Knight of Passion

by Margaret Mallory

  Indeed, Jamie did.

  Owen’s remark about his sisters had diverted Jamie from what he meant to say. “The woman I must warn you about is Her Highness, Queen Katherine.”

  “Has she suggested she is not pleased with my work in some way?” Owen asked, playing innocent.

  “ ’Tis more that she seems a bit too pleased.”

  Owen’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “What are you accusing me of, Rayburn?”

  “I accuse you of nothing,” Jamie said, ignoring the gesture. “But where the queen is concerned, perception alone could get you hanged.”

  “ ’Tis bad enough I let you persuade me to come out in a gale for sport,” Owen said, shaking the water off his hat. “But I must put up with another lecture?”

  “I am telling you, Owen, they may punish the queen by putting her away in an abbey, but as for you”—Jamie turned to point his finger at his companion—“Gloucester and Beaufort would be quarreling over who had the better right to stick your head on a pike on London Bridge.”

  “Let us go back,” Owen said, turning his horse. “A man can only take so much abuse and keep his sense of humor.”

  “Fine.” Jamie guided his horse around a tree stump to reach higher ground for the return ride.

  “Come, Jamie, who would believe the queen would have me anyway?” Owen complained. “I am her lowly clerk of the wardrobe—and a Welshman besides.”

  “Linnet says anyone who sees the way the queen looks at you will suspect you’ve shared her bed.”

  “Linnet says this; Linnet says that,” Owen said, sounding cheerful again. “Tell me, why have you not found another woman to take your mind off that one?”

  “Not another word about Linnet.”

  “I was speaking about other women,” Owen said. “There are others about, you know. Dozens of them, right here at Windsor.”

  Why had he not found another woman? Of course, he had thought about doing so. His cock was up so often, he could not help but think of finding a better way to relieve it than with his hand.

  In sooth, it would be an easy matter to acquire an occasional bedmate. More than one pretty woman had signaled an interest. But with Linnet here, he simply could not see them. All other women were lost in her shine.

  It was hard going for their horses slogging through the wet underbrush, but the rain diminished on their return. Just as they neared the castle gate, the sun broke through the clouds.

  “I believe I see the very lady you did not wish to speak about.”

  Jamie barely heard Owen. His attention was fixed on Linnet, who stood outside the gate, the wind flapping her cloak, watching their approach.

  “What has happened?” Jamie asked her as soon as he dismounted. “Is something amiss?”

  “All is well at the castle,” Linnet answered. “I was anxious to see you.”

  Jamie’s heart did a flip in his chest. Linnet was anxious to see him. More, she was admitting it. Before he could think what to say to her, she turned to Owen, who had also dismounted.

  “Owen, I’ve come to ask if you will take me to London with you,” she said, crushing Jamie’s burst of pleasure like an ant beneath her heel. “I expect you have purchases you need to make for the queen’s wardrobe.”

  Owen furrowed his brows. “I was not planning on it, but I suppose you are right.”

  “We should go soon.” Linnet put her arm through Owen’s and began walking him through the open gate. “The queen will want new gowns for all the feasts during Christmas Court. You can have no notion how many are required, and…”

  Jamie followed, leading both horses like a damned groom. What was Owen up to, walking so close to Linnet and leaning down to her like that? She was not one of those women who spoke in a feathery whisper. Owen could hear her well enough without crowding her like that.

  “As it happens,” Jamie called up to them, “I have business to attend to in London as well.”

  And that damned Owen laughed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do you think it all right that we left the queen and Owen on their own?” Linnet asked, not for the first time.

  “I do,” Jamie said, because there was no point in her fretting about it now that they were in London.

  Linnet planted a hand on her hip and scanned the crowded hall at Westminster Palace with a murderous look on her face. “I should have found Owen and strangled him when he failed to meet us at the dock.”

  Jamie exchanged a glance with her brother, Francois.

