The Warrior's Game (13 page)

They were so close she could feel his amusement as it rumbled in his chest. The warmth of his quiet laugh filled the cup of her ear. “Hush, else we’ll have company,” he whispered, his voice strained and hoarse. “Now, kiss me,” he commanded and once more thrust into her.

His movement drove her beyond thought. She did as he bid, turning her head to kiss him. Her lips and tongue danced with his as his shaft filled her again and again.

All at once the pressure in her womb exploded. With a thrust of her own, she held her hips against his. As joy overtook her her whole body shuddered in completion. Groaning against her mouth, Michel followed where she led, then sent her to a place where nothing but satiation existed.

Adrift on that sea of ecstasy, Ami relaxed against Michel, releasing his mouth to rest her head to his broad shoulder. Her body was alive with the feel of him. She touched her mouth to his neck in a gentle kiss and was rewarded by his swift tremor. Replete, she breathed in his scent and savored the beat of his heart against her own.

She never wanted to move again, nor did she want to exist without this man’s arms around her. The fanciful thought of living forever in a man’s embrace made her smile.

Nay, what she truly wanted was to make love yet again, this time in the warmth and security of a bed. A moment later he kissed her cheek, then released his hold on her hips. Her legs slid down the length of his, her feet once again returning to the floor. As her hands lowered to rest against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his embrace.

It should have been a soothing caress. Instead Ami’s skirts caught on the wall behind her. The draft from the door at the bottom of the goldsmith’s stairs chilled her indecently bared legs almost to her thighs.

The embers of passion died against the reality of what she’d just done. Horror ate Ami alive. She shrank back from him, only to remember that her hair was unbound.

Mortification grew. Not only had she given herself to a man who meant only to debase and impoverish her, she’d done it in a way more unnatural than any her king might concoct.

Michel held Amicia close, savoring the way her body fit against his own as if she’d been made for him. Her head reached to just below his cheekbone, the perfect height if she wished to lay her head upon his shoulder. Her waist was at the exact spot for him to comfortably rest his hands.

Yet stunned by the power of their union, he sighed. No other woman, not even the inventive whore of his youth, had ever driven him so deeply into pleasure that he was past all caring. And past caring he had been. Even if the whole of the goldsmith’s household had crowded around and demanded that he cease what he did, Michel doubted he would have noticed them.

Amicia stiffened in his embrace. Regret, deep and far too personal for Michel’s tastes, shot through him. Her sanity had returned.

As Michel released her he banished the memory of their shared pleasure to some distant sweet place within him. To cherish the emotions she stirred would render him vulnerable to her in a way that left his nerves on edge. He stepped back. She watched him, her face pale, her eyes glimmering. Then she turned her head to the side, her gaze aimed anywhere but at him.

Her rejection was nothing less than Michel expected and everything he couldn’t abide. Gentlewoman that she was, she couldn’t bear to look upon the baseborn man to whom she’d given herself. Brittle emptiness filled him. If his birth was all that mattered to her after what they’d just shared then it was time he regained his own sanity. On the morrow he’d ride to Windsor and tell the king he’d thought better of marrying an English heiress.

Turning on his heel, Michel climbed the stairs, leaving her behind him without a backward look.

Fifteen minutes of wild debauched pleasure. That was all her years of well-meant denial had been worth. Trembling, Ami kept her head turned until she could no longer hear Michel’s footfalls on the stairs.

She couldn’t watch him abandon her even though she’d earned his rejection. The rules of seduction were very clear, and the peril of any woman who played the game of chaste love. The woman who let down her moral barriers and gave herself to the man who chased her rendered herself worthless in his eyes. Once a man’s lust was sated, he discarded her and moved on to his next challenge.

Ami closed her eyes, trying to escape within herself. Instead, imprinted on her eyelids was the unwelcome image of Michel as he rested his brow to hers. Her heart twisted. He’d said that there was possession in her touch. There had been. She wanted to own him.

