Knight of Passion (11 page)

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.”

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.

“D
o 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.”

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.”