Chapter Sixteen
“Have you spoken to Owen again?” Linnet asked.
“Aye.” Jamie kicked a stone out of the path. “And he is every bit as unreasonable as the queen.”
A gust of wind blew cold and damp across the river. Linnet shivered and tightened her hold on Jamie’s arm. Each afternoon, they walked this path along the Thames where they could speak without risk of being overheard. No one else came out strolling in this chilly weather.
“I have begged the queen to be discreet,” Linnet said, “but she is poor at hiding her feelings.”
“I am certain no one notices but you,” Jamie said. “Owen’s lowly status is a blessing, for who would believe the queen would have an affair with her clerk of the wardrobe?”
Linnet rubbed her forehead against a threatening headache. “Until the queen tires of him or comes to her senses, we must help them keep their affair a secret. I’ve let the queen use my cloak to pretend she is me when she goes to meet him, and—”
Jamie jerked her to a halt and whirled her around to face him. “Linnet, you cannot do this. I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Surely, you did not say that.”
“Listen to me,” he said, fixing eyes as hard as sapphires on her. “You owe the queen your good counsel, and you have given her that. But you cannot do more. You cannot help her with this deception.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Tis far too dangerous.” He pressed his fingers into her arms. “Can you not see? If their affair becomes known, it will look as if you promoted it. The council will want to avoid blaming the king’s mother for flouting their will, but they will be happy to blame you—a foreigner—for encouraging her misdeeds.”
“Let go of me,” she said, but she did not argue.
She had learned through painful experience that she and Jamie held different views on what loyalty required. Discussing this further would change neither one’s mind. The queen needed her help, and she would give it.
“Don’t be angry with me.” He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “You know I am right.”
“Ha!” Still, it was hard to stay annoyed with Jamie when he was only trying to protect her—and harder still when he was gazing at her with that hungry look in his eyes.
“Come,” he said, tugging on her hand. “Let us find somewhere we can be alone and forget about those two for a while.”
She could no more resist him than swim against a strong current. “Do you have a place in mind?”
“I do,” he said with a glint in his eyes that sent a tingle all the way to her toes.
In the fortnight since their return from London, they had made love in the buttery, the wine cellar, empty storerooms, and even the woods—a feat in late November. She would have met him in his bedchamber, but Jamie did not want her being seen going and coming from his room. He worried far more than she did about her reputation.
“I have claimed an empty guestchamber for our use.” He held up a long iron key. “I stole this from the steward’s key ring.”
She laughed. “How did you manage that?”
“I shall never tell, but I expect I’ve committed an offense against the Crown.” He pulled her against him. “For such a risk, I expect to be rewarded.”
“You shall, I promise,” she said, smiling back at him. He dropped his arms and stepped away from her, as if suddenly recalling they were within sight of the castle.
“I don’t care who sees us,” she said. “I have no virtue to be ‘tarnished.’ ”
“Don’t speak that way.” Jamie looked past her, his jaw set and his expression grim.
She put her hand on his arm and waited until his gaze returned to her face. “I am glad you found a place for us. Tell me where it is, and I shall meet you there now.”
When he said nothing, she said, “Please, Jamie.”
Her stomach fluttered as his eyes went dark.
“Aye,” he said, “ ’tis past time I had you in a proper bed again.”
They returned to the castle together, bid each other good-bye in front of several people outside the hall, and then made their way to the appointed guestchamber by different routes. Following Jamie’s directions, Linnet skirted the Round Tower and entered the wing across from the royal apartments.
Her steps echoed as she hurried up the stairs to the second floor. At Christmas, this part of the palace would be filled with guests, but it was empty now.
She hoped the somber mood that had settled over Jamie by the river would not return before she reached the chamber. As soon as she tapped on the door, though, he pulled her into the room and kissed her with a fierceness that left no doubt of his passion for her.
How she wanted him! Every moment she was away from him, she ached for him. She leaned her head against the back of the door and closed her eyes as he pressed hot, wet kisses down her throat.
Strong hands roamed over her body, squeezing, stroking, as his mouth moved along the edge of her bodice.
Then his mouth was on hers, all hunger and want. He pressed his hard shaft against her, making her throb with need between her legs. When he cupped her bottom and lifted her, she had to tear her mouth away from his because she could not breathe. He bit her shoulder as he gripped her hips and held her against him.
How could it be like this every time? This mindless, aching need that took over every part of her—every thought, every hope—was a mystery she could not explain. For five years, she had felt nothing, needed no one. Now, all Jamie had to do was walk into a room and the pent-up desire of their years apart could knock her to her knees.
“Do you want me?” he asked, his breath hot in her ear. “Oh, aye.” She tried to speak the words but was not sure if she said them aloud.
He set her on her feet and held her face in his hands. Looking at her with eyes burning like blue fire, he said, “You do not want me as I want you.”
“I do,” she confessed. “More.”
She heard the ping of buttons popping and hitting the floor as he wrenched her gown open and pulled the bodice below her breasts. When he lifted her up, she wrapped her legs around his hips. She clutched his hair in her hands and let her head fall back as he cupped her breasts and pressed his face between them.