In that instant the image shifted until it was one of Michel lying atop her, the homely curtains of her bed closed around them. Her eyes flew open and she cursed herself as a fool. He had rejected her without a word, and still she wanted him in her bed?

Right or wrong, possible or impossible, she wanted Michel de Martigny in her bed, in her body and at her side in life. Ami’s head bowed as she understood herself. The game was over. Michel had turned the table on her. Rather than bind him to her with his affections, Ami was the one leashed by her heartstrings.

Leaning down, she snatched up her forgotten scarf and gathered up her hair. Her fingers shook so badly that the resulting braid was misshapen and loose, and she couldn’t find the thong. Tying on her scarf, she retreated down the stairs and donned her mantle, pinning it so her plait and rumpled gowns were completely hidden beneath it, then returned to the hall.

“Maud, it’s time to leave.”

At her call the kitchen door flew wide. Mistress Hughette thrust her head out of the opening so swiftly that it suggested she’d been standing right next to the portal as if waiting for Ami’s call. She frowned when she saw the hall was empty and Ami was already wearing her mantle.

“Well then, you’ll be needing a man to see you safely back,” the woman said, sounding disappointed. She retreated into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her.

A breath of stew-scented air flowed into the quiet hall, bringing with it the sounds of folk at their meat. This was spiced by snatches of gentle conversation and the occasional trill of warm laughter. Another time the sounds would have been welcoming and comfortable, but with Ami’s life turned on its head, it seemed as alien as a foreign language.

“Maud?” Ami called out again, cringing as she heard the pleading edge to her voice.

“I come,” Maud called, but still the maid didn’t appear. Instead Ami swore she heard Maud’s giggle. A man’s baritone laugh followed, the sound of his amusement low and intimate. A moment later Maud fair danced into the room, a brilliant smile on her face.

That Maud might have enjoyed herself after deserting her mistress to debauchery should have awakened Ami’s outrage. Instead, the energy it took to manufacture anger seemed miles beyond her reach. Leaving her maid to follow, she retreated back toward the hall’s door and stairs. As Ami crossed the landing she averted her gaze, incapable of looking upon the place of her downfall.

Once in the street with two of the goldsmith’s journeymen as their escort, Ami hunched her shoulders against the cold and wet, and started up High Street for the castle. Beside her Maud chattered happily, something about flavorings for stews. Ami heard not a word.

As they reached the walls of the castle, Maud’s prattling ceased so abruptly that it jostled Ami out of her despair. They were where the land began its gentle upward slope into the castle’s gateway. It was already full dark. Thus, the castle’s massive main gate doors should have been shut and barred. Instead, one side stood wide. Torchlight streamed through that opening along with the sounds of shouting men and neighing horses when there should only have been the dark and the quiet of folk at their rest.

“What’s happening?” Maud asked, more to herself than in expectation of any answer.

An instant later a man raced from the gateway and down the slope toward them. Ami recognized him as one of the castle’s cooks. A purse dangled from his fist as he ran.

“What is it?” Maud cried out as he drew near them.

“The king,” the cook panted out, his voice fading as he passed them. “He has returned without warning.”

Ami’s heart sank even deeper. How long would it be before Michel told his patron about her? When he did it wouldn’t be long before John made good on his threat to play another game with his ward.

Home. The image of her warm manor house awoke, calling to Ami, promising welcome, isolation, and acceptance. That’s where she needed to be. Once she was home she would be safe, at least for a little while, from handsome and irresistible mercenaries, devious and betraying noblewomen, and a debauched monarch.

Ami awoke the next morning, her head pounding and Michel’s scent still filling her lungs. Her need to run as far from this place as possible still rode her hard. But to leave meant another audience with John. That thought only made the pounding in Ami's head worsen.

