Knight of Passion (24 page)

Pomeroy had the gall to say, “What challenge?”

This was a private dispute; Jamie made it public now only to force Pomeroy’s hand. If Pomeroy had the sense to remain quiet,
Jamie would have refrained from saying anything more in front of the other men.

“What challenge?” he said, his eyes burning into Pomeroy’s. “The challenge I delivered to you a full two months past at Westminster.
The challenge I repeated in messages delivered to you every week since.”

At this, the gazes of the other men shifted from Jamie to Pomeroy. A man might seek a peaceful resolution to a challenge,
but he could not simply ignore it—at least he could not and retain the respect of his peers.

“Come, Rayburn, I thought you were jesting,” Pomeroy
said. “I could not credit that you would risk your life over a woman so common.”

Pomeroy was a hairbreadth from having Jamie’s blade in his chest. ’Twas a shame it would be dishonorable to cut the godforsaken
man down while he sat in a chair.

“I have waited nearly two months for you to name the time and place,” Jamie said, biting out the words. “I will have satisfaction
this day. Two miles upriver there is a wide bend in the Thames. Meet me in the field on the south side in two hours, or I
shall come find you and strike you dead for a coward.”

Pomeroy raised one black eyebrow. “I warned you before, she is not worth what this will cost you.”

Jamie lifted his sword and brought the sharp edge down with a crack, cutting a half dozen of the valuable cards with one stroke.
He lifted the sword and leaned forward until the point touched Pomeroy’s tunic over his miserable heart.

“All you need to know,” Jamie said, “is that saving that lady a moment’s concern is worth more to me than your life.”

Pomeroy kept his composure; Jamie had to give him that.

“Is defending her”—Pomeroy cleared his throat—“
virtue
worth your life?”

“Be in the field at the bend in the river, or I shall come find you,” Jamie said. “If I have to chase you down, I promise
you, I shall show no mercy.”

Jamie straightened and sheathed his sword.

“This is a personal matter between Pomeroy and me.” He let his gaze travel to every man at the table. “If men
hear of it beforehand and take sides, it will feed into the current political strife. That will serve no one.”

There were several grunts of agreement around the table.

“Can I rely upon you men to keep quiet until the matter is settled?”

“That you can,” Sir John said in his deep voice. “To be certain, we shall remain together until it is done.”

Jamie nodded his thanks.

“What say you to riding out to observe the fight?” Sir John said to the others.

One of the men slapped the table and grinned. “This is a fight I’d like to see.”

This was followed by nods and “ayes” all around the table. Men loved to watch a fight.

Jamie gave Pomeroy a long look before he turned on his heel and left. When he stepped out of the tower, he drew in a deep,
cleansing breath of cold air and started across the lower ward.

“You gave Pomeroy no means to avoid the fight,” Martin said as he caught up to him.

Lord, he’d forgotten the lad was with him.

“ ’Tis too late for that now,” Jamie said without turning his head. In the messages he had sent Pomeroy over the weeks, he
had hinted that Lady Linnet might be willing to accept a formal apology and a sum of money—large enough to be painful to Pomeroy—as
compensation for the harm done.

But that would not satisfy Jamie now. This sort of fighting was so much more complicated than war. He must put the fear of
death into Pomeroy, without actually killing him.

Jamie preferred the rules of war. He wanted Pomeroy’s blood.

“Was that wise, sir?” Martin asked. “To provide no opportunity for a peaceful resolution?”

“ ’Tis the only way.”

“But Sir Guy is well-known for his fighting skills,” Martin persisted.

“What kind of father do you have that I must explain this to you?” Jamie exploded.

Christ give him patience! He’d had enough talk for one day. The lower ward was huge and took so long to cross he wished he’d
brought his damned horse. Just when he thought the boy had the good sense to be quiet, he spoke again.

“My mother devoted herself to teaching me the virtues of knighthood,” Martin said, sounding as though he had given Jamie’s
last remark careful thought. “But perhaps my father would have taught me the more practical aspects had he not died when I
was a babe.”

Damn. Why did he not know the boy’s father was dead? Martin was his squire. If the boy had no father to teach him what he
ought to know, then it was Jamie’s duty to do it.

“The matter with Pomeroy is a simple one,” he explained. “Pomeroy poses a threat to Lady Linnet. As she is my future wife,
I cannot allow that.”

