Eliza Knight - The Rules of Chivalry by A Knight's Victory Page A

Michael was surprised at how sinister it sounded in a bo dy so thin, and someone so obviously lacking .
    “Think you, that I need to steal?” His words were forced, like he was trying too hard.
    “You just did. Now tell me what you want before I whip you myself.”
    “I’m your new kipper.”
    “I don’t need a kipper.” Arrogant son-of-a—
    “Servant then.”
    “I have enough s ervants .” Michael grew tired of the lad.
    “I think ye —” The boy took a deep breath, the hand holding the orange shook. “You can do with one more.”
    “Why would I hire a sneaky thief like you? I might turn my back and find my tent has disappeared.”
    “Because I saw you.”
    “Saw me?”
    “I saw you with the lady.”
    A chill raced up Michael’s spine. The boy need say no more. He thought he’d been careful the night before, but now he knew. There had been one person who’d seen them, would exploit them. But he wasn’t going down that easily. How much could the little rat have seen? The boy could easily twist any situation to his own fortune. Michael took a step closer and cracked his neck, hoping to intimidate the lad.
    “There are many ladies about, boy. This is a tourney. Plenty of skirts to be played with.”
    “I don’t think his lordship would take kindly to you calling his wife a skirt to be played with.”
    Damn! So the boy knew it was Elena.
    “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Best mind your tongue before I cut it out.”
    “You won’t be cuttin ’ out my tongue, Black Knight. And your secret will be safe with me. Alls you have to do is give me some work. I’m hungry and I need a soft bed.”
    Michael took a deep breath, grimaced and tried not to put his fist through the skelp’s face. Extorted. And by a whelp of a boy , too.
    “What is your name?” Michael uncrossed his arms and lit a candle.
    “Arthur.”
    “How old are you?” He set the candle down and turned his gaze on the boy.
    “Eighteen summers, sir.”
    “Where are you from?” He pulled the dirk from his sleeve and began cleaning his nails, hoping to put fear in the boy’s mind.
    “York— Yorksmith … Uh, I mean Yorkshire, sir.”
    Liar. Probably one of Kent’s own peasants. The boy couldn’t keep the lies from his eyes. He looked desperate. Michael walked toward him slowly, letting his sheer size intimidate Arthur , then he locked gazes, sending the boy a message. Liquid pooled at his feet and the pungent smell of urine rose like a cloud. He actually felt a little sorry for the scamp. He must be mighty hungry, then most peasants were. Kent’s peasants probably had it worse off than any others. Even still, he didn’t feel bad enough to lose the upper hand. He couldn’t have this young man attempting to intimidate him.
    “Are you threatening me , Arthur of Yorkshire?”
    Arthur dropped the orange. His eyes were wide as saucers. Tears collected in their depths.
    “N-No sir,” he stuttered.
    “Sounds like you are.”
    Arthur glanced from side to side, as if trying to assess an escape route.
    “You aren’t leaving this tent,” Michael growled. “You don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here.” He pointed his blade at Arthur’s throat. “I could dispatch you with the flick of my wrist. Want to die tonight?”
    Arthur burst into tears. His whole life story fell from his lips in a torrent to rival the river falling from his eyes. His shoulders shook and the smell of him and urine made Michael want to vomit.
    His heart softened slightly for the lad.
    “I’ll hire you on as a water boy, Arthur, but if I ever hear one more word of what you came here tonight to say I will gut you like the coward you are.”
    Arthur nodded.
    “Go clean your sorry arse up.”
    Arthur hurried from the tent. Michael would have to keep a close eye on the boy. What better way than to immerse him in his household. A hungry, desperate boy with no connections could be dangerous. He took a bowl of wash water and dumped it on