A few feet from her Maud, already dressed for the day, leaned over her mistress’s chest. Rubbing at her temples, Ami sat up and squinted into the darkness that yet held the hall in its grip. Outside the wind moaned around the corners of the structure and rapped imperiously at the closed shutters. It wasn’t noise enough to drown out Maud’s humming.

Ami’s eyes widened. Maud was singing that lewd ditty they’d heard whistled on Winchester’s streets last night. Shocked, she shifted on her pallet to look at her maid.

“Maud!” Ami kept her protest quiet as a goodly number of the women in this room yet slept.

Maud straightened with a start. “Pardon, my lady, I didn’t know you were awake,” she whispered, the hint of a smile clinging to her lips.

“I cannot believe what I hear you humming,” Ami chided, managing to manufacture a little of the harshness that such behavior deserved. “That’s hardly appropriate fare for your lips.”

It wasn’t dark in the hall enough to hide Maud’s blush. “Pardon. I didn’t realize I was humming. As for the song the tune’s caught in my head. Someone in Mistress Hughette’s kitchen sang it last night.”

“What sort of housewife allows her folk to voice such filth among mixed company?” Ami grumbled, not because she believed the song as bad as that but to aim a belated and impotent blow at Mistress Hughette for her complicity in Ami’s downfall.

“Oh, but Mistress Hughette didn’t allow it. She demanded the singer stop, then threatened to box his ears when he didn’t.” Maud giggled at this memory, her face softening.

It wasn’t amusement over the incident that Ami saw in the maid’s reaction, but affection for the singer of that song. That brought the recall of Maud’s intensity last night as she’d listened to those behind the goldsmith's kitchen door. As Ami recognized what it meant disbelief shot through her.

“You deserted me last night to spend time with a man?” Ami almost bit her tongue after the words were out. Roheise had ears everywhere but especially in this room. The less said about last night, the better.

All the pleasure drained from Maud’s face, leaving Ami staring at the hollow, frightened girl who’d come with her into the king’s custody. The change was dramatic enough that Ami was almost sorry she’d spoken. Almost, that was, until the taunting memory returned of Michel making love to her while afoot and with her skirts above her hips.

“You shouldn’t have left me,” Ami complained softly, pressing her fists to her forehead. If Maud had stayed in the goldsmith’s hall Ami would never have kissed Michel. Without that kiss she'd still own her virtue and her pride.

“My lady, I’m so sorry,” Maud whispered, her head bowing. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have left you. Fie on me.”

Ami sighed. For years she’d encouraged her maid to find a little joy in life, and here she was complaining when Maud finally did as she urged. If only Maud’s timing hadn’t been so horrible.

“Maud, I need a bath this morn,” Ami started only to have Maud's attention swivel toward the door.

“My lady, the porter comes toward us,” she hissed.

Startled, Ami turned to look. Walter was picking his way in their direction through the yet-sleeping women, something Ami couldn’t remember him ever doing. As a man Walter kept to his post. If he needed to contact any of the wards, he called for a maid to carry his message. Only there were scarce few maids up and about this early.

Maud was right. He was coming to their corner. Ami frantically drew her bedclothes around her until she and her loosened hair were covered.

“Pardon the intrusion, my lady,” the porter said, his gaze aimed at the wall behind Ami rather than at her, “but the king commands you into his presence, wanting you to come to him this instant and alone as you did the last time.”

Ami froze in horror. Michel had already shared the tale of her perversity with his royal master. Now John wanted a taste of what she’d given Michel.

Walter’s eyes flickered toward her, then back to the wall. He cleared his throat. “For the sake of your kindness to me, my lady, I feel I must warn you. Our king called for you upon his arrival last night. His chamberlain was none too pleased to learn that you’d gone into town to tend Lady Roheise. I offered to send a man to fetch you but Master Chamberlain said it would take too long and the matter was better saved until this morning.”