  “Lucky for Owen he is a full day’s ride away,” Francois said in an undertone.

  “In fairness to Owen,” Jamie ventured to say, “it was the queen who sent a servant to tell us she could not spare Owen.”

  “Along with Owen’s shopping list,” Linnet huffed. “As if I have time to do Owen’s errands for him.”

  “But you love to buy and sell fine fabrics,” Francois said. “That is what you do.”

  Linnet shrugged, showing no sign of being mollified. She did have unerring good taste. She looked especially lovely this afternoon in a rose-colored gown made of a rich material that shimmered in the light when she passed a window or lamp. While her attention was fixed on the crowd of people who always seemed to congregate at Westminster, Jamie took advantage of her distraction to take in every enticing curve and elegant line.

  Linnet turned abruptly and caught him in his thorough perusal.

  “ ’Tis a lovely gown,” he said, lifting his hands. God in heaven, there was no harm in looking, was there?

  “I am going to speak with the Mistress Leggett,” Linnet said to Francois, “since I cannot speak to her dead husband.”

  As Linnet spoke, she gave Jamie a sidelong glance that sent another shot of lust through him.

  “I did find Leggett for you,” Francois said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “He was in the same churchyard as Higham.”

  “ ’Tis a pity Higham has no widow.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the colorful silks and velvets of prosperous merchants and nobles.

  Jamie had always liked Francois and was happy for the opportunity to talk alone with him. “So your sister has become a merchant, has she? Becoming titled and a wealthy widow to boot was not enough for her?”

  “She regrets the title, as it comes from our father,” Francois said.

  Jamie was well aware of the lengths Linnet would go to make that man suffer. Though her father deserved her scorn, Jamie could not help feeling a bit of sympathy for a man Linnet was determined to punish to his dying day.

  “Oddly enough, it will be Linnet who saves our father’s estates,” Francois said. “She received only a modest marriage portion, but she has multiplied it several times over.”

  “If she gained so little from Pomeroy’s uncle,” Jamie said, “why the devil did she marry the old man?”

  “I believe,” Francois said in a careful tone, “she liked him.”

  So he had been thrown over for an old man and a small marriage portion. It was insulting.

  “Her husband also had useful connections in Flanders,” Francois added.

  What could Jamie’s offer of undying devotion be next to that? God in heaven, how much longer did he need to remain in this stifling room?

  “Where is Gloucester?” he asked Francois. “I should pay my respects before I leave to visit the bishop.”

  Not that he felt much like seeing the bishop either. From the frying pan into the fire, that was.

  “Gloucester? I expect he has some lady with her skirts up behind a door.” Francois turned his head from side to side as if he expected to spot Gloucester’s bare behind in the midst of a tryst right in the hall.

  “But, is that not his mistress just over there?” Jamie said, tilting his head in the direction of Eleanor Cobham.

  “Eleanor is far too clever to censor Gloucester.” Francois leaned closer. “But God help the lady should Eleanor find out who she is. Rumor has it she poisoned the last woman he dallied with.”<
br />
  Jamie had no trouble believing it of Eleanor. “I heard nothing of a murder.”

  “Not for lack of effort,” Francois said in a low voice. “The woman was in bed a month—long enough to cool Gloucester’s interest. They say she still can eat nothing but porridge.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “Of course,” Francois said, “there is no proof Eleanor did it.”

  They stood side by side, scanning the crowd in silence for a time. Jamie was looking for Pomeroy—the swine had yet to respond to his challenge to meet in single combat. Though Jamie was itching for the fight, he was relieved not to see Pomeroy here today. He did not want Pomeroy anywhere near Linnet.

  Jamie noticed Eleanor had moved into a dark corner, where she was talking with four men in clerics’ robes.

  “Is Eleanor conspiring with churchmen now?” he asked.

  “They do look as if they are up to no good, don’t they?” Francois said with a laugh. “Gloucester and his mistress have some interesting acquaintances.”

  “Who are they?”

