The Warrior's Game by Denise Domning Page A

whether she wished to seduce him as Millicent suggested or hope for an attack as Roheise required.
    As if either were going to happen! The mercenary hadn't so much as glanced at her these past days. She was mad if she thought he'd do anything other than ignore her now.
    It didn't matter what was mad or sane, possible or impossible. She had to try. As their escort took up a stance at the end of the house, Ami strode up to the long window cut into the house's lower storey to survey the shop within.
    Riches beyond her ken filled its space. Fine coils of gleaming gold and silver wire streamed from a brass-bound chest in one corner of the workshop. Sheets of the precious metals lay across one work table while even finer leaf was stacked in a basket, fabric separating the golden tissue. Despite the lure of treasure in the shop, Ami's gaze shifted to the stairway that crawled up the far side of the shop into the house above it. It, not gold or silver, was what she wanted most. But how to get herself invited into the goldsmith’s hall?
    Three men perched on tall stools, all three using tiny hammers and even smaller pincers to create their pieces. “Master smith,” she called, not knowing which of the men bent over their work was the one she needed to address. “I pray you, do you do repairs?”
    A tall, reed-thin man shifted on his stool at her call. Robert Atte Cross’s nose ended in a bulbous knob, his eyes watered and his chin receded. Dressed in functional brown, a thick leather cap upon his head and an equally protective apron covering his torso, he stepped to the window. He blinked when he saw Ami’s escort and recognized the dress of the king’s soldiers. His gaze shifted to Ami in new consideration.
    “Aye, that we do, my lady,” the smith said. If Ami’s French had told him she was from England’s ruling class, his own words held hints of the English that was his native tongue. “How is it I can aid you this day?”
    Maud laid Ami’s dented band upon the window's lower shutter, that length of wood braced upon legs to create a table of sorts, then stepped back behind her mistress. Ami pushed her band closer to the smith. “I fear it needs straightening.”
    He nodded, lifting the band to inspect it nearsightedly. “So it does. It wouldn’t hurt to do a little regilding as well. The foil’s worn.”
    “Then regild it,” she commanded without hesitation. God help her but she couldn't afford this any more than she could afford Sir Michel in her home.
    The smith smiled. “Happily so, my lady. It won’t take long, being such a small job. Would you care to wait in my hall whilst I work?”
    Ami caught back her happy gasp. Whatever the job cost her it was worth it. She smiled. “How very kind of you, master smith. I would, indeed.”
    The man moved to the outer door at the far end of his long window, opened it from the inside, then beckoned for Ami to enter. “If it pleases you, you may look upon my samples while you wait. Perhaps something will catch your eye? I hope you don’t mind that I have another guest in residence just now. He should be no bother as I believe he intends to depart shortly.”
    Depart? So soon? Ami cursed to herself as she realized what she'd forgotten. Each day before the meal he met with Sir Hubert, Winchester's castellan. “I would be pleased to view your samples,” she replied, mentally urging the man to haste. “Come, Maud.”
    Leaving the soldier to wait for them outside the shop, Ami and Maud followed the smith up the steps to the first landing. There the stairway turned back on itself and continued up toward the next floor. Roger Atte Cross opened the door off the landing and stepped inside. “Welcome to my hall, my lady. I’ll fetch my wife.”
    As the smith strode across the room toward a door at the chamber’s opposite side, Maud gasped. Ami would have done the same save she’d already lost her breath. If the exterior of the goldsmith’s house announced his wealth, the