The Warrior's Game (23 page)
The abbot released a relieved breath. The sound was loud enough to be heard above the hiss and pop of the burning torches and the agitated discussion going on among Sir Enguerran’s men. The churchman turned to face the door to his residence.
“You may come out now,” he said to the panel.
The door groaned opened. Michel stepped through the portal and onto the porch. Ami’s heart stopped.
He wasn’t alone. In the vestibule behind him was his ugly soldier and Roheise’s knight, his head bandaged and his cheek stained with crusted blood.
Michel’s hauberk was gone, his hair was a tangle. Dark spots stained the sleeves of his tunic and the right one had been rolled back to reveal a now-heavily bandaged wrist. It didn't matter. He had never looked more handsome or more alive.
Ami’s knees weakened. She would have fallen if the abbot hadn’t caught her by the arms. Then Michel had his arms around her as he pulled her close to him. Ami pillowed her head against his shoulder. She could feel the beat of his heart against her cheek.
“I thought you were dead,” she said against the warm, living skin of his neck, not willing to admit that she’d also feared he lived still and had betrayed her. As she spoke her eyes dared to release tears against her insistence that they not do so.
He bent his head over hers. “But I am not dead so why do you weep for me?” His voice was gentle and rich, his tone suggesting he liked that she might mourn for him.
Ami leaned back to look up into his face. “Because I love you,” she replied, her voice quivering, “and I didn’t want to lose you.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up at this. His eyes warmed to nearly blue. “Did I not give you my word? Shame on you for not trusting me. A wife must trust her husband.”
“I wanted to,” she admitted. Then the words she couldn't not utter earlier tumbled from her lips. “It has been so long since anyone has cared for what happens to me. I didn't know how to trust you.”
Again, her eyes dared to release her heart's moisture. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. He reached up to wipe them away with his finger.
“I know. Did you forget I read you as well as you read me, cheri?”
This time the endearment sounded more natural, as if he’d tried it a time or two since first uttering it and found it more comfortable on his tongue. When he smiled it wasn’t that hidden lift of his lips, but a full, wide grin.
“What a greedy thing you are, my lady, craving proof of my affection. Can you trust me now when I tell you that you are a treasure beyond any price to me?”
Rather than answer him she rose onto her toes and touched her mouth to his, needing his kiss to know that this moment and he were both real. His lips were soft beneath hers for only an instant before their kiss shifted and it was his mouth moving atop hers as he demanded again she prove to him that he was the man she wanted.
Ami forgot that an abbot watched them. All that mattered was that Michel was alive and she was in his embrace. Her arms encircled his waist as she drew herself against him, lost in the sensations he could wake. One of his hand stroked up her back to cup her head in his palm.
“That will be quite enough of that,” the abbot said, sounding as if he held back laughter.
Ami gasped against Michel’s lips, then pushed back from him. Pleasure, joy, relief and so much more filled Michel’s gaze. He looked at the abbot, turning so he could wrap an arm around Ami and pull her against his side.
“So, are you content that she was and still is my willing bride? She will testify that we did exchange promises to marry last night if you like.”
“I think,” the abbot said slowly, “the sooner we put a blessing on this union, the better for both your souls.” He shifted to look at the men in the doorway.
“You have witnessed this, Sir Richard,” he said to Roheise’s knight. “By Lady de la Beres' words and actions here does she prove the truth of Sir Michel’s tale. If they exchanged vows, even without witnesses, then there can have been no rape for they were well and truly married from that moment.”
“But Lady de la Beres’ missive from the king was blank, as was Sir Michel’s,” Sir Richard protested. “No doubt the parchment Sir Enguerran carries is as well. Against that and without the king's permission to wed, the lady and the knight had no right to exchange vows.”
“Neither Sir Enguerran or Lady de la Beres had the king’s permission, but Sir Michel did,” the abbot said. “He carried a second private message to me from His Majesty, one whose veracity cannot be doubted. I prefer to believe these other missives were blank because our king didn’t wish to risk giving the lady to anyone save Sir Michel.”
Sir Richard nodded slowly as if he’d like to deny what was said, but couldn’t. “Then as you say, there can have been no misuse on the mercenary’s part. If I may my lord, Lady Roheise is no doubt concerned over my whereabouts and condition. Will you release me to join her?”
Roheise’s kinsman nodded. “Go to her, telling her that she should give thanks to Sir Michel you still live and that it will cost her no ransom to have you back at her side. I think if I had been Sir Michel and found you chasing me, I would not have been as generous. You, after all, were the aggressor in this instance.”
Sir Richard stepped out of the door and started toward the steps, only to stop. Turning, he eyed the common knight for a long moment. “The churchman is right. If you yet choose to demand ransom, know I will honor the debt.”
He hesitated, then bowed. “It was an honor to yield to you, Sir Michel. There aren’t many men who can knock me from my saddle with a single blow.” With that, he whirled and strode down the steps to disappear into the darkened courtyard.
Ami looked up at Michel in astonishment. He had been without any defense, yet knocked that knight off his horse? Michel didn’t notice her astonishment. He was watching the departing knight, making no attempt to hide his surprise.
“Sir Michel, might I borrow your captain to direct Sir Enguerran’s men?” the abbot asked.
Ami glanced back down into the courtyard. Enguerran's men yet stood there, holding their tired horses as they watched their betters on the porch.