“You are to wed her? That is the best of news, sir.”

Jamie was not feeling particularly joyous about it at the moment. But he was determined.

Martin was quiet until they passed the guards at the gate by the Round Tower that separated the lower and upper wards.

“Are you certain you will prevail, sir?”

“Aye.” There was no other choice.

“May I be your second, sir?”

The boy’s offer broke Jamie’s sour mood. “You are a good lad, but I will not need a second,” he said, slapping Martin on the
back. “But there is something I would have you do for me.”

“It would be an honor, sir.”

“I want you to tell Lady Linnet I had to leave Windsor on business for Bedford.”

“You want me to lie to her?” Martin’s eyes went wide. He did manage to refrain from reminding Jamie that a knight is honest
and true—though Jamie could see he wanted to.

This time, Jamie laughed out loud. “Trust me, this is not the sort of thing you tell a woman until after it is done.”

Martin appeared to think this over, then nodded. “I see. ’Tis more gallant to save the lady what might be needless worry.”

Or, in the case of my beloved, it is best to give her no opportunity to interfere.

“When shall I say you will return?” Martin asked.
When I’ve put the fear of God into Pomeroy.

Likely as not, Jamie would end up with a few bumps and scrapes. He was quick to mend, but he might not be in fit shape to
be seen today.

“To save her needless worry,” Jamie said, a smile twitching at his lips, “tell her not to expect me before the morrow.”

When they reached his chamber, Jamie set Martin to polishing his shield and cleaning his boots. He sharpened
his sword and dagger himself, as he always did, and slid an extra blade into his boot. As he strapped on his sword, he looked
up to find Martin watching him with an earnest expression.

“I begin to feel insulted by your lack of faith.”

“ ’Tis not that,” Martin was quick to assure him. “But I fear that a man who would insult Lady Linnet cannot be trusted to
follow the rules of chivalry in fighting either.”

“A good observation,” Jamie said with a nod of approval. “Sir John thought the same, which is why he made sure he and the
other men will be there to serve as witnesses.”

Martin blinked at him. “You know Sir Guy has no honor and yet you will fight him?”

What nonsense had the boy’s mother put into his head?

“Believe it or not, Pomeroy will not be the first man I’ve fought who was not a man of honor,” Jamie said, suppressing a smile.
He put his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “If you find yourself often fighting men of honor, you must ask yourself if you are
on the wrong side.”

He was ready to go. Martin went with him to the stables to help him with Thunder. Once he was mounted, he looked down at his
squire, who was still holding on to his horse’s bridle.

“May I come to watch, after I tell Lady Linnet the lie?”

“Aye.” The lad could use the experience of watching a rough fight or two before Jamie took him to France.

“Take care, sir.”

The lad looked so anxious that Jamie had to laugh. “You’re a good lad, but you fret like an old woman.”

Jamie leaned over to give Martin a friendly rap on the head. “My father taught me well, as I shall teach you. I am well prepared
for the likes of Sir Guy Pomeroy.”

The conversation with Martin cheered him considerably, and he enjoyed the ride along the river. Fighting was not something
he worried much about. He had been trained by the very best—his father and his uncle Stephen. In a fair fight, he was any
man’s match. In an unfair fight, chances were just as good he would prevail.

As he approached the wide bend in the river, he saw the lone horseman waiting in the middle of a field shorn of its summer
harvest.

Pomeroy. Jamie’s light mood vanished.

He should have dealt with Pomeroy a long time ago. He had been hard on Linnet—not that she didn’t deserve it. But he had been
angry with himself as much as with her. After today, Pomeroy would know better than to come near her.

If Jamie let him live.

As he rode closer, he saw four other horsemen near the hedge that separated the field from a wood. He recognized the big man
who lifted his arm in greeting as Sir John.

Pomeroy wore full armor. For one-on-one fighting, Jamie thought this was a mistake. A coward’s mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

“A fine afternoon,” Jamie said to Pomeroy. “’Tis filthy cold,” Pomeroy said and rammed his helmet on.

Jamie shrugged. “Not so cold as to freeze the ground. The gravediggers should have no trouble with your grave.”

As he waited for Sir John to join them in the center of
the field, Jamie examined Pomeroy’s horse, weapons, and gleaming armor.

