reached to stroke Regalo’s cheek. “I apologize to you too, Mistress Corbuc, for kissing you. You’ve not invited my attentions. I was glad to see Regalo drink, that’s all.”
Something in his tone told Sybilla he was glad to see Regalo rally, but he wasn’t sorry for the kiss. Now that her fate and livelihood were intertwined with his, she best set some boundaries. Her heart told her ’twas time to be on guard.
“Sir Guy, I wish to make it clear, I cannot stay in your employment for three years. I would have agreed to anything in front of the sheriff to avoid arrest. Surely you don’t hold me to the agreement we made in the stables. I cannot be your servant.”
Guy straightened his legs. Hell to the devil. He’d planned to set Sybilla Corbuc free once they were safely out of Cornbury. But he intended to keep the colt and she was the only one who could feed the little beast. Releasing her was out of the question. And then there was that kiss, that incredibly delectable kiss…
He took a deep breath. “Mistress Corbuc, I consider our arrangement binding.”
Sybilla’s mouth gaped. “But I am a freeman. Pay me an honest wage and I will willingly take care of Regalo while I earn enough coin to buy him back.”
The fire crackled and Regalo stirred, switching his tail.
Guy stared at Sybilla. Pay her? Buy Regalo back? How could she be so determined, but uncomprehending?
He leaned toward her. “I can’t release you from our bargain. I intend to keep the colt and only you can feed him. I cannot pay you, mistress. I’ve no coin. No wages until the fighting season starts. Even then, I’ll not sell Regalo. Not to you, nor to anyone. I’ll provide a roof over your head, clothes, and food, and you will live with me as my servant. For three years. I’ll keep my side of our agreement. You are honor-bound to keep yours.”
Guy’s words felt like a dagger twisting in her heart. Sybilla sucked in her breath. God’s breath, the man had saved her life and Regalo’s. She owed him for that, but three years of servanthood and giving up Regalo?
She rose to her knees, shaking. “Why is my horse so important to you?”
Simon’s snoring skipped a honk.
Guy leaned toward her. “He is the horse Lady Morna says will help me find the murderer I seek. What can be more important than that?”
“I need him. His stud fees will pay the collectors who’ve claimed my family’s horse farm. Without him, I’ve no way to live. No hope of ever buying back what I have lost.”
Guy held up his hands. “No hope? No way to live? Mais je vous ai sauve, non? But I have rescued you, no? For three years you will be provided for, and you can help me train the colt. By then he’d be big enough for me to ride and you will have your freedom. But, I will not sell him even then.”
Sybilla fumed. His smattering of French annoyed her. She folded her arms. “But he is mine and I was born a freeman. I don’t know how to live any other way.”
Guy rolled a dazed Regalo into an upright position. “Then you must learn, Mistress Corbuc. It is not too much ask. I saved your life. Now help me save his.” He patted Regalo. “Roselynn and baby John were murdered. They were innocents, Mistress Corbuc. Help me avenge their deaths,” he added softly.
Sybilla sank down. She was indeed indebted to Sir Guy of Warwick for saving her life, and she sympathized with his loss, even felt the grief in his words. But three years?
A sense of obligation filled her heart. God’s bones, Sir Guy of Warwick had a way of persuading her to agree to things she should not. She pushed the spout of the wineskin into Regalo’s mouth. “Three months. Regalo should be weaned by then. Agree I have repaid my debt in three months.” She lifted her chin.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Lift your head like that, slightly to the left with your chin jutting out. You do that every time, just before you say something you know I will not like. It is not the mannerism of a servant. Best not to do it.”
Sybilla wiped at an imaginary smudge on her cheek with the back of her hand, a habit she had when she was agitated. “Sir Guy, I implore you, give me leave in three months’ time. Agree my debt to you is paid by summer’s end.”
Regalo stopped suckling.
Guy took a deep breath, his face pensive. “Six months. More time to wean him. But you must understand—six months, or six years from now, I will not sell the colt. And you cannot practice horse midwifery while you live with me at Ketchem Castle. The law there is no more forgiving. For six months you will simply be my servant.”
Sybilla felt the blood pool in her feet. “Ketchem Castle? You are taking me there?”
Guy nodded. “It’s where I live and train. I am a knight in service to my lord. Where did you think I would take you?”
Sybilla tossed the wineskin aside. Her empty stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with lead. She glowered at Guy. “I hadn’t thought that far. I cannot live in a castle. The stink, the noise, the walls. Six months at Ketchem is too much.”
Regalo flopped back onto his side.
Guy’s eyes darted to the foal. “Three months then. Three months you will stay and work at Ketchem as my servant, and then you are free to leave.” He leaned back, crossed his ankles and stared into the fire. “In three months take your leave, go to Scotland, or to Ireland where it’s safe to ply your trade, or take a husband if you choose…”
Sybilla looked up, alarmed. Marriage was as bad a fate as servanthood as far as she was concerned. Her mother labored on the farm while her stepfather gambled away everything they earned. And the day the collectors came, she’d sent her fourteen year old daughter from her arms and climbed into the debtor’s wagon along with the man she said she loved. That kind of love Sybilla would never understand. She’d never marry, never put her heart, or her fate, in a man’s hands.
She sat down, tucking her feet beneath her. “I’ve no interest in a husband, Sir Guy. I’m better off alone. I’ve lived on my own since I was girl. It hasn’t always been easy, but I am not afraid of hard work. With God’s grace and the generosity of Margery, the smith and others, I’ve survived. I’ve still got my freedom.”
Guy’s gaze swept over her and he raised his eyebrows, as if to say he’d seen beggars who were better off.
Sybilla straightened her shabby blue gown, a sackcloth compared to Lady Morna’s garments. Shame tugged at her pride. There’d been a time when she’d owned two fine dresses, and her family had inhabited a cottage much like this one, with a stone floor and finely carved furnishings.
Guy arose. “I’ll see that you get a new dress once we arrive at Ketchem.”
Sybilla felt her cheeks flush. By the saints, as if she cared if he thought her poorly dressed.
He pulled her to her feet and spun her round to face the table. “You need to eat, Mistress Corbuc. And rest. I’ll wake you to feed Regalo. We leave for Ketchem at morning’s light and not an hour later.”
Sometime in the wee
