Knight of Passion

by Margaret Mallory

  “Let me do this,” Jamie said. “I know what assurances must be given, what pressures can be brought to bear. Your upbringing was… irregular. I understand these things better.”

  “Think about what you are saying, Jamie,” she said, raising her hands in exasperation. “I am a bastard and a merchant’s granddaughter. I was not raised to live the kind of life you want.”

  “You are of noble birth,” Jamie said in a firm voice. “Everything is changed now that your father has claimed you.”

  “I am not changed,” she said. “What you need is a dull English noblewoman who will be happy to share the boring life you are looking forward to.”

  “Linnet, you cannot—”

  She lifted her hand to stop him. “I know how it will be. Each summer, you will come to France to fight with your glorious king. Then, each winter, you will return home to get your wife with yet another child, settle disputes among your peasants, and spend the evenings telling tiresome stories of your victories by the hearth in your hall.”

  “It is a good life,” he said, laughing. “It only seems dull to you because you do not know it.”

  She took his face in her hands. “You will be furious with me, but there is something I must tell you.”

  “First you must promise not to speak to your father of our marriage before I do,” Jamie said.

  He leaned forward to kiss her but froze at the sound of voices just outside the door. As the door scraped open, he threw the bedclothes over Linnet and turned his body to block the view of her from the door.

  She scooted up next to him and called out, “Good day, Alain. How fortunate you brought Sir Guy with you; he’s told me many times he wished to see me naked in bed.”

  Both men stared at them slack-jawed for a long moment. Then her father roared, “God’s blood, Linnet, what have you done?”

  “Surely,” she said, widening her eyes, “I need not explain it to you?”

  “You said she was a virgin,” Sir Guy spat out, then slapped Alain hard across the face. “I should have known a whore would beget a whore.”

  Sir Guy was a powerfully built man, and his violence startled her. When he turned to Jamie with murder in his eyes, she put her hand on Jamie’s shoulder.

  “I won’t forget this,” Sir Guy said in a voice so full of menace Linnet’s stomach tightened. “You shall pay dearly for this one day, James Rayburn.”

  Jamie threw her hand off his shoulder. For the first time since the others entered the room, she looked at him. Jamie’s eyes were fixed on her, wild and accusing. She heard, but did not see, Sir Guy slam the door. Sir Guy and her father did not matter anymore.

  “You planned this. You wanted them to find us,” Jamie said, his voice cracking. “You only went to bed with me to make your father angry. I thought… I thought you loved me.”

  The air went out of her, and she could not speak. God have mercy, what had she done?

  “You’ve ripped my heart from my chest,” Jamie said in a harsh whisper. “I am the world’s biggest fool.”

  Jamie slid down from the bed, swept up his clothes from the floor in one arm, and started toward the door.

  “I shall whip you within an inch of your life, girl,” Alain shouted. His face was purple, his fists clenched.

  Jamie grabbed Alain by the front of his tunic and lifted him off his feet. “I am tempted to murder her myself, but I will kill you if you lay a hand on her for this,” he said, the threat in his voice as sharp as the edge of a dagger.

  Heaven above, Jamie was magnificent, stark naked and furious.

  “If you were not such a horse’s arse, she would not have done it.”

  Jamie was defending her, which meant he was already halfway to forgiving her. She would explain it all to him. Then they could go on as before.

  Jamie picked up his clothes again and walked to the door. He opened it and turned. “Send word if there is a child,” he said to Alain. “I shall be in England.”

  Chapter One

  London

  October 30, 1425

  The stench of the Thames made Sir James Rayburn’s eyes water as he rode through the angry crowd. The “Winchester geese,” the prostitutes who worked this side of the river under the bishop’s regulation, would not do much business today. The men filling the street were not here to seek pleasures banned inside the City; they were spoiling for a fight.

  Earlier, Jamie had crossed the river to gauge the mood within the City of London—and found it on the verge of riot.

