Knight of Passion

by Margaret Mallory

  “I shall do my best,” he said, “to fulfill your every wish as keeper of your wardrobe.”

  Her every wish. Linnet rolled her eyes, but noticed that the queen’s chest rose and fell in a deep sigh.

  Linnet’s head was pounding by the time dinner was finished.

  When she went to the queen’s rooms to speak with her later, she was barred from entering. The queen, she was told by the guard, was not to be disturbed.

  That had never happened before.

  When she went down to the hall for supper, she learned the reason.

  “I spent the afternoon with my new clerk of the wardrobe,” Queen Katherine whispered to her before they took their seats at the table. “There is so much to be done! I should have had someone in the position long ago.”

  “The entire afternoon?” Linnet said, hoping she had misheard.

  “ ’Tis a relief to have Owen’s assistance,” the queen said, smiling as she gazed off into the distance.

  “Owen? Should you not address him as Master Tudor?”

  The queen gave a light laugh. “When did you care about such things? So far as I can tell, you do precisely as you please most of the time.”

  “But I am not the queen of England,” Linnet whispered. “Nor am I sister to the pretender to the French crown!”

  Her friend gave her that benign princess smile she used when she waved to the peasants from her carriage. Then someone caught her eye, and she raised her hand.

  “Master Tudor,” the queen said as Owen joined them. “I was hoping we could continue our discussion over supper.”

  The queen took Owen’s arm. As he led her away, she winked at Linnet over her shoulder.

  Supper was more of the same, with Owen spreading charm like a farmer spreads manure—and Queen Katherine wallowing in it like a happy hog.

  Late that night, Linnet visited the queen in the royal apartments. The queen, who kept late hours, was still dressed.

  “What are you doing walking about the palace in your night-robe?” the queen asked, her delicate brows arched halfway up her forehead.

  “My bedchamber is but a few doors away,” Linnet said. “I could not sleep and hoped we might talk.”

  “Of course.”

  One look from Linnet, and the French ladies-in-waiting remained behind as she followed Queen Katherine into her private parlor.

  Gowns and lengths of colorful fabrics hung over every bench and chair. The queen and her new clerk of the wardrobe had been busy. Linnet was trying to think of how best to bring Owen up, when the queen did it for her.

  “What do you know of Owen Tudor?” the queen asked as she fingered a length of silk the color of ripe strawberries.

  “I understand he is from an old Welsh noble family,” Linnet said. “His father was a Welsh rebel who was in hiding for many years.”

  “Then he is no one of importance,” the queen said, her expression thoughtful.

  Linnet wondered what the queen meant by that. A moment later, the answer came to her like a thunderbolt.

  “Your Grace, may I speak plainly?” she asked. “I feel I must, out of concern for your safety.”

  The queen sighed and nodded.

  “While Owen Tudor does not present the same danger Edmund Beaufort did, that does not mean he is safe for you.”

  “What harm can you find in Owen?” the queen asked. “He is no one.”

  “I must warn you, Owen’s lack of powerful connections will not prevent him from having powerful enemies should you become… involved… with him.”

  “I only met the man today.” Queen Katherine gave her an indulgent smile. “He is my clerk of the wardrobe, that is all. You worry yourself too much.”

  Linnet felt a trifle better, until her friend added, “I am certain both Gloucester and the bishop would consider whom I choose to befriend to be beneath their concern.”

  “Pray, do not provoke them, Your Grace,” Linnet said. “Those two have much at stake. Who knows what they might do?”

  “But they can have nothing to object to,” the queen persisted.

  Linnet touched her friend’s arm. “I know it is unfair. Eventually, they are bound to allow you a discreet relationship—perhaps even a second marriage. But not now. Not now, when the fight for control is so intense.”

  “How long before it is safe for me, can you tell me that?” the queen demanded, showing more defiance than Linnet had ever seen from her before. “How much longer must I wait? Three more years? Five? Ten?”

  The queen drew away from her.

  “You are not a mother—you cannot know what it is like to have your son taken from you,” the queen said, her eyes filling with tears. “Am I to be permitted no one? No husband, no children, not even a lover? Am I to be an old woman before I can have the simple things that every other woman in the kingdom may have?”

  “You must be patient,” Linnet said, though the queen’s words had taken the wind out of her.

  “What would you do?” the queen demanded. “Would you let them deny you everything you wanted?”

  Linnet did not answer, because they both knew she would fight tooth and nail for what she wanted. Still, it was not the course she wished for her friend.

  Jamie was alone in his bedchamber when he heard the knock at his door. Since there was no one he wished to see, he ignored it and continued writing his letter to his parents. His mother had been wise to insist all her children learn to write: One day you may need to send a message that not even your clerk should see.

  When the knocking persisted, he cursed under his breath and set the letter aside. Whoever had come was damned impatient. He stopped to stretch on his way to the door.

  When he opened it, his mouth went dry at the unexpected sight of Linnet at his bedchamber door. Her hair hung in a loose braid over her shoulder like a thick chain of white gold.

  And she was dressed in a night-robe.

