Knight of Passion
Page 22
“Nor I,” the queen said, clasping Linnet’s hand. “I wish Owen could have ridden inside the carriage with us.”
Linnet chose not to respond. Nothing could have been more inappropriate than to have the queen’s lowly clerk of the wardrobe travel in her carriage all the way to Leicester Castle.
Linnet and the queen were thrown against each other as the carriage rumbled and swayed over the uneven slats of the castle’s drawbridge. Without pausing, the carriage continued through the barbican and gatehouse. After crossing the expansive bailey yard at a fast clip, the carriage finally pulled up before what looked to be the castle hall.
Linnet pressed her face to the gap in the carriage cover.
“Jamie is here!” she cried out.
There he was, on the steps right before her. After longing for him every hour for the past month, she could not quite believe he was here.
He and an older knight, both in chain mail, were running down the steps two at a time, shouting to their escort and waving the carriage on. Mercy, he looked wonderful in his knightly garb, hair flying behind him, as he sprinted to the carriage.
The carriage tipped alarmingly as Jamie and the other knight leapt onto the outside of it. The carriage lurched forward, throwing Linnet against the back of the seat. Before she could grab hold of anything, she fell against the queen as the carriage careened around first one corner, and then another. Finally, it jerked to a halt.
Linnet untangled herself from the queen and attempted to straighten her headdress. Through the gap in the cover, she saw they were stopped beside a low building attached to the back of the castle hall.
The carriage door burst open, and a huge, formidable man with a hard, handsome face and fading tawny hair blocked Linnet’s view of anything behind him. It was Jamie’s father.
“Lord FitzAlan,” Linnet said. “What has happened, sir?”
He gave her a quick nod as he offered his hand to the queen. “We must make haste, Your Highness.”
FitzAlan lifted the queen down from the carriage as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. Then Jamie took his father’s place at the carriage door. He looked every inch the gallant knight come to save her, from the determined line of his jaw to the glint of the sword in his hand.
The tension of Jamie’s stance, alert to every danger, showed he expected trouble. She was so frightened now she wanted to throw herself at him.
“Out. Now.” He spoke in a sharp voice as he looked to the left and right of the carriage.
She grasped the hand he held out to her and found herself almost flying through the air. Then his arm was about her waist, holding her tight against his side. Her feet barely touched the ground as they followed the queen and FitzAlan through a low doorway. Judging from the low arched ceiling of the passageway, they were in an undercroft.
“We are in the kitchens?” she heard the queen say.
“ ’Tis the safest route, Your Highness,” FitzAlan said.
Smells of roasting meats and warm bread wafted out to them as Jamie hurried her past the noisy entrance to the kitchen.
“What is the danger here?” she asked him.
“Hurry now.” Jamie kept one hand on her and held his sword in the other as he moved her along. All the while, his eyes searched side to side and behind them. Linnet caught glimpses of barrels and pots and sacks of grain as they continued along the passageway past various storerooms.
“But what is happening?” Linnet said. “Tell me.”
“Not now.”
They came to a narrow servants’ staircase. FitzAlan led the way and helped the queen after him.
“You first,” Jamie said, a firm hand at her back.
She lifted her skirts and ducked her head. The dark, enclosed stairwell seemed to have been made for smaller people. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Jamie taking the first steps backward, his sword at the ready.
Dear God, what was this? Linnet gave her arm a sharp shake, so that the handle of her thin dagger fell into her palm.
After climbing three flights without pausing, she was perspiring. Whether it was from exertion or fear, she could not say. The sounds of the men’s boots and her own labored breathing echoed in her ears in the enclosed space. When FitzAlan opened a door above her, the sudden noise of a great many voices startled her.
As FitzAlan held the door and waved them forward, Linnet stepped over the stone threshold and ducked through the low doorway on the queen’s heels.
She found herself in a half-open corridor or gallery. Shouting filled the air, echoing off the walls and ceiling. Linnet went at once to peer over the railing. Below her was a vast hall filled with people. They were yelling and raising sticks in the air.
Jamie grabbed her by the arm and snatched her back from the railing. “Along here,” he ordered, pointing ahead. “Stay close to the wall.”
FitzAlan was at the other end of the gallery, holding another door open for them. The queen gave Linnet a terrified look over her shoulder before ducking through the doorway.
When Linnet followed her, she felt as if she had stepped into another world. She was in an oak-paneled room with tall, cheval-glass windows on one wall and exquisite tapestries on the others. Through the doorway opposite, she could see several connecting rooms.
“Where are we?” She tilted her head back to take in the elaborate ceiling with its even rows of carved paterae.
Queen Katherine looked about her and heaved a sigh. “We are in the queen’s apartments.”
“You’ll be safe here,” FitzAlan said. “We have guards posted at all the doors.”
“I will advise His Grace the Duke of Bedford that you have arrived,” Jamie said to the queen. “He will want to explain the situation to you himself.”
“You are not leaving us, are you?” the queen said before Linnet could get the words out. “After frightening us half to death, you cannot abandon us.”