  The crowd grew thicker as he neared London Bridge. Men glared at him but moved out of the way of his warhorse. As he pushed through them, his thoughts returned to the evening before. There had been far too many men-at-arms at the bishop’s palace.

  Over supper, Jamie had tried to discern the bishop’s intent in bringing so many armed men to Winchester Palace. Under the bishop’s watchful eye, however, none of the other guests dared speak of it. Instead, they pressed Jamie for news of the fighting in France.

  He obliged them, telling them of the recent battle against the dauphin’s forces at Verneuil. As he warmed to his tale, the ladies leaned forward, hands pressed to their creamy bosoms. He liked to tell stories. Just when he had begun to enjoy himself, Linnet’s words came back to him.

  What you need, Jamie Rayburn, is a dull English wife who will be content to spend her evenings listening to you recite tiresome tales of your victories.

  After all these years, Linnet’s ridicule still rankled. He had brought his story to an abrupt end and left the bishop’s hall for bed. Damn the woman. Five years since he’d seen her, and she could still ruin his evening.

  Calling him boring was the least of Linnet’s crimes against him. No matter that he was three years older and she was not quite sixteen at the time—next to her, he’d been a babe in the woods. It embarrassed him to recall how he had worn his heart on his sleeve back then. While he professed eternal love and adoration, Linnet used him without a shred of guilt or regret.

  After the debacle, he left Paris at once in the hope of reaching England before his letter. But nay. He had to suffer the additional mortification of telling his family he and Linnet were not betrothed after all.

  Someone should have told him that men value a woman’s virginity far more than women do themselves. He had mistaken the gift of hers as a gift of her heart—and a pledge of marriage. Never again would he let a woman humiliate him like that.

  That did not mean he’d sworn off women. In sooth, he had bedded any number of them in his determination to wipe Linnet’s memory from his mind. Most of the time he succeeded.

  Thinking of her now put him in a foul mood. God’s beard, he could not breathe with all these people hemming him in. Judging by Thunder’s snorts and flattened ears, his horse felt the same.

  “We’ve seen enough,” Jamie said, patting Thunder after the horse snapped at a fool who got too close.

  With his untimely death, their dear and glorious King Henry had left a babe heir to two kingdoms. The Duke of Bedford, the dead king’s eldest surviving brother, had the difficult tasks of governing the French territories and prosecuting the war there.

  While Bedford was occupied in France, two other members of the royal family vied for control of England. The power struggle between Bedford’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester, and their uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, had been simmering for months. Now that their dispute had spilled over into the streets, however, it was far more dangerous. Jamie must send a message to Bedford at once.

  As Jamie turned his horse to return to the bishop’s palace, someone grabbed hold of his boot. He lifted his whip but checked his arm when he saw it was an old man.

  “Please, sir, help me!”

  The old fellow’s eye was purple with a fresh bruise. From his clothing, Jamie guessed he was not a part of the rabble, but a servant of some noble household.

  Jamie leaned down. “What can I do for you?”

  “The crowd separated me from my mistress,” the m
an said, his voice high and tremulous. “Now they’ve taken my mule, and I cannot reach her.”

  Sweet Lamb of God, a lady was alone in this mob? “Where? Where is she?”

  The old man pointed toward the bridge. When Jamie turned to look, he wondered how he had missed her. London Bridge was three hundred yards long, with shops and houses projecting off both sides. But in the gap created by the drawbridge, Jamie had a clear view of a lady in a bright blue and yellow gown sitting astride a white palfrey. She stuck out from the horde around her like a peacock atop a dunghill.

  “Out of my way! Out of my way!” Jamie shouted, waving his whip from side to side above the heads of the crowd. Men flung themselves aside to avoid the hooves of his horse as he forced his way forward through the throng.

  As he rode up onto the bridge, he heard the familiar sound of an army on the move. He turned and saw men-at-arms marching up the river from the bishop’s palace. God’s blood, the bishop had even sent archers.

