Gloucester rose from his chair, drawing the attention of everyone in the hall. “Sir Guy! Welcome!” His voice rang out as he raised his cup in greeting. “Come join our fine feast!”
God help him, did he have to deal with that horse’s arse Pomeroy as well?
Although he and Pomeroy did their best to avoid each other, the circle of noblemen around the Lancaster royals was small. Consequently, Jamie had seen Pomeroy several times both here and in France. But he had not been in the same room with both Pomeroy and Linnet since—
Since that day in Paris when Pomeroy found the two of them in bed.
Jamie glanced at Linnet. She had gone deathly pale. Sir Guy strode to the center of the room and swept a low bow before the high table. After greeting the royals, he turned and dipped his head to Linnet. Linnet’s mouth tightened; she did not return the courtesy.
While everyone was watching Pomeroy take his seat at the high table, Linnet got quietly to her feet and left the hall. Edmund Beaufort did not go with her.
With Linnet gone, Jamie thought he could relax and concentrate on his food. But the queen’s lady on his right—Joan? Joanna?—kept touching his arm and giggling in his ear. Then the other one began to rub her foot up his leg. He began to sweat.
A short time later, Francois appeared at his side. Francois did not say a word, but jerked his head toward the door.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Jamie said and got up at once to follow Francois out. As he passed the table where Martin sat with several other squires, he caught Martin’s eye and nodded.
As soon as Jamie and Francois were away from the prying ears of the hall, Francois said, “Pomeroy just left the hall. I fear he followed my sister.”
“Then we must find her first.” Jamie turned and waved to Martin to follow them.
“I told her not to do it, but she would not listen,” Francois said as they started down one of the long, dark corridors. “ ’Twas like stepping on a venomous snake and then poking a stick at it.”
Apparently Linnet had done something to Pomeroy in addition to arranging for him to discover her in bed with Jamie. “How did she poke a stick at him?”
“You did not know?” Francois turned cornflower-blue eyes on him that were the exact same shade as Linnet’s.
Damn, it was unnerving how much the two looked alike.
“Linnet married Pomeroy’s uncle. His great-uncle.” Jamie’s stomach went sour imagining an old man’s hands on her.
“She had Pomeroy sweating every moment for fear his uncle would get her with child.” With a sideways glance, Francois added, “You see, Pomeroy was his heir.”
“I swear, your sister walks into trouble every chance she gets,” Jamie said, picking up his pace to a trot.
“The worst part is that she believes she can handle trouble alone,” Francois said.
“Go straight,” Jamie said as they came to an intersecting corridor. “I’ll take Martin and look down this one.”
As Jamie moved down the dim corridor, opening doors, he told himself he was lucky Linnet had refused him five years ago. If she were his wife, he would be an old man by now.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Linnet walked as quickly as she could without running outright. She turned down a corridor, though she had no idea where it led. She was not even sure which part of the palace she was in now. Her only plan was to put as much distance as possible between her and Pomeroy.
As she came to another corner, she glanced over her shoulder. No one was behind her, praise God! She blew her breath out as she rounded the corner.
And then she ran headlong into Pomeroy.
In an instant, his arm was locked around her waist and his hand was over her mouth. She kicked and tried to bite him as he backed through the nearest door. When his hand slipped from her mouth, she drew in a deep breath to scream. Before she could get it out, a knife was at her throat.
Panic pounded through her veins.
“Can I not have a private word with you without all this fuss?” Pomeroy said next to her ear.
He smelled of onions and dank sweat covered by a heavy, sweet scent that made her gag.
“Can I?” he said, and she felt the sting of the blade against her throat.
She nodded.
He dragged her across the room to the far wall, next to three tall windows. Rain and wind beat against the windows, like the storm raging inside her. Gripping her chin, Pomeroy studied her in the dim light, as if taking in every curve and shadow.
“As exquisite as ever,” he said on a long breath. “God is a jester to give this much beauty to such a worthless creature.”
She willed herself to regain her calm. Somehow, she must outwit him and get away.
“I have a bone to pick with you, my dear,” he said. “You might,” she agreed in a tight voice. Then she let her anger get the better of her and added, “But I am sorry for nothing.”
He gripped her chin tighter, and she flinched in spite of herself.
“I believe you are sorry—sorry you failed to steal my inheritance,” he said, his spittle hitting her face.
“If I had wanted to take it, I could have.”
His eye twitched. “What are you saying?”
When she did not answer, he spun her around, twisting her arm behind her back.
“Tell me.”
When she shook her head, he twisted her arm until sweat broke out on her forehead.
“I took herbs so I would not get pregnant,” she gasped. He turned her back around to face him. Her arm tingled and ached as the blood flowed back into it.
“And all this time, I thought my uncle was too feeble to raise his banner,” he said in a mocking tone. “Still, you must have had to work hard to get it up.”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
“You’ve no notion what I am capable of,” he said, his dark eyes snapping. “Take off your headdress. Now.”
“I will not. Ouch!” She held on to it as he tugged at it with one hand, ripping her hair out by the roots and making her scalp burn. “Ouch! Ouch!”
