She opened the door a crack so that a thin line of light shone along its edges. Taking a deep breath, she eased one foot down to the next step.
A shiver went through her as she heard the old herbalist’s voice in her head, telling her curiosity was in her nature… just as evil was in others. She would go but a little way, just far enough to hear the voices a bit more clearly—or see where the tunnel came out. If she kept a safe distance, she could come to no harm.
Holding her arms out to brush the walls on either side to keep her balance, she took the steps one at a time. The darkness grew deeper and the smell of dank earth grew stronger the deeper she went. Finally, her feet hit the dirt floor.
She peered into the black passageway before her. Her mouth was dry with fear, though of what, she could not say. The voices were louder here, but still muffled. It was hard to tell how far away they were. She looked back over her shoulder. The dim light at the top of the steps seemed a long, long way off.
She licked her lips. Should she go back? Every muscle tensed, screaming for her to run—but she might never get another chance to find out what this was about.
After the alderman’s strange behavior, it seemed quite possible his business down here had something to do with her. So far, all her efforts to find out who had ruined her grandfather had come to naught. If whatever was down here could shed light on that, she had to know.
She would just go far enough to see who the voices belonged to and hear the words they were chanting. For it was a chant, she could tell that now. It sounded like monks… and yet not.
She was beyond the reach of the light from the top of the stairs now and had to feel her way along the passage. The walls here were damp, rough-hewn rock, as if the passage had been cut through sheer rock face.
She rounded a bend and suddenly the chanting was louder, insistent and repetitive, and there was light up ahead. She could make out the words now: “Come to us. Come to us. Come to us.”
As she drew closer, she saw that the passage opened into a room that extended to the left. She could see only a small part of it from where she stood, so she took a step closer. Through the opening, she saw candles on the floor and dancing shadows.
Fear shot through her, making her knees weak and her head feel light. Every child grew up hearing the stories: sorcerers and witches consorting with the devil; stolen children never seen again; horned demons called up from hell; dark rituals of bloody sacrifice. Her palms went clammy as all the tales she had scoffed at as a child raced through her head.
With her heart pounding in her ears, she dropped to her knees and crawled forward. She had come this far. She was going to see what was in the room before she fled back down the passageway and up the steps.
Just one peek. She sucked in her breath as something crawled over her hand. Over the stench of damp earth, she smelled incense, and beneath that a tangy, musky odor. She inched forward, craning her neck to the side to see farther inside the room.
She caught glimpses of dancing figures in capes moving in and out of the part of the room within her sight. They appeared to be dancing within a ring of candles on the floor. She crawled a little closer. All at once, she saw that the figures did not wear hooded capes as she first thought. They wore masks and the hides of animals.
Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me.
There could be no doubt what this was now. She was witnessing a sabbat, a ritual meeting of witches. Their chanting pulsed in her blood and throbbed in her ears.
Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me.
Linnet could see the edge of a table covered in black cloth at the center of the circle. Pressing against the wall of the passageway, she scooted forward, then got up on her knees to see what was on the table. Her mouth fell open, and she sucked in her breath. She was rooted to the ground, too shocked to move.
A woman lay on the table. A stark naked woman.
Of course, Linnet had seen other women partially undressed—even naked briefly—as they changed clothes in a shared chamber. But that was nothing like what was before her now.
The skin of the woman glistened with oil, and her nipples were erect. Dark tendrils of her uncovered hair fell over the end of the table nearest Linnet. She lay on her back with the soles of her feet together and her knees splayed apart.
And all she wore was a mask.
Linnet knew intuitively the woman was not here against her will. Whatever was taking place here, she was a willing participant.
A tall figure in a wolf’s mask and hide appeared from the other side of the room holding a bowl aloft. As he approached the table, the others began to chant, “Goddess, Goddess, Goddess.”
The wolf-man stood at the end of the table where the woman’s feet were drawn up sole-to-sole close to her body. Slowly, he lowered his outstretched arms over her until the bowl rested on her belly. Then he dipped his fingers in the bowl of dark red liquid.
Linnet knew she must leave at once. This was the devil’s work, for certain, and she should not see it. Even so, she could not tear her eyes away as the wolf-man touched drops of what looked like wine on each of the woman’s nipples. Linnet swallowed, feeling her own nipples tighten unaccountably.
The woman on the table moved her lips to the chant, rocking her head from side to side. A line of the deep red liquid curved down the glistening skin of the side of the woman’s breast.
The chanting grew louder and more insistent as the wolf-man dipped his fingers in the bowl again. This time, he dripped the red liquid onto the sensitive spot between the woman’s legs. Three times he repeated the ritual, dripping the liquid onto the woman’s nipples and between her legs. Each round, the chanting in the room pulsed louder and louder, an ancient sound from pagan times.
Linnet let her breath out when one of the fur-clad figures came forward to take the bowl from him. But it was not over. The wolf-man leaned over the woman and lowered his masked face to her breast, where he had dripped wine. The woman moaned as he gave a sucking kiss to her nipple.