“My father will stay with you while I—”
“My son will stay with you,” FitzAlan interrupted. “Jamie, I have other matters to attend to now that we have them away from that crowd.”
“Why were all those men carrying sticks and bats?” Linnet asked.
“Jamie can explain.” Tilting his head toward the door they had come through, he said to Jamie, “I’ll send a few more men up to guard the servants’ entrance.”
With that, FitzAlan dipped his head in the general direction of the queen and Linnet and departed.
“Your father is a man of few words,” the queen remarked.
“That was a long speech for him,” Jamie said, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture that was so familiar it sliced through Linnet’s heart.
She longed to step into his arms and rest her head on his chest. In the month since he had broken their marriage plans and left Windsor, she had been miserable. She could not even summon an interest in pursuing her enemies. While she still read the reports Master Woodley sent her, she had not returned to London. Instead, she had remained in the quiet of Windsor, where she and the queen could comfort each other for their losses.
She wanted to ask Jamie a thousand questions. Was he still angry? Did he suffer as she did? Was he betrothed to Agnes?
Instead, she asked, “What is happening here?”
The queen, however, did not wish to discuss the turmoil taking place outside the doors of this quiet apartment.
“King Henry loved to come here,” she said before Jamie could answer. A soft smile touched the queen’s lips as her gaze moved around the room.
Linnet sensed her friend’s sadness and bit back her impatience to question Jamie. “You were here with the king?”
The queen nodded. “This castle brought back fond memories of his grandfather, John of Gaunt.”
“They say he was closer to his grandfather than his father,” Linnet said.
The queen took her hand and squeezed it. “ ’Tis true. Of course, his father was often off fighting when Henry was young.”
Henry Bo
lingbroke, forever known as the Usurper, had favored his second son, Thomas. When he was in England, it was Thomas he took to court with him. He left his heir to spend time either with his grandfather or at Oxford under the tutelage of his half uncle, Henry Beaufort. Linnet was not alone in believing Henry was a better king for it.
“This was one of John of Gaunt’s favorite castles,” the queen said.
John of Gaunt not only ruled on behalf of his nephew, Richard II, during Richard’s minority, but he was also the richest man in England in his time. A look around the opulent room made it easy to believe.
Both women turned at the sound of boots and male voices. A moment later, the door swung open and the Duke of Bedford entered.
“ ’Tis good to see you, dear sister,” Bedford said, leaning over the queen’s hand. He gave Linnet a polite nod, then continued, “I’ve sent a messenger to intercept the king’s carriage. There is no point in his coming to open Parliament until things are quiet here.”
“I will not see my son?”
Bedford’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a kindly smile. “I hope he can be brought here soon.”
Linnet watched as the queen worried the kerchief in her hands. Would she not complain? Would she not shout and demand to be with her son? Surely, the queen could bring some pressure to bear? Make threats, promises, whatever it took.
Linnet found it hard to understand her friend’s passive acceptance of her loss of control over her child. But then, Linnet had not been raised in a royal household, where such things were understood from childhood.
“Where are my trunks?” the queen asked.
Her trunks? She is separated from her only son once again, and she asks after her trunks? And the queen put the question to Bedford, as if he were one of her servants and not the effective ruler of England and France.
The duke, however, showed no offense. “Your clerk of the wardrobe is overseeing their removal from the wagon.”
Linnet now understood why the queen had asked: Owen was likely to be wherever her trunks were. Rather than fight her situation, she sought Owen to comfort her in her distress.
“Sir James,” the duke said, interrupting her thoughts, “your presence will reassure the ladies. Stay and keep them company.”
Damn his father and damn the duke for leaving him to cope with the women. Now that he’d seen Linnet—and the queen, of course—to safety, he wished to be gone.
Linnet turned to him and his breath caught in his throat.
“Tell us now,” she said. “What is happening here?” Once again, the queen diverted the conversation. “I shall rest until Owen comes. The events of the day have been rather trying.”
“I will help you get settled,” Linnet said.
The queen held up her hand and gave Linnet a wan smile. “Stay with Sir James. I know you are anxious to hear the news.”
Jamie watched the queen pass through two adjoining rooms before entering the third and closing the door behind her.
He was alone with Linnet, which was the last thing he wanted—or rather, the last thing he needed. Was everyone conspiring against him?
“Well?” Linnet folded her arms and tapped her foot, in that way she had. “Are you going to tell me?”
It took him a moment to recall where he was and what she was asking about. “Gloucester and the bishop are still at each other’s throats. The King’s Council feared Gloucester’s supporters in Parliament would incite violence, so they banned the members from carrying weapons.”
“I take it they did not foresee the need to include wooden bats in the ban?”
“They did not,” he said, amused by her remark, despite himself. “With the merchants and Gloucester’s other supporters up in arms—or bats—nothing can get done. Bedford is threatening to cart his fractious family off to Nottingham and force them to come to terms.”
At the sound of a door scraping behind him, Jamie turned to see Stephen Carleton duck in through the servants’ entrance.