When he wrenched it off her head, hairpins flew across the room and bounced on the floor. He gave her a hard shove in the middle of her back, causing her to stumble and fall forward on her hands and knees. Then he grabbed her by the hair and roped it around his hand. Tears burned the back of her eyes as he jerked her up to her knees.
The musty smell of his private parts in front of her face made her nauseous. She clawed at his hand—but stopped when the edge of his blade touched her cheek.
“I know how to tame a demon harlot.”
The blade stung, and she felt a drop of blood slide down her cheek. She started to shake uncontrollably.
“Now you are going to do for me what you did for my uncle.” He nudged her with his knee. “Untie the laces of my chausses.”
Chapter Five
Jamie opened the door, and his heart dropped to his feet. Pomeroy had Linnet on her knees before him, her hair twisted like a rope around his fist. The edge of his blade lay against the perfect alabaster skin of her cheek. It was not difficult to discern what the devil’s spawn was trying to make her do.
Jamie drew his sword but put his arm out in front of Martin. “Steady,” he said in a low voice. “If we startle him, he might cut her.”
Pomeroy had not heard them come in over the pounding rain outside the window. Jamie stepped a few feet forward and cleared his throat loudly.
Without moving his blade from Linnet’s cheek, Pomeroy turned. His eyes widened when he saw Jamie. After a pause, he said, “You are always where you should not be, Rayburn.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow. “I assume the lady’s answer was nay.”
“She is no lady, as you well know,” Rayburn spat out. “But you will have to wait your turn.”
Jamie wanted to slice out Pomeroy’s tongue and feed it to the dogs for that remark. Instead, he said with deliberate casualness, “You are a braver man than I.”
As Pomeroy watched, Jamie
drew a coin from the pouch at his belt and flipped it into the air. “I’ll wager a gold florin she will bite that tiny cock of yours right off.”
For a moment, it looked as if his taunt had worked and Pomeroy would come after him. Linnet’s shriek was like broken glass against his nerves as Pomeroy jerked her to her feet by her hair. Rage throbbed at Jamie’s temples. If Pomeroy did not have a blade against her throat, he would be a dead man now.
Jamie was done playing games. “You hurt her again, Pomeroy, and I swear you will not leave this room alive.”
Sir Guy must have sensed he meant it, for he began easing toward the door. One false move, and Jamie would have him.
“I don’t like being threatened, Rayburn,” he said. “No matter what tricks she does for you, she is not worth the trouble this will bring you.”
Linnet’s eyes were wild and her jaw set, a dangerous combination. Jamie hoped to God she would not do something stupid.
“You two, stand over there.” Pomeroy pointed with his chin to the wall farthest from the door. “Stay back and move slowly.”
Jamie nudged Martin. As they moved toward the far wall, Pomeroy and Linnet skirted the room in the opposite direction until they reached the door.
“She is a sorceress,” Pomeroy said, his eyes full of fire. “She has the power to call on demons and make men do as she wills.”
Jamie put his hands out, palms up, in a calming gesture. “Just let her go, Sir Guy.”
“I warn you, Rayburn,” Pomeroy said. “You shall not live if you interfere with my plans again.”
With a sudden move, Pomeroy shoved Linnet to the floor and fled out the door.
Jamie ran to Linnet, who lay in a heap on the floor before the door. Falling to his knees, he gathered her in his arms. She collapsed against his chest, shaking and weeping.
“My squire will stay here with you,” he said into her hair. “I shall return as soon as I can.”
“Nay, do not leave me,” she said, clinging to him.
“I cannot let that swine get away.” The blood was pounding in his veins. “I must go after him now.”
“Do not leave me,” she wailed. “Please, Jamie, do not go.” Every muscle screamed to run after Pomeroy and tear him limb from limb with his bare hands. But with Linnet weeping and clutching at his tunic, he could not leave her. He sighed and wrapped his arms more tightly around her.
“I will do it,” Martin said with one hand on the door. “Halt!” Jamie was not about to let his new squire get killed going after Pomeroy alone. “I will deal with him later. Go find her brother Francois. Tell him I have his sister and that she is safe.”
As soon as the door closed behind Martin, Jamie reached up and slid the bar across. He wanted no more surprises.
Linnet’s body shook with sobs as he enfolded her in his arms again. “ ’Tis all right now. I am here.”
As he rubbed her back, the silken strands of her hair fell over his hands. It smelled of citrus and spring, just as he remembered.
“Promise you will not go,” she said, her breath hot against his neck.
Linnet never admitted to needing anyone. Never begged him to stay, even when he left Paris. She was always so strong. He’d never seen her like this.
And it undid him.
When she acted strident and independent, he could resist her. When she was angry, as she had been at Eltham, he could keep his distance. But seeing her vulnerable like this broke down every barrier he had.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was holding her lovely face in his hands and kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids…
And then, at long last, his mouth was on hers. Outside the window, the wind blew harder and the rain pounded against the ground, echoing the thundering of his heart as he gave himself to long, deep kisses.
Kissing Linnet felt as it always had: both a familiar coming-home and wildly erotic. It was as if nothing had ever changed.
