This was their fight.
Together.
“Aye, lady wife. We did.” He looked at Conrad. “Between the bribe I’d already offered him and the knowledge that his host was prepared for a fight . . .” Guy frowned. “He’s many things, but Aceline is not a stupid man.”
Sabine allowed the news to penetrate.
Noreham was one of them.
He’d threatened Bande de Valeur with a battle, and Guy had offered them twice as much coin as the king. These were not the actions of men who dipped their toes in a rebellion. Like her father, they were prepared to die for this cause. Noreham, for reasons she did not yet know. Guy, as a part of his bond of friendship with the order. And she . . .
Sabine had as much reason to despise John and his rule as any, but she’d never imagined being a part of the movement that would depose him. Or, at the very least, force him to reform.
It was more than she ever could have hoped for that day at the abbey, when the mercenary’s conversation had reached her ears.
Much, much more.
Guy watched her.
“Did you see them leave?” she thought to ask.
“Aye. ’Tis what took me so long. Which is why I sent word ahead.”
Her brows furrowed. “Nay,” she argued, “you did not.”
Conrad cut in then. “Who did you send?”
They looked at each other then, all likely thinking the same thing. Guy never answered. He didn’t need to. The message never reached them. And in the game of kings, there were rarely any winners. The moves they’d made these past weeks, while necessary, were no longer secret.
“It doesn’t matter.” Conrad sat back, crossing his arms. “The king will likely notice the absence of his sellswords.”
“But he doesn’t know the identity of the men who are behind the unification of his opposition,” she said as Guy rubbed the palm of her hand with his thumb.
“Yet,” Conrad said.
“And women,” Guy added.
At another time that would have made her smile, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before they were unmasked. Too many people knew for the secret to remain in the dark much longer. Guy. Conrad. Lance. Terric.
Her father would have been proud to know them.