Aye, aye, touch me, touch me. Sensations ripped through her as he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and fingers and planted hot, wet kisses along her breastbone.
She pulled at her skirts. There were layers and layers of cloth between them. She wanted him now. Right now, inside her.
She tried to speak. “Jamie, I want…”
“Wait,” he said, his voice low and fierce against her ear. “I shall have you in a bed this time.”
She kept her legs wrapped around him as he carried her to the bed.
In a strained voice, he said, “I have not seen you fully naked since we returned from London. I want to. I need to.”
She nodded and released her legs.
“Is this a favorite gown?”
No sooner did she shake her head than he rent her gown in two, top to bottom, with his dagger. The burst of cool air felt good on her burning skin. He pulled the shreds of the gown off her, and she was naked.
He stood still a moment, his eyes raking over every inch of her. Then he closed the distance between them; his mouth was on hers, and his hand between her legs. Aye, aye. How she needed him.
His tunic felt rough against her breasts. She pulled her mouth away to say, “Your clothes, too.”
He threw the bedclothes back with one hand as he lifted her onto the bed. Before getting in beside her, he shed his own clothes. How did men undress so quickly? The thought flitted through her mind and was gone before he climbed up the steps of the high bed. That and every other thought left her as he lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms.
“God in heaven, how I want you, Jamie Rayburn,” she said.
In an instant, his mouth was on hers, and she felt the warmth of
his skin against her, head to toe. Their tongues moved against each other in deep, hungry kisses. His hand was on her breast, and she moaned into his mouth as he took the nipple between his thumb and finger. When she tore her mouth away, he lowered himself to play with her other nipple with his tongue. She pounded the bed with her fist because it wasn’t enough.
“Aye,” she said on a breath as he finally took her breast in his mouth and sent sensations jangling through her every nerve. She arched her back, wanting more still, but his hand moving up the inside of her leg distracted her. When he cupped her, she gasped.
Jamie had magic in his fingers. He claimed her mouth again as they did their work, racking her body with an onslaught of pleasure and tension. Not yet, she was going to say, because she did not want this only for her… and then she didn’t care.
“You are mine,” he said against her ear, and she was. She exploded into waves of pleasure.
Before she could catch her breath, he rolled her so that she lay on top of him. His shaft pressed against her, reminding her of his need and reigniting hers. One of his hands gripped her bottom and the other covered her breast as they kissed surrounded by the curtain of her hair.
She eased herself slowly down his body as she pressed kisses to his neck and chest. Straddling him, she turned her face to feel the hair of his chest against her cheek. He seemed to hold his breath as she ran her tongue down the center of his chest, tasting the salt of his skin. When she circled his nipple with her tongue, he groaned and gripped her hips.
She moved to one side of him and reached for his shaft, wanting to feel the hardness of his need for her. As she wrapped her hand around it, his moan echoed her own desire. She pressed wet kisses down his chest and stomach, letting her hair slide over him as she held his stiff rod in her hand. She wanted to please him, to pleasure him, to make him hers.
Her cheek brushed his shaft as she ran her kisses lower.
“ ’Tis more than I can stand,” he said, but he did not stop her when she took him in her mouth. His hands were in her hair, and his hips rose to meet her as she moved her mouth up and down. His moans egged her on and made her ache between her legs.
Suddenly, he sat up, pulling her up with him. Strong arms lifted her onto his lap. “Wrap your legs around me,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I want to be inside you when I have my release.”
Her womb tightened at his words. “I want us to be one,” he said.
His hands splayed over her back, holding her tight against him, as he took her mouth in hot, deep kisses.
She lifted herself to position the tip of his shaft at her entrance. The feel of him against her sent a spasm of anticipation through her.
She put her hands on either side of Jamie’s face and looked into his eyes. Her emotions were so strong they choked her, overwhelmed her. She feared she might weep, though from joy or sadness she did not know. She wanted to take him inside her and make him a part of her forever.
She wanted to tell him she loved him, but she did not. “Jesus, help me,” Jamie cried between clenched teeth as she lowered herself onto him.
The sensation of him sliding inside her was so intense, she gasped and squeezed her eyes closed.
Hearts racing and breathing hard, they clung to each other, fighting to remain still to prolong the moment. When he reached between them to touch her, she was almost too sensitive to bear it. Then he began to move inside her. She felt the pressure build and build inside her until a burst of stars lit up her vision as waves of pleasure pulsed through her.
But he did not stop. With his hands gripping her hips now, he moved against her without mercy, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The tension built inside her again, and she rocked against him, her hands clawing at his back.
From a distance, she heard him calling out to her as jolts of sensation shook her again. This time, they were so strong that she screamed. She screamed his name.
He wrapped his arms so tightly around her she could not breathe and fell back against the bed, bringing her with him. She lay on top of him, both of them breathing hard, their skin glistening with sweat.