He broke away to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in. The smell of her skin filled him… and he was a lost man.
Five years of trying to forget her, gone in one breath. Every woman he had touched to wipe away her memory was forgotten. There was no one for him but her. There never had been. There never would be.
He kissed her again. Though her face was still damp with tears, she kissed him back with a fierceness that sent his blood thundering in his ears and pulsing through every part of him. Her fingers grazed the bare skin of his belly beneath his loosened shirt. He gasped as the surge of lust nearly blinded him.
They fell to the floor, tearing at each other’s clothes, seeking the skin beneath. Her throat, her breasts, her thighs, her jaw. Every part of her was both familiar and a rediscovery. He reveled in the smell of her hair, the exquisite line of her throat, the perfect breasts that filled his hands. He had to have her, to own her, to make her his again.
“ ’Tis been so long.” Her voice was rough with longing in his ear. “Please. Now. I cannot wait.”
Oh, aye. Now.
They went from memory, their bodies joining with a violent, pent-up need for each other. All he knew in life was this passion between them—a passion so hot it burned his eyelids and scorched his soul.
Being inside her like this was all he wanted, all he was. Pounding, thrusting. She held on to him, her legs a vise around his hips, her hands clutching his hair. When she screamed, he exploded in a climax that was near death.
He could barely keep from collapsing on top of her and crushing her with his weight. Somehow, he managed to fall beside her and roll over onto his back. His ears rang. He was light-headed, dazed, gasping for air.
Good God. Sex like that could kill a man.
He crossed an arm across his forehead and stared at the ceiling.
Christ, what had he done?
He could not look at Linnet. If he did, he would want to pull her into his arms… to feel her head resting on his shoulder… to run his hands over her back… his fingers through her hair…
Nay, he could not look at her now and say what he must. “This will not happen a second time,” he said at last. “I’ll not play your fool again, Linnet. I’ll not do it.”
He pulled his braies and chausses up from around his knees and sat up. Damn, he hadn’t even taken his boots off. He pulled his shirt and tunic over his head, then got to his feet. With his back to her, he tied the laces of his chausses.
Over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll take you to your chamber and bring your brother to you there.”
Praying she did not need his help with her own clothing, he finally turned around to face her.
God help him. With her flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, and skirts in disarray around her, she looked well-used. And every man’s dream in the deep of night.
She was attempting to hold her gown over her breasts as she struggled to get her arm through one sleeve. As his gaze slid over her bare shoulders, he cursed himself for his weakness. Touching her was dangerous, but what could he do? He could not walk her through Westminster Palace half-naked.
He swallowed and offered her his hand. “Let me help.”
One moment, Linnet felt deliciously glorious, stretched out like a cat on the floor with her arms above her head. The next, she was stricken, nauseous with hurt, and clutching her gown to her chest to hide her nakedness.
After the firestorm of passion that exploded between them, Jamie simply got up and dressed. No last kiss or touch. No soft word. Nothing but the harsh statement that he would not be made a fool again.
Outside the windows, the rain had grown into a storm, casting a dark pall over the room. She was grateful for the loud drum of rain that covered her labored breathing.
When Jamie offered his hand, she ignored it and continued struggling into her gown. Damnation! ’Twas impossible to get into it alone. Fighting back tears, she stumbled to her feet and turned her back to him.
He helped her into her sleeves and then swept her hair aside to fasten her gown. Each time his fingers
grazed her still-sensitive skin, unwelcome sensations rippled through her. She wanted to scream at him, but she could not trust herself to speak yet.
By the time he finished, she had control of herself. She slapped away his hands when he attempted to help her with her shoes. Finally, she was dressed so she could leave this wretched room. Between Pomeroy and Jamie, it would be forever etched in her mind. If she never returned to Westminster Palace, it would be too soon.
“Do you remember Owain ap Tudor?” Jamie said as he walked beside her down the narrow corridor. “He was one of King Henry’s squires of the body.”
He spoke as if making polite conversation at dinner in a hall full of people. As if he had not been inside her not ten minutes ago. As if nothing earth-shattering had happened between them.
Well, she could play this game as well as he. Concentrating to keep her breathing normal and her voice steady, she said, “You mean the handsome Welshman with the devil in his eyes?”
“I suppose so,” he said with an edge. “He calls himself Owen Tudor these days. He will be meeting us at Windsor with a letter commending him to the queen’s service.”
“I shall look forward to seeing Owen,” she said, deliberately using his Christian name. “The company of a good-humored man of charm and wit will be immensely refreshing.”
As they turned onto the main corridor, she saw her escape: Francois and Jamie’s young squire were coming toward them.
But she was not going to leave it like this. Nay, she was not. She would not let him walk away without a word, as if it had not happened. She grabbed Jamie’s arm, jerking him to a halt. When he turned toward her, she slapped him across the face, hard.
“Don’t you ever touch me again and then regret it, Jamie Rayburn.” She was so angry her vision blurred. “Don’t you ever do it.”
She picked her skirts up and left him where he was. She did not look back.
Chapter Six
“Wait here,” Linnet told her clerk.
Knight of Passion Page 5