Relief washed over Ami like a flood. John didn’t know what had happened with Michel, not if he’d called for her last night during her absence. Relief ebbed into the specter of treason. John knew she’d been to see Roheise. If the king had so much as an inkling of the noblewoman’s plot to foment rebellion, and Ami’s seeming participation in it, Ami could well lose her life. Once again, the game table shifted, only this time Ami faced a far more deadly opponent than Michel.

“It’s just as well you didn’t send for us,” Maud said, with a nervous giggle. “We weren’t at the draper’s.”

Ami’s heart dropped. New curiosity stirred upon Walter’s broad face. Ami shot Maud a disbelieving glare. The maid’s expression flattened as she realized her error.

“I mean, we weren’t at the draper’s for long,” she corrected, wringing her hands.

Ami pasted on a smile and shifted to look up at Walter. “Maud’s right. We didn’t stay long at the draper’s. You were away from the door when we returned, Walter.”

“Pardon, my lady, but our king arrived without a word of warning. That left the stablemaster shorthanded and Sir Hubert asked me to assist with the horses.” Curiosity lingered in Walter’s face, something that didn’t bode well for Ami’s secrets.

“When does His Majesty expect me?” Ami demanded.

“I’d say the sooner the better for you, my lady. Take care and wear your heaviest mantle this morn. What was merely foul weather last night is a gale now.” Then, with a blank nod in her direction, he retreated to his post.

Ami shifted on her pallet to again look at Maud. The maid’s hands were folded and held against her heart as if she prayed. She looked sick.

“Oh, my poor, poor lady,” Maud moaned quietly, as if John had already ordered Ami’s execution.

That restored the steel to Ami’s spine. “That’s quite enough, Maud,” she said and came to her feet. “Fetch warm water and be swift about it. No matter how badly our king wants to see me, he’ll have to wait until I’m properly dressed and washed.

For the second time in a month Ami found herself in the antechamber that led to the king’s bedchamber. Since there was no use trying to hide from John’s lusts, Ami hadn’t stinted in her attire, wearing instead every bit of wealth she owned, even that accursed band upon her sheer veil.

The band was a matter of practicality. With no hood upon her mantle, she’d needed it to hold her veil on her head this morn. Walter was right. Although it wasn’t far between the king’s and queen’s hall, the wind had nearly blown her over as she made the passage. The day promised to work itself into a right fine gale.

“Master Chamberlain,” Ami said, offering a curtsy to the cleric whose chore it was to arrange the schedule of England’s monarch.

Dressed in a bright blue tunic trimmed with silver, the golden chain that signified his position crossing his narrow chest, the chamberlain’s bald pate gleamed like alabaster in the antechamber’s low light. As he saw her, his broad face wreathed in a smile. He bowed a little as if she were one of the king’s more frequent and favored visitors--or would become one of the king’s more frequent and favored visitors.

“Ah, here you are at last, Lady de la Beres. If you wouldn’t mind?” He extended a hand toward the balcony Ami had just passed to enter the antechamber. “For your sake and his, his Highness wishes to keep your meeting with him private and he is presently attended. If you’ll step into the alcove until the others have departed?”

That sent a bolt of worry through Ami for she could think of but one reason for such privacy. “Can you tell me why our liege asks to see me?” She wanted to go into the king’s presence at least a little prepared for the fate that awaited her.

The man’s bushy brows rose high upon his hairless forehead. The welcome died from his dark eyes. Although he surely knew most of the reasons behind John’s meetings, retaining his position meant keeping a strict hold on his tongue when it came to the king’s business and intent.

“Perhaps it is because Sir Enguerran d’Oilly has agreed to my bride price?” Ami prompted, holding onto the hope that this private meeting had the same purpose as the last, even though the possibility that Sir Enguerran had managed to raise the fee John required made her stomach turn. Marrying her neighbor was no more attractive a fate than becoming the king’s whore or being accused of treason with Roheise.