As he lowered his mouth to her other breast and kissed it, the chanting grew louder until it pulsed in Linnet’s body. The dancers’ movements were frantic, twirling and flailing, casting unearthly shadows against the walls.
Linnet held her breath as the wolf-man took hold of the woman’s ankles. Then, as Linnet knew he would, he slid the woman’s feet apart and leaned down to place the last kiss between her legs. As he did so, the woman tossed her head and chanted.
Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Linnet prayed even as she was rooted to the ground, unable to take her eyes from the scene before her. She was horrified, and yet there was a dull ache between her legs. It was as if some primeval force held her there and would not let her go. Three times, the wolf-man did the ritual kisses.
Then, in a sudden movement, the man straightened and swung his arms out, flinging back the wolf skin. He was naked beneath it, his member engorged. Linnet gasped and finally scrambled to her feet.
But then, the eyes behind the wolf mask met hers and held them, as if he had known she was there in the dark watching all along. Her heart pulsed in her ears in rhythm with the pounding chant. The wolf-man kept his eyes fixed on hers as he grasped the woman’s thighs and thrust forward.
Linnet screamed and ran blindly into the darkness. With one hand banging against the wall to guide her, she stumbled through the passageway. The chanting followed her, vibrating off the walls and pressing in on her from all sides.
Mary, Mother of God, protect me.Mary, Mother of God, protect me.
At last, she saw a dim light high above her. She imagined the masked figures of hideous demons chasing her, grabbing at her feet, but she did not look back. Fear choked her as she lurched up the steps toward the light.
Chapter Twelve
After a clandestine meeting with the bishop next door at Westminster Abbey, Jamie returned to the palace. He was weary of politics. Intent on
escape, he avoided the Great Hall, which was still crowded, and headed for the privy palace. Most of Gloucester’s guests were Londoners and would be returning to their homes tonight. Consequently, the guest wing was nearly empty—and blessedly quiet.
As he neared his guest chamber, running footsteps broke the silence. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he followed the sound to the corner ahead—and saw Linnet. She was looking over her shoulder and running hard right at him.
“Ahhh!” Linnet gave a piercing scream as he caught her.
Her eyes were as big as platters, and her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, as if she had been badly frightened. And she was utterly filthy.
“Linnet, what has happened to you?”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then only shook her head.
Mother of God. Keeping his voice calm with an effort, he asked, “Are you hurt?”
When she shook her head again, relief poured through him.
“Come, my chamber is right here,” he said, guiding her with an arm around her shoulders. “We will get you cleaned up, and then find Francois.”
Her headdress was askew, and a dozen tiny braids had come uncoiled and fallen loose from the nets on either side of her face. How could a woman be such a mess and look more beautiful than ever?
“I had a small fright,” she said, her voice unnaturally high. “But I am all right now.”
“I am sure you are,” he said as he opened his chamber door and brought her inside.
He had forgotten that both his manservant and Martin would be in his chamber. They jumped to their feet and gawked openmouthed at Linnet, but had the grace to look away when she tilted her chin up and stared them down.
“Go now,” Jamie said in a low voice and tilted his head toward the door. The two murmured their hope that the lady was unharmed and filed out.
His manservant stuck his head back through the door to say, “The pitcher of water by the brazier should be warm now.”
Jamie nodded his thanks. With his free hand, he picked up the pitcher on his way to the wash table.
Steam rose as he poured the water into the basin.
“Oh, my!” Linnet said, looking down at herself for the first time. And then she laughed, of all things.
Lord above, there was no woman like her.
The water turned brown and gritty as she washed her hands. While she wiped them on the small towel he handed her, he took the basin to the window and tossed the dirty water out.
He poured more water in it, then stood back and watched as she washed her face. It was an intimate activity to witness—something she did every day, alone in her bedchamber. Water dripped from her long slender fingers as they caressed her cheeks and forehead. With her eyes closed, she reached her arm out. He handed her the towel again, as if he always shared this routine with her.
When she looked up from the towel, her skin was damp and glowing. And she was smiling at him.
He took the towel from her to wipe a drop from her chin.
“You’ve smudges on your neck as well.” He dipped the edge of the towel in the basin and took his time dabbing at a long streak of mud that ran from beneath her ear and—God help him—down across her collarbone. He swallowed. This was dangerous country. But he already knew he was not going to turn back.
He dipped the towel in the water again. Her breathing grew shallow as he wiped at another streak marring the perfect white skin just above her bodice. His own breathing quickened as he saw how her nipples pressed against the cloth.
“Your gown is heavy with mud and past saving, anyway,” he said. “You’d best take it off and wear my cloak to leave the palace.”
She nodded and turned around for him to undo the buttons. He undid them slowly, praying this was going where he thought it was. He should ask her what had happened, how she got so filthy.
But if she did not care to discuss it right now, neither did he.
His mouth was dry as he eased the gown off her shoulders. This was wrong, he knew it. He might regret it later, but no man was made to resist this kind of temptation. At least for him, Linnet was the apple in the garden. The one great passion he could not resist.
