Knight of Passion (2 page)

Afterward, she lay in Jamie’s arms, wishing the contentment of the moment could last. It never did.

“I’ve sent a letter to my parents,” Jamie said, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I expect my father will grant
me a small estate upon our betrothal.”

Her heart began to race. “Betrothed? You haven’t spoken to me of betrothal before.”

“Did I need to?” She heard the smile in his voice. “After what we’ve being doing, I thought it obvious.”

“But you never told me. You never asked me.”

“I see I have committed a grievous error,” he said, sounding amused. “All right, let me ask it, then. My darling Linnet, love
of my heart, will you wed me and be my wife?”

“Nay, I will not.”

“What?” Jamie sat up and leaned over her. “I am sorry if I offended you by not speaking plainly before. You know I love you.”

“Men say that all the time.”

“But I mean it,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “And I shall still love you when your beauty is no more than
a memory traced upon your face.”

They had left the bed curtains drawn. In the sunlight from the tall window, she took in the strong lines of his handsome face,
the intense expression in the violet-blue
eyes. She swallowed. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Why did he not tell her these things before?

She reached up and cupped the side of his face with her hand. “You will always be special to me as my first lover.”

“First lover!” His fingers dug into her arm. A moment later, he released her and flopped back down on the bed. “How you enjoy
torturing me with your teasing! Sometimes you go too far.”

Why do men never believe what you say? They persist in believing “no” means “perhaps,” and “I despise you” means “I want you
to write me bad poetry.”

“I do not wish to be a wife,” she said to Jamie. “I could not bear having a man tell me what to do all my life.”

Jamie laughed. “As if I would dare try.”

“You would. It is what men do.”

He turned on his side, his dark hair falling across his eyes. “Let us pretend you are serious. What else could you do? I cannot
see you as a nun.”

She batted away his hand as he reached for her breast. “I may make a brief marriage.”

“A brief one?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Aye, to a very old man who will leave me a wealthy widow,” she said. “Or, I may become a famous courtesan.”

The bed shook with Jamie’s laughter.

“I am trying to be honest with you,” she said, slapping his shoulder.

“You are beautiful enough to become the most famous courtesan in all of France,” he said, pulling her on top of him. “And
you know it very well. But enough of this foolishness. We must make our plan.”

She may as well be speaking to a turnip. She pushed
away from him and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. In sooth, she could not imagine letting anyone else touch her
the way Jamie did. But her plans required independence and money of her own.

Whenever her resolve weakened, she thought of the men who robbed her grandfather blind when he grew feebleminded toward the
end. They were men he’d done business with for years; men he’d trusted and loaned money to in hard times. Not an hour after
he died, these same men stripped their house in Falaise of valuables. Because of them, she and her brother, Francois, were
stealing food to survive even before the English siege began.

One day, she would return to Falaise and destroy every one of those men who stole from them and left them to starve.

“Do you think your father will object to our marrying?” Jamie asked, startling her from her thoughts.

“Aye, he would,” she said absently over her shoulder, “because the devil’s spawn has already chosen a husband for me.”

Jamie jerked upright beside her. “He intends to pledge you to another?”

“After ignoring me and my brother for most of our lives, Alain thinks he can play father now and tell me what to do.” Alain
sorely underestimated her. “He only claimed us because his legitimate sons are dead.”

Jamie gripped her arm. “Who is the man he wants you to wed?”

“That snake Guy Pomeroy.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows. “Your father aims high. Sir Guy is close to the Duke of Gloucester, the king’s youngest brother.”

“ ’Tis not for my benefit, you can be sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hate the way Sir Guy looks at me. I swear, I would
put a blade in his heart before I let him near me.”

“You are mine to protect now.” Jamie took her hand and kissed it. “I know you loathe your father, but he must be dealt with.
It will be awkward if he has already spoken with Sir Guy, but that cannot be helped.”

“I have taken care of it.” She had to tell Jamie now. He would be so angry he might not speak to her for days.