  Oh, aye. If she had come for what he thought, he was more than ready. All his plans for resistance vanished like mist under a summer sun. She had that determined look on her face that he loved without reason. If she was determined to have him, he was equally determined to give her what she wanted.

  “Close the door,” she said as she swept past him. She stopped in the center of the room and turned to face him.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he reached behind him to shut the door. He swept his gaze over her, taking in every inch of her from head to feet, and everything in between.

  Why had he been trying to fight this? With her here and dressed for bed, he could not recall a single reason.

  She folded her arms under her breasts and lifted her chin. “I hope we can put aside our differences to save the queen from him.”

  “Save her?” His mind had not yet caught up with the conversation. “From whom?”

  “From that sly friend of yours, Owen Tudor, of course.” He looked longingly at the white skin of her throat showing in the V of her robe, then followed the enticing curve of her breasts beneath the cloth.

  “You came to discuss the queen?” he finally asked, hoping it was not true.

  She leaned forward, clenching her fists in the folds of her robe. “Did you not take an oath to protect her?”

  The queen. Linnet was speaking about the queen. “Owen is a good man,” he said, struggling to concentrate. “He will give his loyalty to the queen.”

  “If that is all he gives her, I shall be happy.” She pressed her lips together and tilted her head back to glare at the ceiling. After taking a deep breath, she brought her fierce gaze back to him. “Jamie. Did you not see how the queen looks at him?”

  He shook his head.

  “Men! You see nothing.” She took another deep breath. “As you are blind, I shall tell you. Her Highness looks at Owen as if she would like to lick honey off his skin.”

  Jamie opened his mouth, closed it, and then swallowed. After a long moment, he said, “She likes him that well, does she?”

  “No one is con
sidering licking honey off you, Jamie Rayburn, so cease looking at me that way at once.”

  That was a damned disappointment.

  “This is a serious matter,” Linnet said. “I tell you, the queen is very close to doing something foolish.”

  “Owen is no fool,” Jamie managed to say, though he was imagining Linnet naked on all fours over him, running her tongue down his chest, licking honey. “He is a flirt, but he would take it no further.”

  “I hope you are right,” she said, and her shoulders relaxed a bit. “But if he is even seen to flirt with her, more might be read into it. There are too many people at Windsor, to hope rumors will not travel to Gloucester or the bishop.”

  He nodded. “Both men have spies here.”

  “I suspected as much,” she said. “I will do my best to convince Queen Katherine to be sensible. Will you warn Owen to keep his distance?”

  “I will caution Owen and keep my eye on him.”

  “So it is agreed we shall work together?” she asked. “Aye, I am all for joining forces,” he said, still hoping this would include more tonight than scheming on the queen’s behalf.

  Tomorrow he would worry about the consequences. Her eyes grew wide as he closed the distance between them to stand a hairbreadth from her. When he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, she backed away.

  “I told you once,” she said, her voice sharp with anger. “I will not have you touch me and regret it after.”

  When he opened his mouth to deny it, she held up her hand. “I know you, Jamie Rayburn, so do not try to lie to me.”

  Would he regret it? Surely it would be better to have her in his bed, rather than to think about bedding her all the time. A thousand times better.

  “I will choose a lover who is not so harsh in his judgment of me,” she said.

  He clenched his jaw at the thought of her with another man. “So it is a lover you are seeking again, and not a husband,” he bit out. “Tell me, what are you looking for in the man you choose this time?”

  She raised her eyebrows and blinked those wide, innocent blue eyes at him. In a falsely sweet voice, she said, “Who is to say I expect to find all I want in one man?”

  Chapter Ten

  Linnet glanced at the queen’s ladies, stitching and talking quietly by the brazier on the other side of the parlor. When one of the Joannes—there were three of them—caught Linnet looking at her, the woman made a sour face.

  Linnet accepted the ladies’ resentment of her close relationship with their patron and did not hold it against them. They had no life beyond their position in the queen’s household. Further, they disapproved of her familiar manner with the queen.

  Linnet turned back to the window and watched the rain pelting the river below. What could have possessed Jamie and Owen to ride out to hunt on a day like this?

  In sooth, she understood their restlessness. She, too, found it trying to be trapped indoors for days on end. If she were in London or Calais, she would be too busy to notice the dismal weather. But here at Windsor, she had little to occupy herself. She was never one to sit for hours doing needlework. Being motherless had at least spared her that.

  Linnet started when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find Queen Katherine standing beside her.

  “ ’Tis dull without them, is it not?”

  “Without whom?” Linnet asked, though she knew perfectly well who her friend meant.

  The queen gave a light, lilting laugh. “Come, Linnet, I see you in conversation with that handsome Sir James Rayburn every time I look.”

  Linnet bit her lip. Was she using her concern for the queen as an excuse to spend time with Jamie? ’Twas a dangerous business, that, and she suspected he was doing the same.

  “Do not attempt to tell me I am imagining what I see between you,” the queen said.

  Linnet pressed her lips together.

  “Pray, do not deny it. The air is so hot between you, I fear you will singe the tapestries. They are quite valuable.”

  “I admit there is a base attraction between us,” Linnet said in a tight voice, “but nothing more.”

