The Warrior's Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

was only when he stood aside to let yet another man guide his yoke and buckets through the antechamber’s narrow exterior doorway that he realized John had not directly forbidden him from visiting the lady’s properties.
    With that, the possibility of snatching victory out of defeat lifted. Once the king moved to Kensington, too far to be able to control matters here, Michel could make his journey, returning long before John even heard his mercenary had strayed. After that, John could rage all he willed. If Michel was satisfied with the lady's assets, he'd insist his king at last fulfill his royal promise.
    And, if the lady’s estates were impoverished or the king refused?
    Well, as little as Michel liked the idea of beginning his career anew, there were other battles, other kings and other women to make into wives. Michel would sell what remained of his loot from John’s Continental war and be done with England and its betraying monarch.
    Michel thrust out of the antechamber’s door only to collide with another servant’s yoke just beyond the doorway. Cursing beneath his breath, he stepped back into the alcove behind the antechamber’s door.
    “I’ve endured enough of you for one day. I won’t have you ruining my mantle by standing on it in your filthy boots.”
    Michel pivoted, his movement catching the antechamber's door on his shoulder. It swung away from him and stopped, standing like a wall between this alcove and the rest of the contrived hallway. Amicia de la Beres sat on the bench, trapped in place by the line of servants just as he was.
    Coming to her feet, she lifted the corner of her mantle and made a show of wiping his supposed boot print off its corner. When she dropped the garment’s hem, she crossed her arms before her, lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him--not an easy feat, given that he was almost a full head taller than she.
    “Commoner! I will not allow you to enrich yourself to the detriment of my home,” she snarled, her voice held low.
    Where the king's insults rebounded off Michel's well-armed heart with no effect not so this lady's words. Common born he had been, but he was commoner no longer. “I am the king's knight,” he retorted, demanding that the woman he meant to make his wife acknowledge his rightful rank.
    “Knight or not,” she shot back, “you are a man who lacks all courtesy else you would have refused to participate in that little charade the king had us all playing. Ah, but why should you refuse when it was surely to your advantage to play along? How dare you leer at me!”
    Despite that she was justified in her complaint, Michel wouldn't allow this arrogant English bitch to demand manners from him while refusing him hers. “I was but following your direction, my lady,” he offered, lifting a scornful brow. “Where were your exalted manners when you threw your command at me as if I were some lackey?”
    As often happened when Michel confronted these Englishers with their hypocrisy, the lady’s eyes widened in a mingling of shock at his bold speech and denial of her misbehavior. Color blossomed in her cheeks. “Churl!” She turned her body to the side to present her shoulder to him.
    After John's battering her gesture, something Michel had endured too often in his life, drove through him like an arrow. This woman above all others wasn’t going to treat him as beneath her.
    “How careless you are about the folk you antagonize, my lady,” he told her, letting his voice darken to its most dangerous tone.
    He took a step toward her. A step was all he needed in this confined space. His chest was so close to her shoulder that Michel could feel the heat of her body through his mail and underarmor.
    She made another dismissive sound and tried to shift away from him but there was nowhere for her to move. At last, she put her back to the wall and again faced him, her crossed arms the only barrier between them.
    Michel waited for her to cry out to the serving men