He stood still, aching to touch her. Every part of him throbbed with need as she pulled the gown down over her breasts and hips. It fell to the floor with a wet swoosh.
When she turned, her lips were parted. His breath caught at the sight of the pink tips of her nipples showing through the thin white cloth of her chemise. When he returned his gaze to her face, she was looking at him with wide blue eyes, in that direct way she had, as if he were the only man in the world for her.
“Jamie…,” she whispered, leaning toward him.
He pulled her against him and crushed his mouth to hers. God, how he wanted her. Her hands gripped his hair, and her mouth was open, tongue seeking his. His desire grew into a raging inferno.
And she was as inflamed as he. When she locked her arms around his neck, he did not care if this was heaven or hell. He clamped his hands on her buttocks and pressed her against his throbbing shaft. Right now. He wanted her right now.
Nay, he wanted her naked first. He pulled away, breathing hard. Her lips were swollen from his kisses.
“Your chemise,” was all he could manage to say.
She nodded and reached down her side for the hem. “Slowly,” he said and dropped to his knees beside her. He ran his hands up her bare thigh as she eased the cloth up out of his way. Closing his eyes, he rested his head on her hip as he rolled her stockings down, inch by inch. She tugged at the chemise to free it, and his face touched bare skin.
“Touch me,” Linnet said above him, and it was all he wanted to do.
It was always like this between them. A shared lust that allowed for no embarrassment. No denial.
She quivered as he ran one hand up the inside of her thigh. When he touched her center, she was already hot and wet, and he thought he might explode. She leaned forward against the wash table, gripping it with both hands as he moved his fingers over her sensitive nub. When she dropped her head to rest her forehead on the table, he nipped at the smooth rounded flesh of her buttocks with his teeth.
He thrust a finger inside her, and she gasped. His throat tightened. Oh, Lord, she was going to come quickly the first time.
He’d been wanting to taste her since he first dropped to his knees, and he wasn’t getting up until he did.
“Turn round and lean your back against the table,” he said.
Without a word, she did as he asked. Her chemise had fallen down so he pushed it up to her hips to reveal the golden triangle of hair.
He looked up at her. “Will you be too cold if you take your chemise off?”
In one motion, she crossed her arms, pulled it over her head, and dropped it on the floor.
Her breasts were as beautiful as ever. He covered them with his hands. She groaned as he finally put his mouth to her. No other woman tasted like her. What did the priests know about women, to preach that this was a sin?
“Aye, aye,” she said in harsh breaths as she tangled her fingers in his hair.
His shaft throbbed as he licked and sucked. Every sigh and groan told him she was closer. He wanted to hear her scream with pleasure, to know no other man could do this for her.
He stuck his finger in her as he worked the sensitive spot with his tongue. How he loved it when her breathing changed like this. He knew her, could read her body as if it were an extension of his own.
Her cries as she climaxed were the sweetest sound a man could hear.
“My knees are weak,” she said, her voice breathy, weak. “I will fall…”
“I’ve got you.”
He put an arm behind her knees and swung her up across his chest as he got to his feet. When she put limp arms around his neck, he gave her a deep kiss to remind her he was a long way from being finished.
She gave him a languid smile and raised an eyebrow. “You are not going to regret it this time, are you
?”
He shook his head and carried her to the bed.
After the weeks of denial, his hunger was so great it made him shake. He made love to her as if it were the first time and might be the last. Their passion for each other was bottomless and heedless.
Afterward, he lay with her sprawled on top of him, with only one thought in his head: This is what I want.
She is what I want.
Why had he been fighting it? This was how it should be. Owen was right. If she was the woman he wanted—and she was—he should stay and conquer, not leave the field.
He ran his hand down her back and cupped her bottom. As she sighed and moved against him, he smiled to himself. The effort to win her would be a good deal more pleasant than trying to resist her had been. Aye, this would be no penance at all.
Linnet would find that he could be every bit as determined as she, once his mind was set. And it was set on her.
Pride is a terrible thing. He wanted to leave her sated. He wanted to make certain that the next time she wanted a man, she could think of no one but him. He wanted her to sit by her window and long for him, ache for him. To dream of him, despite herself. To know that no other would ever satisfy her completely.
He wanted her to suffer as he did.
Jamie lay propped up on one elbow, watching her.
Without opening her eyes, Linnet took a deep, satisfied breath and murmured, “I cannot lift my arms.”
She looked as though her body fit the mattress like warm wax on the candle holder.
When she cracked her eyes open, he could not help giving her a wide grin. Then he blew on the damp skin between her breasts, down the center of her chest.
“That feels… heavenly,” she said, closing her eyes again.
He blew again, making her sigh.
“If we are to have an affair again, as it appears we are,” he said, “this time, it will be on my terms.”
Her eyes snapped open. “Terms? You speak as if we were enemies settling a war between us.”
Knight of Passion Page 10
