The Warrior's Game Read Online Free Page A

on her face of the humiliation she’d just experienced, whether through Michel’s appraisal, John’s unfair insult, or Sir Enguerran’s protests. Instead, the lady’s pretty eyes were filled with consideration.
    “A question if I may, sire?” she asked, her voice reflecting only the gentle meekness men expected of all females.
    The king gave his ward an impatient nod. “Speak.”
    “Sire, if Sir Enguerran is no longer the administrator of my properties, who is?”
    John looked at Michel and grinned. All royal petulance left his face. Michel barely stopped himself from gnashing his teeth in frustration. Damn d'Oilly and the widow.
    “Why my lady, We give the management of your estate to Sir Michel de Martigny.”
    His words had all the impact John hoped and Michel feared. Shock drove the lady back upon her heels then, her hands clenched and she glared at Michel. Just as John intended, she believed Michel would do to her estates what his fellow Frenchman and mercenary Gerard d’Athlee had done with the estates the king had given to him: strip them bare for his own profit.
    Without so much as a nod to her royal master, Lady de la Beres turned and stormed toward the door, her mantle snapping at her heels. If she meant the manner of her departure to insult her monarch, she failed.
    “My lady, I cannot tell you how disappointed I am our game was interrupted,” John called after her, laughing and dropping royal formality for a manner and tone too intimate by far for Michel’s tastes. “You may be certain I look forward to another match between us in the not so distant future.”

Ami ignored her king’s parting threat and yanked open the bedchamber door. Its leather hinges squealed in protest. If John thought she would stand idly by as his mercenary impoverished her, he was sadly mistaken.
    Lost in blind rage, she slammed the door behind her and strode into the antechamber only to collide with something. Gasping, she careened back toward the door. The sound of subdued masculine laughter followed. Rage parted and she saw the large wooden tub set on its edge that blocked her path. Behind it a line of menservants snaked out the doorway, each bearing a yoke hung with a pair of water buckets.
    Irritation spiked anew as Ami recognized new purpose in John’s suggestive dress. Of course the king hadn’t seen fit to tell his visitor he waited on his bath. Why, when his attire aided in tormenting his innocent ward?
    Ignoring the startled chamberlain, Ami stalked around the tub. Another round of muted amusement escaped the beyoked servants as they shuffled to the side to let her pass. By God, but she couldn’t wait to put what distance she could between herself and her horrid monarch and his even more horrid mercenary.
    How dare that commoner, that brute, that soldier derelict in all honor, name her worth less than what she knew was her true value, or stare at her as if she were some whore!
    She thrust out of the antechamber only to collide with yet another manservant and his yoke. The servant stumbled back from her. Water sloshed from his buckets, spattering Ami. With a cry she yanked up her hems and danced as far to the side as possible. It wasn't far enough.
    In many keeps and castles access to the upper living quarters was an open balcony with nothing but a railing to keep folk from falling to their deaths. Here at Winchester that balcony had been enclosed with wooden walls to shield the king from the general hubbub of his household, creating a dark and narrow tunnel, one that was presently crowded with servant after sweating servant, each one bearing seeping buckets. As dearly as Ami wanted to storm down the stairs, if only to vent what boiled in her, she wasn’t willing to risk her precious garments. While her mantle could tolerate some wet, the water would ruin her best gowns when she couldn't afford to replace them any time in the foreseeable future. Last year’s income from her properties had been far lower than