  Jamie had heard a rumor that Gloucester intended to ride to Eltham Castle to take custody of the three-year-old king. Evidently the bishop feared Gloucester’s intent was to usurp the throne, for he had decided to stop his nephew at the bridge by force of arms.

  God help them all.

  But in the meantime, Jamie needed to rescue the fool woman caught between the forces of the two feuding royals in the goddamned middle of London Bridge.

  The mass of people caught on the bridge began to panic as word spread of the men-at-arms marching toward them. As Jamie pushed his way over the first part of the bridge, their shouts echoed off the buildings that connected overhead.

  He was still twenty yards from the lady when he heard her scream. Hands were grabbing at her, attempting to pull her off the horse. She fought back like a savage, striking at them with her whip.

  Someone caught hold of her headdress. Despite the noise on the bridge, Jamie heard the gasps of the men around her as a cascade of white-gold hair fell over her shoulders to her hips.

  The air went out of him. There was only one woman in Christendom with hair like that. Linnet.

  And she was in grave danger.

  “Do not touch her!” he roared. He raised his sword and pulled the reins, making Thunder rear to clear his way.

  He pushed forward through the seething mass. As he fought his way the last few yards, he heard Linnet’s voice over the clamor, cursing the men in both French and English.

  A burly man gripped her thigh with a filthy hand, and murder roiled through Jamie. Just as Linnet raised her whip to bring it down on the man, she looked up and saw Jamie. Their gazes locked, and all the sounds around him faded away.

  In that moment when she was diverted, the burly man caught her arm that held the whip. Another man yanked at her belt. Over the thunder in his ears, Jamie heard her bloodcurdling scream as they pulled her off her horse.

  “Hold on!” he shouted.

  She was hanging off the side, clutching at her saddle with both hands. God help him, she would be trampled to death in another moment. Her horse had remained remarkably steady until now. With its rider unsaddled, however, it was wild-eyed, tossing its head and sidestepping into the crowd. Jamie’s heart went to his throat as Linnet swung sideways and slammed against her horse’s side.

  The men, whose hold was snapped by the horse’s movement, were grasping at Linnet’s skirts as the horse flung her from side to side. She was hanging on by one hand when Jamie finally broke through to her. With one sweep of his sword, he slashed the two men as he leaned down and caught Linnet around the waist with his other arm and lifted her up onto his horse.

  Praise God, he had her! Now he just had to get her off this damned bridge before arrows started flying.

  “My horse!” she said, twisting to look over his shoulder.

  Without warning, she leaned over the side of his horse with both arms outstretched. Was the woman mad? He gripped her tighter as she reached out to catch hold of her horse’s loose rein with her fingertips.

  She sat up and gave him a triumphant grin as she held it up in her hand. Good God, she hadn’t changed a bit. She was happiest in the midst of tumult and trouble. He wouldn’t be half surprised to discover it was she, and not Gloucester, who had caused the riot.

  “You gloat too soon,” he said through clenched teeth. “We could be killed yet.”

  Her eyes flicked to the side, and she brought her whip down on an arm reaching for her horse’s bridle. He turned his horse and shouted at the crowd, “Get off the bridge! Get off the bridge!”

  The panicked mass of people surged against them like rolling swells against a ship at sea. Linnet ignored his repeated command to “let go of the damned horse and hold on.” He had to hold her tight enough to leave bruises on her ribs, while she slashed at people who tried to grab her horse’s reins.

  She felt so slight against him. It seemed a miracle she had been able to fight off those men and stay on her horse for so long. But anyone who touched her now would be a dead man. Jamie was a battle-hardened knight. Now that he had her, he had no doubt he could protect her from the rabble.

  Flying arrows, however, were another matter.

  By a miracle, he managed to reach the end of the bridge a hairbreadth before the bishop’s men blocked the way. Then he rode east along the river, away from the bridge and the crowd, until his heartbeat returned to normal.

  They were a quarter mile down the river before he spoke. “What in God’s name were you doing on the bridge? An idiot could see that was no place to be today.”