“Let me do this,” Jamie said. “I know what assurances must be given, what pressures can be brought to bear. Your upbringing
was… irregular. I understand these things better.”

“Think about what you are saying, Jamie,” she said, raising her hands in exasperation. “I am a bastard and a merchant’s granddaughter.
I was not raised to live the kind of life you want.”

“You are of noble birth,” Jamie said in a firm voice. “Everything is changed now that your father has claimed you.”

“I am not changed,” she said. “What you need is a dull English noblewoman who will be happy to share the boring life you are
looking forward to.”

“Linnet, you cannot—”

She lifted her hand to stop him. “I know how it will be. Each summer, you will come to France to fight with your glorious
king. Then, each winter, you will return home to get your wife with yet another child, settle disputes among your peasants,
and spend the evenings telling tiresome stories of your victories by the hearth in your hall.”

“It is a good life,” he said, laughing. “It only seems dull to you because you do not know it.”

She took his face in her hands. “You will be furious with me, but there is something I must tell you.”

“First you must promise not to speak to your father of our marriage before I do,” Jamie said.

He leaned forward to kiss her but froze at the sound of voices just outside the door. As the door scraped open, he threw the
bedclothes over Linnet and turned his body to block the view of her from the door.

She scooted up next to him and called out, “Good day, Alain. How fortunate you brought Sir Guy with you; he’s told me many
times he wished to see me naked in bed.”

Both men stared at them slack-jawed for a long moment. Then her father roared, “God’s blood, Linnet, what have you done?”

“Surely,” she said, widening her eyes, “I need not explain it to you?”

“You said she was a virgin,” Sir Guy spat out, then slapped Alain hard across the face. “I should have known a whore would
beget a whore.”

Sir Guy was a powerfully built man, and his violence startled her. When he turned to Jamie with murder in his eyes, she put
her hand on Jamie’s shoulder.

“I won’t forget this,” Sir Guy said in a voice so full of menace Linnet’s stomach tightened. “You shall pay dearly for this
one day, James Rayburn.”

Jamie threw her hand off his shoulder. For the first time since the others entered the room, she looked at him. Jamie’s eyes
were fixed on her, wild and accusing. She heard, but did not see, Sir Guy slam the door. Sir Guy and her father did not matter
anymore.

“You planned this. You wanted them to find us,” Jamie said, his voice cracking. “You only went to bed with me
to make your father angry. I thought… I thought you loved me.”

The air went out of her, and she could not speak. God have mercy, what had she done?

“You’ve ripped my heart from my chest,” Jamie said in a harsh whisper. “I am the world’s biggest fool.”

Jamie slid down from the bed, swept up his clothes from the floor in one arm, and started toward the door.

“I shall whip you within an inch of your life, girl,” Alain shouted. His face was purple, his fists clenched.

Jamie grabbed Alain by the front of his tunic and lifted him off his feet. “I am tempted to murder her myself, but I will
kill you if you lay a hand on her for this,” he said, the threat in his voice as sharp as the edge of a dagger.

Heaven above, Jamie was magnificent, stark naked and furious.

“If you were not such a horse’s arse, she would not have done it.”

Jamie was defending her, which meant he was already halfway to forgiving her. She would explain it all to him. Then they could
go on as before.

Jamie picked up his clothes again and walked to the door. He opened it and turned. “Send word if there is a child,” he said
to Alain. “I shall be in England.”

London

October 30, 1425

T
he stench of the Thames made Sir James Rayburn’s eyes water as he rode through the angry crowd. The “Winchester geese,” the
prostitutes who worked this side of the river under the bishop’s regulation, would not do much business today. The men filling
the street were not here to seek pleasures banned inside the City; they were spoiling for a fight.

Earlier, Jamie had crossed the river to gauge the mood within the City of London—and found it on the verge of riot.

The crowd grew thicker as he neared London Bridge. Men glared at him but moved out of the way of his warhorse. As he pushed
through them, his thoughts returned to the evening before. There had been far too many men-at-arms at the bishop’s palace.

