High Stakes Chattel (11 page)

He told her his entire history and all that he loved about the game. She
couldn’t help but feel some pride about her relationship with Lord Chattel. What would this man say if she told him she’d trained with the inventor of the game? She almost wished she could tell him, just to see the look of surprise on his face.

She won the game quickly and easily an
d relief washed over her. One game down. Perhaps she really did have a shot.

For t
he next match, she found herself sitting across from an old and rather disgusting man named Mr. Carstairs. He was morbidly obese, and although his clothing was finely made, it was filthy, with dried food sticking to the lapels. His odor was nearly unbearable, and it was all she could do to keep from wrinkling her nose. He said he played every day and bragged about being the best Chattel player in his village. His village must not have very many good players, she thought, because she also beat him easily.

As the afternoon wore on, she beat half a dozen other men.
She was surprised that instead of feeling weary from the stress of so many encounters, she felt energized by her success. Most of her competitors had been self-obsessed blowhards filled with braggadocio. For the most part, she simply let them talk, answering in monosyllables and concentrating on her game. No one seemed to pay undue attention to her or notice anything amiss with her disguise.

Finally, by the time that
twilight fell, most of the men who still filled the halls were no longer players but observers. They ringed the hall, watching from a respectful distance and murmuring strategy and bets amongst themselves. John was still there among them, conversing with someone next to him. She heard herself referred to as “the quiet one” more than once by some of the observers. To her secret amusement, bets seemed to be running high in her favor.

She was proud of how she’d played so far. She’d been focused and methodical, and none of her opponents had really given her any trouble at all.
The rabble of men she’d been paired with were mostly amateurs. She wished that Nico were there to see her play. She knew he’d be proud of her.

The freedom she enjoyed in her costume made her heady with power and excitement. How wonderful it would be to dress like this all the time, to go wherever she wanted and do whatever she felt like, without the censoring eyes of other women.
It simply wasn’t fair that her every move was weighed and measured. No one took any note of Sam as a man, and she liked it that way.

By nightfall, only three tables remained in the hall, and she was matched against a fierce-looking gentleman of about thirty. He had dark hair, flinty eyes, and looked as though he could personally slay a dragon.

“Ainsley,” he introduced himself shortly as he set up the board.

“
Taylor,” she said gruffly, keeping her eyes on the board.

“You have hands like a girl,” he told her a few minutes into the game.

She glanced at him warily, but said nothing. He was the first one who’d noticed anything amiss, and a new bout of nervousness streaked through her.

Ainsley
snorted at her refusal to rise to his bait, and they played in silence for the next half hour. She fought to keep from hiding her hands beneath the table in between turns. Her hands were not girly, she assured herself, counting the callouses and scratches that marred them. How often had she despaired of her unladylike hands and wished for Jolene’s pale, lovely skin?

“I’m not sure why you’re still in the game, young man. The others
who are left are the cream of the crop.” He’d just been trying to shake her up, insulting her as men do, trying to make her feel inferior. Still, his comment had rattled her, and this was the first game she really felt challenged by.

Seeming to note her unease,
Ainsley became cocky. He talked about his previous wins in other tournaments. It sounded like he considered his only competition to be Douglas Wright. He seemed impatient to get to a better opponent and took a short cut. She breathed an inward sigh of relief as she saw he’d backed himself into a corner. Sam knew she had him now and she moved aggressively to overtake him. With a final move, she quickly finished him off and killed the dragon. The look of shock on his face was priceless.

If ever there was going to be a fight, it would be now.
He gave her a murderous look, stood up and pounded his fist against the table. “You do not deserve to win. You’re just a young, lucky fool and probably a cheater. Have you ever even been in another Chattel tournament?”

Samantha struggled to look unafraid and stood up to face the man without speaking. Although she was intimidated, there was no way this bastard was going to get in the way of her winning the p
urse she so desperately needed.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw John stand up. She knew instinctually that he would not let this
man hurt her.

“
Foolish young men like you should bloody well stay away from these games,” Ainsley said, moving menacingly closer to her and spitting a bit into her face as he spoke. “I'll be watching you.”

It definitely sounded like a threat.
She swallowed and ignored him, as other men came to her defense. Thank goodness the bloke turned away and walked out the door without causing more of a ruckus.

Samantha was
determined not to let him ruin the moment for her. After all, she had succeeded in becoming one of the final three competitors. No matter what happened now, she would take home a purse. The rewards for second and third were not nearly as much as the grand prize, but at least now she’d have something to show for the whole charade.

The o
ther two games were finishing and soon there were only three competitors left in the hall: Sam, Douglas Wright and David Barley.  The three final competitors’ names were put into a hat so they could choose who would play each other first. She held her breath as they read off the names. To her relief, her name was not called. This meant that Douglas and David would play each other. It also guaranteed that she would take at least second place.

As
the two men sat down to play each other, Samantha decided she needed some fresh air and stepped outside. This had been the most exhausting day of her life.

Outside, she leaned against the wall and stared up at the stars, hardly daring to believe she’d made it this far. The grand prize was nearly in her grasp. Only one game stood between her and security. If she won, her farm would be safe, and she’d no longer have to worry about her mother. For the first time in so long, she’d be able to go to sleep at night without lying awake deep into the night worrying about her future.