  Queen Katherine squeezed Linnet’s shoulder. “It would be such a delight to plan a wedding.”

  A wedding? “Your Highness, I fear I must disappoint you.”

  “You never disappoint, Linnet.”

  Linnet put a hand over the queen’s. “You are too kind to me. But I assure you, there is nothing between Jamie and me now, nor will there be.”

  “Would you care to make a wager on that?” the queen asked, her eyes twinkling.

  Linnet said nothing; she was far too good with money to lay a wager she might lose.

  “I knew it,” the queen said with a wink.

  Something might happen again between her and Jamie Rayburn, but it would not be a wedding.

  “Now, I have something to divert you until our favorite men return.” The queen held out two sealed parchments. “Your letters. A servant just brought them up.”

  “Thank you,” Linnet said, breaking into a wide smile. If she did not count the time she spent with Jamie—which she certainly did not—the favorite part of her day was reading Master Woodley’s daily missive sent up from London.

  “Reading your clerk’s letters seems dull work to me,” the queen said, patting her arm. “I shall sit with my ladies for some needlework and gossip.”

  Linnet hurried to her chamber to read her letters in private. As soon as she saw her brother’s familiar script on one of them, she missed him. She was too anxious to take the time to light the lamp. Instead, she stood by the narrow window, where she had to strain to read in the stormy afternoon light.

  She read the letter from her clerk first. What a good man Master Woodley was. He had sold most of the prized Flanders cloth she had brought to London—and at a very fine price. As she expected, he had made little progress on his other assignment. After so many years, tracing where her grandfather’s property had gone—and into whose hands—was a difficult task.

  She set his letter aside and took up Francois’s.

  My dearest Linnet,

  Your ancient Master Woodley hounds me without mercy. I beg you, dear sister, return at once to rescue me from him and these damned accounts.

  Locating the persons you asked me to find was no challenge for a man of my talent. I must warn you, however, that speaking with them will prove considerably more difficult. I shall explain when I see you. Is that sufficiently tantalizing to bring you back to London?

  I cannot be answerable if you do not soon relieve me of the relentless Master Woodley.

  With great affection,

  Your most devoted brother,

  Francois

  Poor Master Woodley. She hoped Francois was not exhausting him with his antics. She stared at the sheets of rain outside the window as she tried to guess at the meaning of Francois’s intentionally mysterious message.

  Clearly, Francois had found Leggett and Higham, two men she hoped could help unravel the mystery of what happened to her grandfather’s profitable business ten years ago. Leggett was the one merchant in London she knew she could trust. When her grandfather’s creditors were closing in, he came to their house in the dead of night and helped them get out of London. He had even paid their passage on the ship to Calais.

  If that swine Mychell was to be believed, Higham was one of the men who had been in their London house that day she and Francois hid under the bed. Mychell said it was this Higham who carried the unusual silver-tipped cane she remembered.

  She did not expect to recognize the men’s voices after all this time, but she would remember until her dying day that silver claw pounding on the floorboards.

  Mychell told her that he and this Higham received their instructions from the third man, whose name they never knew. But Mychell was lying. Whoever had the cane was the man giving instructions that day. Now that Francois had found Higham, she intended to discover if he was another intermediary or the man behind it all.

/>   It was time for her to make a trip to London.

  Jamie wiped the rain from his face with his sleeve. Damn, it was coming down hard.

  “There’s no game,” Owen said as he pulled his horse up to ride next to Jamie through the brush. “Animals have the sense to stay under cover.”

  Jamie had insisted they go hunting, despite the freezing rain. He needed to get away from the castle or go mad. Every time he saw Linnet in the hall, he found himself speculating over which man she had taken as a lover.

  Or men. Blood pounded in his ears every time he recalled her saying she might require more than one.

  Fortunately, there were few noblemen or wealthy merchants at Windsor in this lull before Christmas. But since Linnet made it clear she was not looking for a husband, she could just as well dally with any of the myriad clerks, grooms, hawkers, and guards. There was an abundance of such men at Windsor.

  “Why the sour look, my friend?” Owen said.

  “The damned rain is running down my neck.”

  “ ’Tis more than this foul weather,” Owen said, wiping the rain from his eyes with his gloved hand.

  “Quiet. Too much talk will scare the game.”

  “So Linnet has kicked you out of her bed, has she?” Owen said with a wide grin.

  “That is none of your business,” Jamie snapped. “But while we are talking of women, I have a warning to give you.”

  Owen made a face. “Come, Jamie, I already swore to you I did not touch one of your pretty sisters.”

  “Not with my father at home, or the birds would be pecking at your swollen body in the marshes below our castle wall.” Jamie laughed, his mood finally lifting.

  “My body pecked by birds is a humorous notion, is it?” Owen leaned between their horses to punch Jamie’s arm. “I am not so foolish as to risk William FitzAlan’s ire.”

  “You should fear my mother no less. I warn you, she keeps her dagger sharp and is not afraid to use it.”

  “ ’Tis lucky, then, that I’ve no interest in deflowering virgins.” Giving Jamie a broad wink, Owen said, “I like a woman who knows what she’s about, if you know what I mean.”