The chamberlain’s face took on the blankness given to those accustomed to keeping other men’s secrets. “If you’ll step into the alcove, my lady?” This wasn’t a request, but a command.

Cursing herself for alienating a potential ally, Ami did as she was bid. She pulled the antechamber’s outer door open until it stood across the front of the alcove as it had when she and Michel had their tete-a-tete.

Trapped in this dark little nook, she had nothing to do but stew in the possibilities. The image of standing before the church door with Sir Enguerran woke, only to mutate until it was Michel at her side. Ami blinked away the vision only to have it replaced by the memory of the king's bedcurtains winking at her.

A moment later the inner chamber’s door opened. Men muttered, then the thud of boot heels rang on the balcony. There were at least three men, armed, judging by the jangle of mail and clank of empty scabbards against metal-clad legs. One man raised his voice enough that Ami heard him tell his companions that the day promised to be miserable, especially for such a long ride.

When they were well down the stairs, Ami exited the alcove, then swept through the antechamber, her head held high. The chamberlain opened the door to the king’s bedchamber, closing it after Ami entered.

Coals again glowed in the brazier’s pan, but that didn’t stop Ami’s breath from clouding in the air before her. With the wind thrusting icy fingers through the cracks in the shutters the draft was so bad that little heat stayed. Dozens of candles stood around the room. Although their flames fluttered and danced, the light was strong enough to force the shadows into soft piles in the corners. The dimness clung like cobwebs to the folds of the royal bedcurtains.

This time there was no servant and no game board, only John seated in his high-backed chair, the one from the hall. The king’s legs were stretched out before him in a casual pose. His elbows were braced upon the arms of the chair, his beringed fingers steepled before his chin. There was nothing to read in his dark eyes as he watched her.

He looked far more regal today. Beneath a scarlet mantle he wore one of his finest tunics, a garment made of blue and red velvet with the insignia of the Plantagenets embroidered with precious threads onto its breast. His belt was studded with pearls, the golden chain that draped across his chest set with rubies. Resting upon his brow was his crown, the flickering light teasing colored fire from the massive jewels that decorated it.

As such formal attire sent the possibility of bedplay to the bottom of Ami’s list of horrible fates, it advanced the potential of a charge of treason. Ami dropped into a deep curtsy before her king, but refused to kneel. Such a pose felt too much like pleading, something she couldn’t bring herself to do, not after her last audience, even if refusal cost her her life.

“Sire, I come as you have called.”

“So you have, albeit many hours later than I would have liked,” John replied, his voice as neutral as his gaze.

“Sire?” Ami asked, pretending ignorance over last night’s attempt to find her.

John’s eyes narrowed just a little as he studied her. “I was amazed to learn you attended Roheise de Say last night. I wouldn’t have thought you the sort of woman to tolerate so arrogant a bitch.”

His words felt like the opening move in a game of chess when Ami was heartily sick of game playing. It was time for honesty, or at least the pretense of honesty.

“I didn’t tolerate her, sire. She called for me, claiming illness, but when I reached the draper’s house I found she wasn’t as ill as had been suggested. At that point I refused to attend her.”

A little of the blankness receded from John’s eyes. The corners of his mouth quirked. He dropped his hands to his lap. “There’s that fire of yours again,” he said. “I cannot tell you how much I admire that in you. What say you we put it to the test. I think it’s time we play our next game, you and I.”

Ami crossed her arms. It was the worst possibility, but at least she was prepared for it. “Once again, I must protest. I am no worthy opponent for you, sire. You would be better served to choose a countess.”

John’s smile was slow and pleased, then darkened into something akin to a leer. “How you underestimate yourself, my lady. And me. Haven’t I watched you strive these last weeks to repay my mercenary for the insults I goaded him into making? Dear Amicia, I was shocked at how you laid in wait for him, making certain that he saw only you at every turn. What I couldn’t fathom was what you hoped to achieve by your efforts. Care to explain your goal to me?”