  “That one with the high forehead and exceedingly long nose is a famous alchemist from Oxford,” Francois said. “Gloucester is a great supporter of philosophers, as well as artists.”

  “Is not alchemy art?” Jamie asked. “The art of deception?”

  “Aye, they turn your silver into their gold,” Francois said, and they both laughed.

  “The man with the pointed beard standing next to Eleanor is Roger Bolingbroke, an Oxford scholar in astrology,” Francois said. “The one next to him is Thomas Southwell, a physician and canon of Saint Stephen’s Chapel here at Westminster Palace. And the last one—the one who looks like a weasel—is John Hume, a clerk in Gloucester’s household.”

  It did not surprise Jamie that Francois knew everyone. If Francois was swept ashore in a strange land, he’d know half the criminals and be invited to sup at the king’s table within a week.

  “Gloucester and his mistress have a fascination for all the ancient mystic arts.” Francois leaned close to add, “I hear they even consort with necromancers.”

  “Conjurers of the dead? You cannot mean it.”

  In an all-too-familiar gesture, Francois lifted one eyebrow and shrugged his shoulder.

  “You share too many mannerisms with your twin,” Jamie said. “ ’Tis irksome.”

  “Just so long as it annoys you, rather than makes you want to kiss me,” Francois said and puckered his lips.

  “Good God, Francois.” Jamie punched his shoulder, hard.

  From the corner of his eye, Jamie saw Eleanor walk quickly out of the hall with a furtive glance over her shoulder, as if she hoped no one noticed her leave. One of the clerics she had been talking with appeared to catch someone’s eye across the hall. Then, in quick succession, the four clerics left the hall.

  Francois swore an oath under his breath. Jamie forgot the clerics as he followed Francois’s gaze to Linnet. She was surrounded by a circle of men, wealthy merchants by the looks of them. As he watched, she took the arm of a short, well-fed man in an orange-and-violet-brocade tunic and matching hose that made Jamie’s eyes hurt.

  “Not the alderman,” Francois muttered. “I swear, she’ll be the death of me…”

  Jamie knew he should not ask, but he could not help himself. “What has you worried this time?”

  “She is set on finding the man who ruined our grandfather.”

  “What will she do when she finds him?”

  “Trust me, you do not want to know,” Francois said, before he set off through the crush of people to waylay his sister.

  Linnet usually had little difficulty getting information from men. Every merchant she approached today, however, evaded her questions. Their palpable unease made her believe she was getting close. Whoever was behind her grandfather’s ruin was someone the others did not wish to cross.

  Even that dragon, Mistress Leggett, seemed frightened. She grabbed Linnet’s arm and yanked her into a dark alcove behind a pillar.

  “Pray, use what little sense God gave you, girl,” the woman said in a harsh whisper. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “My grandfather was robbed,” Linnet said, jerking away from the woman’s huge, hamlike hands. “I promise you, I shall have justice for him.”

  “Would your grandfather want to see your body floating down the Thames?” Mistress Leggett said, her jowls shaking. “I am warning you for his sake, because he was a good and honest man: Leave this be.”

  “If your husband were alive, he would help me.”

  “You know nothing, girl,” the woman said. “My husband was part of it. But when they were planning to take you and your brother, that troubled him, see?”

  Could she have been wrong about Leggett? She remembered a cane pounding on the floorboards by the bed as one of the men shouted, “Where are the children?” The cane had an unusual silver end in the shape of a lion’s paw.

  “So he comes to me,” Mistress Leggett continued, “and I tell him that if he ever wants a warm bed again he must sneak you out of London and put you on a ship.”

  Linnet blinked at the enormous woman. “Thank you for saving us—but what did they want with us?”

  Mistress Leggett glanced toward the hall before she answered. “They had a notion someone would pay ransom for you.”

  Alain would not have paid ransom for them, for his legitimate sons were still alive then. But how had the men found out about their nobleman father? Their grandfather must have let the secret slip to one of his “friends” after he grew feebleminded.