  Linnet turned around to look at him. This time, with the danger past, his heart did a flip-flop in his chest. In addition to everything else she was, did she have to be so beautiful? It was the curse of his life.

  “ ’Tis nice to see you, too, Jamie Rayburn.” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “After all this time, I expected a better greeting.”

  He fixed his gaze dead ahead and grunted. God in heaven, how could she be so cool after what had just happened on the bridge?

  When she leaned lightly against him, his chest prickled with sensation. Lust and longing took him like a fever. He should put her on her own horse now. He wanted to pretend she was too distressed to ride alone, but the thought was ridiculous. This one small weakness he would allow himself. It meant nothing.

  “I heard you were with Bedford in France,” she said.

  “Hmmph.”

  “When did you arrive in London?”

  “Yesterday.”

  After a long pause, she said, “Are you going to tell me what you are doing in England?”

  “Nay.”

  “Or ask why I am here?”

  “Nay.”

  He felt her sigh against his chest. Against his will, he remembered other sighs, other times…

  He had to get rid of her. “I trust your servant will make his own way back. Where shall I deliver you?”

  “The bishop’s palace,” she said. “I can find someone there to escort me to my lodgings.”

  Good. It was best he not know where she was staying. Not that he would seek her out, but a wise man avoided temptation where Linnet was concerned.

  Taking a longer route to avoid the mob, he worked his way back to the bishop’s palace. Even over the stink of the city and the river, he could smell the tangy scent of citrus in her hair. The memory of burying his face in it hit him like a punch to the gut.

  As soon as he saw Linnet safely inside the palace, he left her.

  He went at once to the bishop, who accepted his offer to help mediate the dispute with Gloucester. For the rest of the day, the crisis kept him far too busy to dwell on his encounter with Linnet. He and the other emissaries traveled back and forth across the river eight times, attempting to forge a compromise. It was late in the night before the two feuding royals finally agreed to terms.

  Jamie fell into bed exhausted. With the country on the brink of civil war, he had managed to push all thought of Linnet aside while he was awake. But near
dawn, he was tormented by a dream of her. Not the annoying, sentimental sort of dream he often had in the early days after he left Paris. Nay, this was a raw, sensual dream of her writhing above him, crying out his name. He awoke gasping for air.

  He needed a woman, that much was clear.

  But first, duty called. The Duke of Bedford had sent him home from France with two tasks. Last night, he had fulfilled the first by sending Bedford his report on the conflict between Gloucester and the bishop.

  This morning, he must attend to his second assignment: keeping the young, widowed queen safe in the crisis. He owed this duty not just to Bedford, but to his dead king. But perhaps he could combine duty with pleasure. If past experience was any judge, one of the ladies at court would be happy to be his bedmate for a time.

  He started the six-mile ride to Eltham Palace as soon as he broke his fast. Shortly after he arrived, he was taken to the queen’s private parlor. As he entered, Queen Katherine, a fragile-looking woman of twenty-four, rose to greet him.

  “Your Highness,” he said, dropping to one knee. When he looked up, he caught the flicker of sadness in her eyes and knew he reminded her of that awful day at Vincennes, outside Paris. He was one of the knights who had carried the dying king into the castle, where the queen waited for him.

  “I am so very pleased you have come, Sir James,” she said, holding her hand out for his kiss. She looked past him and smiled. “As I believe my friend is also, no?”

  He turned to follow the queen’s gaze.

  Linnet swept past him to stand beside Queen Katherine. With her stubborn jaw and her chin tilted up, she looked more regal than the queen. And here he was on his knees, groveling at her feet once more.

  At the queen’s nod, he got up.

  “My friend says you would not tell her what brings you back to England,” the queen said with a coquettish smile. “But you dare not refuse me.”

  “I have come at the behest of the Duke of Bedford, who is concerned for your comfort and well-being.” He could not tell her of Bedford’s other charge to him.

  “He has always been kind to me,” the queen said in a soft voice. She did not need to add, unlike Gloucester.