He’d been observing the inner ward through the window, narrating for John, who felt restless and bored, something he wasn’t used to. By lucky coincidence, the tiltyard was within sight, and they could assess the knights training and count their numbers. When Philip was ready, John called, “Come in.” It was the maid Anne. John watched her walk through the room, admiring the graceful way she moved. She kept her eyes downcast, and he thought a faint blush lingered on her cheeks. He wished even a strand of hair had escaped her wimple, so that he could form a better picture of her, but she was all done up tightly. She carried two tankards of ale that she set on the table between them. When she finally looked at him, he smiled at her. Her eyes widened, and then she covered her mouth to hide a laugh. John blinked in surprise. “Not the greeting I expected.” “If you could see the swelling on your face, Sir John,”