  “Do you know the names of the others?” Linnet asked.

  “All I know is that some powerful merchants were involved.” Mistress rested a heavy, clammy hand on Linnet’s shoulder. “And that is all you need to know as well.”

  When Mistress Leggett left her, Linnet took a deep breath. There was one other person in the hall who might know something useful. Her clerk, Master Woodley, believed that if a vast quantity of Flemish cloth had changed hands without proper payment ten years ago, Alderman Arnold would know of it.

  When Linnet found the rotund alderman and cornered him, he broke out in such a sweat that she feared he might expire at her feet. She bit her lip as she watched him dance from foot to foot. Who could be powerful enough to put fear into an alderman? What she needed was an ally who was more powerful than her enemy.

  “Excuse me,” the alderman said and backed away from her as if she held the point of a blade to his soft belly.

  When he was some distance from her, he signaled to someone across the hall. She rose on her toes, straining to see who he was looking at, but there were too many people to guess which one it was.

  From the corner of her eye, she followed him as he worked his way around the edge of the room until he reached the arched doorway that led to the privy palace. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, the alderman left the hall.

  Linnet pushed her way through the crowd, not caring if she stepped on a few toes. By the time she made her way to the vestibule outside the hall, the fat alderman was gone. The cold air felt good on her skin as she stepped through the outer doors to peer out into the darkness toward the privy palace.

  She heard footsteps on the flagstones, but the sounds disappeared as she followed them down the covered walkway past Saint Stephen’s Chapel. She entered the next building by the closest door and found herself in a corridor dimly lit by thrush lamps. The building seemed empty—which only heightened her suspicions. Why would the alderman come here except to meet someone in secret?

  She followed the corridor around a corner and saw two hooded figures in long black robes in front of her. When they halted by a door on the left, she drew back quickly. She waited until she heard the creak and swoosh of a door, then peeked around the corner.

  She caught sight of the edge of a robe disappearing through an opening on the right. Odd, she had not noticed a door there before. She waited a few more moments, but when they did not come back out, s
he tiptoed down the hall to listen at the door.

  But there was no door on the right.

  She glanced up and down the corridor to be sure no one was coming, then ran her fingers along the paneling. She smiled when she found what she was looking for—the outline of a secret door. If she had not known where to look, she never would have seen it.

  She pressed her ear to the panel, but heard nothing. Now, how to open the door? For several frantic minutes, she felt along the panel, pressing every few inches, trying to find the release. Frustrated, she stood back and glared at the panel with her hands on her hips. She gave the panel a good kick that hurt her toe.

  Damn, she should have brought Francois. He had a knack for this sort of thing. As she turned to go, one side of the panel moved out from the wall a quarter inch. Her kick must have sprung the device. Dropping to her knees, she pried the panel open a couple of inches with her fingertips. When she paused to listen, she heard very faint voices in the distance.

  Whoever had gone through the secret door did not appear to be waiting on the other side, so she eased it open and slipped inside. The door clicked shut, and panic choked her until she found a handle behind her. As soon as she lifted up on it, she felt the door start to give. She could get out, praise God!

  She stood still until her thundering heart slowed enough for her to hear. The voices were louder from here, but still muffled and distant. Gradually, shapes emerged as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  Merciful God! She flattened herself against the door as she realized she stood at the top of a long flight of stairs. The staircase dropped steeply through a tunnel built of stone blocks into a deeper darkness below.

  This must be an escape route leading to the river. Relations between England’s royalty and the powerful London merchants were often uneasy; any one of the prior kings could have foreseen the need to be able to escape Westminster unseen.

  She thought again of the alderman’s odd behavior and the other merchants’ unease with her tonight. If the alderman was one of the caped figures she was following, she had to find out whom he was meeting in secret and why. Perhaps she should go back for Francois… Nay, that would take too long—she could miss her chance.