“In fairness, I must tell you,” Jamie said. “The armor is a mistake. I’m willing to wait while you remove it.”

“You insolent bastard of a traitor! You dare instruct me on how to fight?”

Jamie shrugged again. “I warned you.”

Sir John rode up between them and cut off Pomeroy’s string of curses.

“Each of you will ride to the far end of the field and await my signal for the combat to begin,” Sir John said. “It ends when
one of you concedes or is dead. Agreed?”

“Aye,” they both answered.

Jamie cantered to the edge of his side of the field and turned Thunder to face their opponent. His great warhorse danced sideways,
as ready for a fight as he. Jamie fixed his eyes on Pomeroy. Cold, hard anger filled him as he let himself remember Linnet
on her knees with the fiend’s hand coiled in her hair.

You will pay for the humiliation you caused her, for the fear in her eyes, for that cut on her cheek.

“Sirs, are you ready?” Sir John shouted.

“Aye!”

“At my signal,” Sir John barked out. He raised his sword, then swung it down, shouting, “Commence to fight!”

“Aaarrgh!!!” Jamie shouted his battle cry. Thunder’s hooves pounded beneath him as they charged across the field. He and this
horse had been through so many battles together that they read each other like brothers. At his signal, Thunder galloped head-on
at Pomeroy.

At the last minute, Pomeroy’s horse tilted left. Jamie hit
Pomeroy with his shield with a loud
thwack
as he passed, but Pomeroy stayed on his horse. On the next pass, Jamie took a heavy blow with his shield and struck Pomeroy
across the back with the flat of his sword.

So long as they were on their horses, Pomeroy’s armor gave him the advantage. Dislodging Pomeroy from his horse, however,
was proving more difficult than he had anticipated.

“I do not know where you got your reputation for fighting, Pomeroy,” Jamie shouted. “You must have been at the back with the
carts and the mules, for you would not have lasted a day fighting at King Henry’s side.”

Pomeroy galloped toward him with a roar and swung his sword at Jamie’s side with all his force. Jamie felt the wind of the
sword on his back as he flattened himself against Thunder’s neck. Then, in one movement, he rose up and slammed the flat of
his sword across Pomeroy’s back. Pomeroy was already half off his horse when Jamie turned Thunder around and flung himself
onto Pomeroy’s back.

They crashed to the ground amid flying hooves. As soon as Jamie stopped rolling, he leapt to his feet, sword at the ready.
He waited for Pomeroy, who was slower, hampered by his armor.

After that, the fight did not take long. Without the armor, they would have been a close match, for Pomeroy was powerful and
skilled. Jamie was all that, but he was also agile and quick.

Finally, Jamie slammed Pomeroy to the ground, straddled Pomeroy’s chest, and wrenched off his helmet. Battle rage rang in
Jamie’s ears. As he looked into the man’s black eyes to his blacker soul, it was all he could do not to draw his dagger across
Pomeroy’s neck.

But a knight was expected to show mercy, not kill a countryman, after he had disarmed and defeated him in single combat.

“If you ever touch Linnet again,” Jamie hissed through his teeth, “I shall rip off your arms and legs and eat your heart.”

Pomeroy’s eyes had fury in them, too. “I concede,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now get off me.”

Jamie thought of the thin line of blood on Linnet’s fair skin and could not let the man go unmarked.

“First, let us see if you are as brave as she is.” Jamie picked up Pomeroy’s sword from where it had fallen and brought the
shining blade to Pomeroy’s cheek.

Pomeroy’s demeanor changed instantly. His eye twitched and sweat beaded on his brow.

“Do not cut me,” Pomeroy said in a low voice.

“What is it?” Jamie demanded. When Pomeroy said nothing, Jamie pressed the flat of the blade harder against Pomeroy’s cheek
without quite breaking the skin.

“Stop!” Pomeroy swallowed when Jamie eased the pressure. In a low rasp, he said, “There is poison on the blade.”

“You would stoop to poison?”

Jamie’s hand shook with the effort not to kill the man for the affront. The devil stood on his shoulder, urging him to slice
the poisoned blade across Pomeroy’s cheek. The devil whispered in his ear that no one would suspect Jamie knew the blade was
tainted. The blame would fall on Pomeroy himself. A man who chose so dishonorable a means to win a contest deserved an ignoble
death.