“Stephen!” Jamie called out as he went to greet him. Stephen, who was just ten years older than he was, was more like a brother to him than an uncle.
“You think I came to see you?” Stephen said. “Nay. I heard the exquisite and delightful Lady Linnet was here.”
Stephen opened his arms to Linnet. When she ran into them, Stephen swung her in a circle.
“You devil, Linnet, why have you not come to see us?” Stephen said. “Isobel told me to give you a most severe scolding.”
“Where is Isobel?” Jamie asked, interrupting what seemed to him an excessively warm greeting. “Did she not come with you?”
“She cannot travel now,” Linnet said in a tone that suggested he was an idiot.
“She is with child again,” Stephen said with a broad grin.
With a warm smile that shone in her eyes, Linnet said, “How happy she must be. I am sure Isobel is the best of mothers.”
Jamie reminded himself that Linnet did not want to be a mother; she wanted to murder men who had wronged her family.
“I just arrived, but there is no point in staying if Parliament can get no business done,” Stephen said. “I intend to turn around and go home. The two of you should come visit us until this is settled.”
Linnet’s cheeks turned pink and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Jamie did not believe for a moment that Stephen had not heard he and Linnet had parted ways. When Jamie glared at him, Stephen merely smiled and looked at him expectantly.
Jamie cleared his throat. “I will come for a few days, as I have matters to attend to nearby.”
“What matters?” Stephen asked, knowing damned well Jamie did not wish to discuss this in front of Linnet.
“I believe you know of my errands.”
“I heard your mother told you about the monk who was your father, and that you intend to visit the monastery where he lived.”
Linnet gasped aloud. Jamie ignored her; he did not want to hear—or answer—her questions.
“Apparently you are not my only uncle,” Jamie said. “The monk’s brother wishes to see me.”
“Sir Charles Wheaton,” Stephen said. “I know him. He is a good man.”
Jamie sighed. In addition to Stephen’s uncanny ability to hear news before anyone else, he seemed to know everyone.
“You have other business as well?” Stephen asked. Jamie told himself there was no reason not to say it; it was no secret. Still, he was careful not to look at Linnet as he spoke. “I intend to visit Lord Stafford to arrange my betrothal to his daughter.”
Stephen’s brows shot up. For once, Jamie had surprised him. Stephen took a step closer to Linnet, as if taking sides.
So much for blood ties.
Chapter Thirty
“Hold your shield higher,” Jamie instructed.
He was practicing with Martin in the enclosed courtyard behind the palace.
Martin lifted his shield, and Jamie gave it a good crack with the flat of his sword that sent Martin back three paces.
“That is the way,” Jamie called out when the lad came back swinging.
Martin had a natural skill with the sword and was improving daily. But instead of following through as he should, Martin checked his swing and dropped the point of his sword.
“What is the matter?” Jamie said. “I did not call a halt.”
Martin widened his eyes and began making an odd motion to the side with his head.
“By Saint Wilgefort’s beard, Martin, just say it!”
“She is here,” Martin said in a whisper loud enough to carry a mile.
There was only one woman who could make his squire act like the village idiot.
That made two of them.
Jamie steeled himself to see Linnet before turning around, but his effort was for naught. The sight of her made him wretched with longing. Aglow in a cream and gold gown, she looked like an angel sent from heaven to brighten the world for lowly man.
He reminded himself she was no angel. This was Linnet.
Was Linnet here to attempt to change his mind? He told himself she could not do it… but he knew he lied. One brush of those long, slender fingers, and he would weaken. He missed her like the devil. Her absence was an ache that never left him. Perhaps he was wrong to hold out against her. Would he suffer more with her than he did without her?
“If you’ll sheathe your sword,” Linnet said without a hint of humor, “I would speak with you.”
Clearly, she was not here to pledge her undying devotion and beg him to take her back. He heaved a sigh as he slid his blade into the scabbard at his belt. Then he folded his arms to indicate he was ready to listen.
“Something unexpected has happened,” she said, her voice pitched high with tension.
What was this? Linnet was clutching her skirt, and her knuckles were white.
“Unexpected?” he asked.
“I cannot speak of it here,” she said, glancing up at the dark windows overlooking the empty courtyard. “We must be somewhere private.”
He narrowed his eyes, taking in the rigidity of her stance, the lines of tension in her face. Something had upset her enough to swallow her pride and come to him.
It seemed unlikely anyone could overhear them in the courtyard—but apparently it was not private enough for what she had to tell him. His curiosity grew.
“There is an old armory off the courtyard that is no longer in use,” he said, gesturing to a weathered wooden door. “No one will hear through the stone walls.”
The door creaked as he opened it for her. In the gloomy light that filtered in from the small windows near the roof, he saw broken shields and other weapons beyond repair piled against one wall. Two long benches were covered in a thick layer of dust.
“I have no cloak for you to sit on.” Puffs of dust filled the air as he swiped at one of the benches with his sleeve.
“I don’t wish to sit, thank you.”
What made her so nervous? It was so unlike her. He watched her closely as he waited for her to tell him. As her gaze flitted around the room, a thought began to grow in him.