Extended Excerpt of The Mercenary

St. Andrew Holybourne Abbey, England, 1214

Lady Sabine never wanted to be a nun.

She’d attempted to escape the abbey twice. On her last attempt, the monk with whom she’d arranged to leave had fallen ill and later died, a horrible omen, if one believed in such things. The time before that, she’d gone off alone, only to be spied by a stable boy, who had promptly told the abbess. Sabine had been given a warning—one more attempt and Lord Burge would be notified of her antics.

She shuddered at the thought.

“There you are,” said a familiar voice, the tone thick with accusation.

Sister Christine, the very woman she’d snuck out of the sext to avoid. The bishop was visiting, which had driven the sister into a frenzy. She had never taken to Sabine and had begun to critique her every action, especially at mealtimes. “Straighten your shoulders” or “Do not eat with such force” were admonishments she had heard for the past three days at nearly every meal.

How does one eat with force, precisely? Sabine wanted to ask but knew doing so would only anger Sister Christine. And so she had taken to avoiding meals these past three days, preferring to eat in her small chamber. Such an arrangement robbed Sister Christine of the chance to “better” her, however, and the sister often sought her out.

“Your presence is required at the evening meal.”

“Reverend Mother gave me leave,” she whispered in her most reverent tone. One she’d perfected of late.

The nun, her headpiece hiding all but her pale face riddled with wrinkles, was apparently not pleased with that particular response. Her eyes pinned Sabine to the spot. “Bishop Salerno is in residence,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “You will take your meal in the refectory.”

Eyes downcast Sabine moved to make her way through the cloister to do just that when the nun’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“And you will quit your attempts at escape. Many would be grateful for the opportunity you’ve been given.”

Her hand squeezed.

“Reverend Mother has been too tolerant.”

Sabine did not attempt to disengage her hand. Nor did she question the nun or comment on what she had left out of her speech. All knew the abbess was ill, even though she went about her duties as if well. Sabine had only been at the abbey one month, and even she could discern a difference in the elderly woman’s health. Sister Christine clearly had ambitions, and once she took control of the abbey, she would not be so tolerant.

“Aye, Sister. If you will pardon me?”

She attempted to pull her hand away, to no avail.

“You will be a Bride of Christ, child. Your haughtiness is not welcome here.”

Haughtiness? Sabine had never been accused of such in her life. But then, she’d never said so few words as she had since coming here. Her parents would be both surprised and appalled at the woman she’d become.

“I understand.”

Sister Christine did let go of her then, but she continued to glare at her as if Sabine had breathed a word of dissent. Turning slowly so as not to anger her further, Sabine held her head high and walked the length of the cloister to the hall. Nuns sat side by side in rows, mostly silent other than a few whispered words. Moments after she sat, another novice plopped down a bowl of soup in front of her. Sabine had served both the morning and midday meal, but still the young woman glared at her as if she’d shirked her duties.

Unlike Sabine, she wanted to be here. Had chosen to become a nun and devote her life to God. So why the dour disposition?

“He seems to know the bishop,” said the older nun beside her.

“Who?” she asked, attempting to peer over the tables that separated them from their august visitor.

“We’ve another visitor this eve.”

“A knight,” whispered the nun to her left.

Sabine couldn’t remember her name, but she liked this one. She had an easy way about her, and when she smiled, it was obvious she meant it. The smile she was giving Sabine now looked almost . . . conspiratorial, as if their new visitor was . . .

“Is he handsome?”

A certain sparkle in the nun’s eyes was her answer. The nun seated directly across from Sabine gave her a stern glance that cautioned her not to say such things.

It was the kind of remark she may have made to her mother. Who would have laughed as her father admonished both of them for their forwardness. But he’d have done it with a smile on his face.

Sabine pushed aside the thought.

A handsome knight. Friend to the bishop.

She really should eat her soup and make her way to the kitchen, where she’d be expected to work until vespers. It would be best to forget about a man who was as likely to tell the Reverend Mother on her as he was to help her escape.

But once the thought took hold, she could not put it aside so easily.

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