“Of course, my lord,” Michel replied, even as Roger stepped out of the door to make himself available.
“Captain, if you will send them to the stables to care for their mounts, directing them to find the kitchen for their meal after that,” the abbot told Roger. “After that, go to the threshing barn and fetch the remainder of Lady Roheise’s guards in the pretense of joining them at their meat. I doubt they will be any trouble. None yet knows their master is to be exiled for the theft of Lady de la Beres’s moveables.”
“He what?” Ami cried, stiffening in Michel’s arms. Her bed! Enguerran had stolen her precious bed!
Michel shot her a glance, warning her to hold her comments. The urge to argue lifted in her. On its heels came the urge to demand explanations.
Aye, but the time for fighting to protect what was hers all by herself had passed. She relaxed against his side, content to let Michel take care of what was hers, just as he cared for her. Surprise flashed in Michel’s gaze, only to be followed by deep pleasure. His arm tightened around her.
Roger looked at his master. “When I have done the abbot’s will sir, I’ll be returning to town and the house we rented. It’s the miller’s house, near the edge of town. Will you be joining us?”
“There’s the matter of their vows to tend to first,” the abbot replied before Michel had a chance to speak. “They will be free to leave after that.” He turned his attention on Michel. “I assume you will find your private accommodations more appropriate than sharing the guesthouse with Lady Roheise?”
Michel nodded. Roger smiled at Ami. “Shall I warn Maud to have a meal and a bath ready for you, my lady?”
Ami stared at the man. It was a mundane question, commonsensical even. The answers were easy enough. Either she wanted to eat and bathe, or she didn’t.
Yet after a day during which she’d found love in Michel’s arms only to crash into utter despair believing she’d lost him not once but twice, then to once more know joy as she found him again and won all she’d thought never to have, she couldn’t answer.
A sob caught her unawares, then another broke past her lips. Tears began again to flow. She turned in Michel’s arms and, secure in his embrace, she wept in earnest.
Thank you for reading this book. After visiting the court of Elizabeth I with my Lady series, I couldn't resist going back to visit one of the kings of the era I most consider home. I chose John because, well, because John was actually England's king--unlike Richard the Lionheart, who spent less than four months in his kingdom and considered the English boorish clods. A Frenchman for sure!
Okay, I'll admit to liking John. Yes, he had a few personality quirks and was likely manic-depressive, or bi-polar as we say today, but at least he wasn't a floor-roller like his father; Henry would get so angry that he'd thrash on the floor (ruining his tunics?) in rage. John was also one of the few English kings who was an efficient administrator. More to the point, he wanted to collect every penny of tax due to him. If that meant reworking laws or traveling to every baron's castle to see what condition the property was really in, he did it. So much scrutiny after so many years of freedom didn't sit well with his better-born nobles. And, then there was the matter of their women-folk. That John kept his widows and female wards prisoner the way he holds onto Ami is actually one of the main reasons for the Magna Carta. Barons, accustomed to keeping their own female kin prisoners as suited them, didn't like the way the king was making use of what should have been their income. Yet another reason for the Magna Carta, in my mind anyway, is the codification of rank. This was a time in history where commerce and trade begins to make gentry out of folks who should have stayed common. Just as Michel's relatives are becoming immensely wealthy through currency trading in France, the same is happening in London as merchants become richer than nobles if not kings, thus the antipathy toward "upstarts" like Michel, who should have known and kept their places. The Magna Carta has nothing to do with commoners as is often suggested today. It's a document that declares very particular and special rights only for the king's barons and nobles. So there you go, your history lesson for the day. I hope I made it fun.
Don't forget that I'm offering my novella "An Impetuous Season" FREE on my website as a thank you to my readers for turning my books into best sellers.
Click here to download it
In case this is the first book of mine you've read, here is the full list. And thank you!
The Graistan Chronicles (sometimes known as the Seasons Series)
The Lady Series,
although two doesn't quite a series make. There were supposed to be more. Hmm, I wonder... .
The Warrior Series
The Warrior's Wife
(previously The Warrior's Damsel)
The Warrior's Maiden
(previously My Lady's Temptation)
My only Regency era book
. I'm afraid it will be my only one, too. It was too modern for me. I'm better off back when guys just bashed each other with hunks of steel.
Monica Sarli's Memoir
Men-ipulation
And then there's Monica Sarli's memoir which I co-wrote.
Men-ipulation
is a memoir of addiction and recovery. After fifteen years abusing Cocaine, Crack and (her personal favorite) Heroin, Monica chose on August 4, 1986 to clean up and hasn't looked back-even though cleaning up cost her everything she valued in life. For anyone struggling with addiction or who loves someone suffering with addiction, this is a book you won't want to miss. (And, yes she really talks like that all the time.)
By the way, I'll note here that I am title defective. For the first five books, my fabulous stepdaughter
Amberly Neese
came up with the original and very clever idea of using the seasons, and the publisher ran with it. Beyond that, well, I count on the kindness of editors and others.
If you want to keep up with me or send me a note, please feel free to email me at
[email protected]
or visit my website at
DeniseDomning.com
where you can read my blog. I'll warn you, the blog has nothing to do with writing. Instead, it's the chronicle of how my husband takes me on a journey into Green Living and Permaculture. I have a feeling this will turn out to be a mangling of "Under the Tuscan Sun" and the old TV series "Green Acres".
Wish me luck (I'll need it) and happy reading!