“Jesus and all the saints!” he said, as if in praise of the miracle that had occurred between them.
She rested her head against his chest. His heart was beating as fast as hers, urgent and insistent in her ear.
This could not be normal. Other people could not feel this.
At this moment, everything she was, everything she wanted was here with him. She forgot the queen and Owen. Forgot her enemies. When she was in Jamie’s arms like this, all else faded to nothing. It frightened her that something so fleeting could make her forget everything else she wanted, everything she had worked so hard to achieve.
If she forgot them, what would she have when Jamie left her?
Linnet trailed her fingers down Jamie’s chest and sighed. Sometimes after they made love, she could almost believe things were as they once had been between them. Almost.
But they were both wiser and more jaded now. In sooth, she had always been jaded. Perhaps it was growing up knowing she had a father who didn’t care what happened to her. And from the time she was thirteen, men had told her lies and attempted to seduce her.
Jamie had thought himself worldly back then, being three years older and a warrior. And he was, in some ways. But at his core, he had been such an innocent.
Fighting had not taken that from him. She had.
She had been too young herself at the time to appreciate the purity—and, aye, the rarity—of his love for her. ’Twas a wondrous thing he had given her; she knew that now.
He desired her now as much as ever. If possible, the bedding was even better than before. He liked her, enjoyed spending time with her. But once, he had given her the kind of love that held nothing back, and she knew the difference. Jamie might feel some affection for her, but he would not give her his heart again. He would save it for the woman he wed.
She laid her head back down on his chest, needing to feel his warmth radiate through her.
How long before he decided he needed a wife? She knew him. Jamie would want a woman he could openly share his life with. How long would she have him before he left her for the quiet, staid life he wanted?
She swallowed and blinked against the sting in her eyes. He’d left her once. He would do it again. Everyone did, save for Francois.
It hurt her pride that she cared so much more for him than he for her. She was used to men trailing her, begging for her favors. But Jamie just had to give her that look and crook his finger, and she would follow him into a soggy field to make love against a tree in a downpour.
His breathing was the steady rhythm of sleep, so she got up on her hands and knees to look at him. Her heart hurt as her gaze drifted over the strong planes of his face in repose.
When he opened his eyes, the corners of his mouth curved up.
“You are a lovely sight to wake up to,” he said and brushed his knuckles lightly against her cheek. Then he drew his brows together. “But why are you sad?”
She shook her head.
He pulled her down against him and gave her a melting kiss that eased the ache in her heart. Nay, she would not be sad. No matter how much it hurt her later, she would make the most of the time she had with him.
Chapter Seventeen
Jamie took a long ride along the river to get away from the chaos in the castle. After the quiet weeks of November and early December, Windsor had become abuzz with activity overnight. Servants scurried to and fro, hanging greenery and preparing chambers for the many guests expected to arrive for Christmas Court.
Jamie preferred the castle when it was quiet and nearly empty.
As he cantered past, a flock of ducks rose from the mist of the river and formed a V above him. He drew in deep breaths, filling his lungs with the cold, damp air, and felt better. A man was not meant to spend so much time indoors. What he wanted was an estate far from London—a place where he would know all his tenants and t
heir families, as his parents did. He and Linnet could make a good life there.
The Duke of Bedford was bound to reward him for his services. Bedford had hinted at an estate in Normandy, but Jamie was holding out for lands in England. They were harder to come by, but England was home. He wanted his children to be born and bred on English soil.
“You needed this, too, didn’t you, boy?” He patted Thunder’s neck. A great warhorse was not made to be cooped up any more than he was.
Reluctantly, he turned Thunder around and rode back up the path. Windsor’s huge, distinctive Round Tower loomed ahead as a constant reminder of what lay ahead of him: a month of endless talk, silly entertainment, and political maneuvering. He hated it. Give him a good horse and a sword in his hand, any day.
Everyone of importance was expected to make an appearance at Christmas Court. That meant Jamie would have to keep his eyes open for danger to the queen. Many of the wealthy merchants, and some of the nobles as well, suspected the queen of secretly supporting her brother’s claim to the French throne.
As Jamie neared the castle, his squire came out the gate and ran up the path to meet him. Thunder’s breath came out in white puffs as he reined in.
“Good boy,” Jamie said and swung down.
“A message came for you, Sir James,” Martin said, holding out a rolled parchment.
Jamie handed Martin the reins and took the parchment. “Thunder will need a good rubbing-down.”
Jamie broke the seal and read the short missive. “Bedford has returned,” he said as he rolled it back up. “He has taken up residence at Westminster. I am to go to him at once.”
A few weeks ago, he had prayed diligently for Bedford’s return to England. Now that he no longer wanted it, this was the one prayer God chose to answer. The mysteries of heaven.
With Bedford in England, Jamie’s assignment to watch over the queen was at an end. Bedford’s authority was accepted, and his support for the queen was unqualified. His presence ensured her safety—at least from the risks known to Bedford. The queen’s getting caught in an affair with Owen Tudor was not, however, among the hazards Bedford anticipated.
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