Over supper, Jamie had tried to discern the bishop’s intent in bringing so many armed men to Winchester Palace. Under the
bishop’s watchful eye, however, none of
the other guests dared speak of it. Instead, they pressed Jamie for news of the fighting in France.

He obliged them, telling them of the recent battle against the dauphin’s forces at Verneuil. As he warmed to his tale, the
ladies leaned forward, hands pressed to their creamy bosoms. He liked to tell stories. Just when he had begun to enjoy himself,
Linnet’s words came back to him.

What you need, Jamie Rayburn, is a dull English wife who will be content to spend her evenings listening to you recite tiresome
tales of your victories.

After all these years, Linnet’s ridicule still rankled. He had brought his story to an abrupt end and left the bishop’s hall
for bed. Damn the woman. Five years since he’d seen her, and she could still ruin his evening.

Calling him boring was the least of Linnet’s crimes against him. No matter that he was three years older and she was not quite
sixteen at the time—next to her, he’d been a babe in the woods. It embarrassed him to recall how he had worn his heart on
his sleeve back then. While he professed eternal love and adoration, Linnet used him without a shred of guilt or regret.

After the debacle, he left Paris at once in the hope of reaching England before his letter. But nay. He had to suffer the
additional mortification of telling his family he and Linnet were not betrothed after all.

Someone should have told him that men value a woman’s virginity far more than women do themselves. He had mistaken the gift
of hers as a gift of her heart—and a pledge of marriage. Never again would he let a woman humiliate him like that.

That did not mean he’d sworn off women. In sooth, he had bedded any number of them in his determination to
wipe Linnet’s memory from his mind. Most of the time he succeeded.

Thinking of her now put him in a foul mood. God’s beard, he could not breathe with all these people hemming him in. Judging
by Thunder’s snorts and flattened ears, his horse felt the same.

“We’ve seen enough,” Jamie said, patting Thunder after the horse snapped at a fool who got too close.

With his untimely death, their dear and glorious King Henry had left a babe heir to two kingdoms. The Duke of Bedford, the
dead king’s eldest surviving brother, had the difficult tasks of governing the French territories and prosecuting the war
there.

While Bedford was occupied in France, two other members of the royal family vied for control of England. The power struggle
between Bedford’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester, and their uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, had been simmering for months.
Now that their dispute had spilled over into the streets, however, it was far more dangerous. Jamie must send a message to
Bedford at once.

As Jamie turned his horse to return to the bishop’s palace, someone grabbed hold of his boot. He lifted his whip but checked
his arm when he saw it was an old man.

“Please, sir, help me!”

The old fellow’s eye was purple with a fresh bruise. From his clothing, Jamie guessed he was not a part of the rabble, but
a servant of some noble household.

Jamie leaned down. “What can I do for you?”

“The crowd separated me from my mistress,” the man said, his voice high and tremulous. “Now they’ve taken my mule, and I cannot
reach her.”

Sweet Lamb of God, a lady was alone in this mob? “Where? Where is she?”

The old man pointed toward the bridge. When Jamie turned to look, he wondered how he had missed her. London Bridge was three
hundred yards long, with shops and houses projecting off both sides. But in the gap created by the drawbridge, Jamie had a
clear view of a lady in a bright blue and yellow gown sitting astride a white palfrey. She stuck out from the horde around
her like a peacock atop a dunghill.

“Out of my way! Out of my way!” Jamie shouted, waving his whip from side to side above the heads of the crowd. Men flung themselves
aside to avoid the hooves of his horse as he forced his way forward through the throng.

As he rode up onto the bridge, he heard the familiar sound of an army on the move. He turned and saw men-at-arms marching
up the river from the bishop’s palace. God’s blood, the bishop had even sent archers.

Jamie had heard a rumor that Gloucester intended to ride to Eltham Castle to take custody of the three-year-old king. Evidently
the bishop feared Gloucester’s intent was to usurp the throne, for he had decided to stop his nephew at the bridge by force
of arms.