Five hundred pounds wouldn’t last forever, but it would definitely give her some breathing room. All she had to do was play one more game. Unfortunately, it would probably be against Douglas Wright, the man Nico had warned her about.

She reviewed in her mind the things Nico had said about him and hoped that his strategy remained similar to what he had done in the past.

As she turned to go back inside, Ainsley, the disagreeable man who’d threatened her, stepped out of the shadows and deliberately blocked her path. “Where do you think you’re going?” He looked like a dog ready for a fight.

“I'm just taking a break,” she said in her roughest voice. The hair on t
he back of her neck stood up. His breath smelled of liquor and he was holding a bottle that appeared to be empty. All the warnings she’d heard from Nico and Jolene suddenly seemed very real.

“I don't think you're going to make it back to that tournament,” he said
with a smirk on his face.

“Let me pass
,” Sam said, putting her hand up to warn him. Ainsley took a step closer and lifted the bottle to strike her. She did the only thing she could think of and tried to kick him in the groin. Before her foot reached its target, he grabbed her leg. With a loud thud, she fell to the ground.

Ainsley moved menacingly toward her
. “Bloody little cheater,” he snarled viciously and kicked her squarely in the chest.

Samantha coughed and sputtered, the wind knocked out of her.

Before he could do more,
John appeared and quickly moved between them. “I think that is quite enough. This young man won against you fairly and now it’s time for you to go.”

Before Ainsley could make up his mind wh
ether to take on John or not, the tournament director came outside. “Sam Taylor, it's time to play now.”

John
reached down to help her up. She wanted to fall into his arms for comfort, but she willed herself not to. “Thank you,” she said in a low, steady voice. She hobbled back into the building, leaving behind the angry Ainsley and trying to ignore the sharp pain in her ribs. She couldn’t believe she’d actually been kicked. She gave a last disbelieving glance at the villain who had meant to do her great harm. Maybe being a man wasn’t so fun.

Just as she thought, i
t was now down to her and Douglas Wright, the fiercest competitor. She saw him setting up the board at the last remaining table and took a deep, steadying breath. Breathing hurt. She sat down at the table and sent up a prayer.

“I
’m Douglas Wright,” he said while looking her in the eye.

“Sam Taylor,” she said simply and shook his hand.

“I’ve never seen you in a tournament before,” he said conversationally as they began to play. “I’m surprised you’ve done so well.”

He was obviously a gentleman. His voice was soft and pleasant with a touch of a northern accent. His clothing was impeccable and his hair well groomed. There didn’t seem to be one hair out of place.

“Thank you,” she muttered, trying not to wince with the pain the kick had caused her. She had never been the victim of such violence. The incident had shaken her, and she found it hard to concentrate on her opponent’s words.

“Where did you learn to play?” Douglas asked, his gaze shrewd.

“My brother taught me,” she lied, uncomfortable with his line of questioning.

“Who is your brother?”

“Can we just play?” she snapped, knowing his tactic was to learn more about her and discover her style of playing before they began.

Douglas gave her another indecipherable look, but he didn’t ask any more questions
. He played confidently, taking enormous risks while looking bored. She had the sudden desire to spill her drink in his lap and see if the mess would unnerve him.

Tempting, but not the best way to gain an advantage.

It got very quiet in the room with spectators moving in closer to see how the game would end. The temperature in the area around her seemed to go up unbearably and Samantha hoped her fake mustache wouldn’t melt off her face.

She
had chosen poison as her weapon of choice but was having a tough time getting close to the dragon. Every time she moved forward, Douglas put an obstacle in her place. She was also having difficulty concentrating and could feel herself losing control of the game.

Within another half dozen moves, she knew he had her beat. She did her best to make up for the stupid moves she’d already made, but it was pointless. With a final flourish, Douglas killed the dragon and won the contest. The observers all cheered and rushed forward to praise him.

She
stiffly congratulated Douglas, trying her best not to give in to tears. She would hardly make a convincing boy if she were sobbing hysterically.

After the tournament director awarded her second place
of fifty pounds, John came up to shake her hand.

“Great job, Sam,” he said, steering her toward the door. “I think it’s best to make a quick exit before we get another glimpse of Ainsley.”

As they went outside to retrieve her horse, Samantha clutched the newly won purse close to her chest and looked around nervously for the drunken man who had kicked her. He didn’t appear to be waiting for her, but she wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out.

“I’ll ride home with you,” John said as he untethered Lord Chattel’s chestnut not far from Samantha’s horse. They quickly mounted their horses and took off
into the night, riding as swiftly as they could.

Sam was very grateful to be finished with the exhausting charade, and to have John riding silently beside her.
Her winnings were respectable and would buy her another six months of security. It wasn’t as though a woman in her position could have earned the money in any respectable way. Still, she was so disappointed in herself. If she’d just been able to focus more, if she hadn’t let the beating she’d taken and Douglas’ questions rattle her, she was sure she could have won.

They made it safely back to her house around midnight. John dismounted and helped Samantha
down. She was exhausted.

“Thank you for your help today, John,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m not sure what would have happened to me if you weren’t there.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.” John wiped the tears off of Samantha’s cheek and pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her weep against his strong shoulder. “You were magnificent today, Samantha. Really, you should be very proud of yourself.”