Knight of Passion

by Margaret Mallory

  It had not been easy to find the herbalist. She and Master Woodley had spent the better part of an hour lost in the backstreets of London.

  There was no reason to hide that she was seeking the old woman’s help. Many people came to her, as Linnet’s grandfather had, for headache powders or a salve for aching joints. All the same, Linnet glanced up and down the lane before going through the door of the small shop.

  The gloom of the interior did nothing to alleviate her unease. As her eyes adjusted, she took in the rows and rows of tiny bottles and jars on the shelves that filled the wall on one side of the room. She stepped closer to see them better. The bottles were filled with every color of liquid. Curious, she picked up one that was thick with dust. Clearly, an unpopular remedy, but for what? She twisted the stopper off to take a sniff.

  “Have a care with that, you foolish girl!”

  Linnet jumped at the voice behind her and turned to find the oldest woman she had ever seen shuffling toward her.

  “Curiosity can kill as surely as a blade,” the woman hissed as she wrapped her gnarled fingers around Linnet’s hand. “This potion is for warts and will burn your hand like boiling oil if you spill it.”

  Linnet put the stopper back in the bottle with care. “Sorry, I did not mean to…”

  “Snoop? Bah. Of course you did.”

  The old woman took the bottle from Linnet and put it back in its place on the shelf.

  “Kill a man if poured into the ear,” the old woman muttered, then nodded, as if having a conversation with herself.

  Linnet reconsidered her quest. Suppose the old woman gave her the wrong herbs, and she became lovesick over a goat or grew an extra finger? It was known to happen. Although her grandfather spoke highly of this woman’s skills, that had been many years ago.

  “ ’Tis a problem with a man that’s brought you here,” the old woman said.

  Linnet drew in a quick breath. “Do you have the sight?” It was often the case with women who dealt in herbs and magic.

  “What other reason brings a young woman aglow with good health to me?” the woman said. “ ’Tis always a man causing her trouble of one sort or another. But I’ll not complain. If men behaved as they ought, I’d have no food on my table.”

  Linnet smiled as she thought of buying the potion for warts and pouring it into Pomeroy’s ear. Unfortunately, life was never that simple.

  “If you’ve come seeking magic to do harm, you can turn yourself about and go.” The woman made a circular motion with her spindly finger and then pointed to the door. “I trade only in healing herbs and love potions.”

  “I have come for two remedies, both to good purpose.” Linnet sidled up to the woman and said in a low voice, “I want the herbs that keep a woman from getting with child.”

  Jamie could pretend it would not happen again, but a woman had to be pragmatic. Their passion had exploded like oil spilled on a cooking fire. No matter what their intentions—or how angry she was with him at present—the risk of their emotions raging out of control again was too great for her to take the chance again.

  She had started her bleeding this morning—as if her mood was not foul enough after Pomeroy and Jamie. But she would not rely on luck a second time.

  “I warn every woman, the herbs will nay prevent every pregnancy. Never stops them, though,” the old woman said, shaking her head. She pointed to a large cloth bag on the floor. “This one you boil, then soak the piece of wool in it that you use to block the womb.”

  Linnet raised her eyebrows. If she and Jamie ended up in bed again, it was hard to imagine them stopping to do all that.

  “Works best if your man’s predictable, if you know what I mean.” The woman pursed her lips into a mass of wrinkles, then said, “The sort who wants an extra cup of ale and a cozy after Mass on Sunday, reg’lar as rain.

  “But if you’ve a young man, as I’m guessin’ you have”—Linnet jumped as the old woman jabbed her side with a pointy elbow—“then you’ll be wanting the oil of pennyroyal or wild carrot seeds.”

  Linnet had heard that a woman could bleed from every orifice and die from taking a few drops too many of penny royal.

  “The wild carrot, please.”

  The old woman nodded, apparently agreeing with her choice. “Now tell me what else you’ve come for,” she said, raising one scraggly eyebrow. “I’d wager a ha’penny ’tis a strange one.”

  Linnet leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Do you have something that works the opposite of a love potion? A potion that will cause a woman to find a man—a particular man—unappealing?”

  She thought of Jamie’s midnight-blue eyes… and then of how the hard muscles of his stomach felt under her fingertips.

  Unappealing might not be strong enough.

  “The potion must make him repulsive. Repugnant. Abhorrent.”

  The old woman gave a high-pitched cackle. “If one medicine does its work, dearie, you’ll not need the other. So which is it you want,” she said, chortling and waggling her head from side to side, “to prevent the bedding or just the begetting?”

  “This one is for a friend,” Linnet snapped. This was not entirely a lie; the queen could use a dose to keep her from Edmund Beaufort.

  The old woman wiped her eyes on her dingy apron. “Tell your ‘friend’ to confess to the priest and stop fornicating with a married man.”

  “He is not married,” Linnet said, growing more annoyed.

  “All the same, ’tis the work of the devil, and I’ll not do it. I am a God-fearing woman, I am.” Her head bobbed, and she added in an undertone, “Unlike some I know.”

  The woman groaned as she leaned down to lift a large cloth bag onto the table that held her weights and measures. “I’ll get the wild carrot seeds for you.”

  “Let me help you with that,” Linnet said, rushing over to lift the bag for her.

  “Ah, you’re a good girl,” the woman said. “Not like that other highborn lady what come here.”

  “Who was that?”

  “If I’d known she meant to use that love potion on a Lancaster—and a married one at that,” the woman said, ignoring Linnet’s question, “I swear by the bones of Saint Peter, I’d never have given it to her.”

  “A Lancaster? Which one?” Linnet asked.

  The woman shook her head. “I can see warning you about curiosity a second time is a waste of my breath. ’Tis in your nature, just as evil is in others.”

  Linnet disregarded the shiver that went up her spine and leaned across the table on her elbows. “Come, tell me. Who did she give the potion to?”

  “Never say where you heard it.” The old woman glanced toward the door, then said in a raspy whisper, “She used it on Gloucester himself, to take him from that foreign wife of his. May God forgive me.”

  Linnet sucked in her breath. “You mean Eleanor Cobham?”

  “Aye. She’s a bad’un, I tell you. Her and that priest who follows her like death.”

  She motioned for Linnet to lean closer. “Then she comes back, asking for the other kind, same as you. ’Tis a dark art, I tell her, but she don’t care. She’s one who wants what she wants.”

  “What did she do when you refused her?”

  The woman began scooping wild carrot seeds from the large bag into a small one. “I hear she went to Margery Jourdemayne.”

  “So this Margery can make a potion that renders a man repulsive?”

  The old woman fixed Linnet with her bulging eyes. “Put that thought out of your head. Better to fornicate with that married man of yours than dance with the devil.”

  “I told you, he is not married—”

  “But he ain’t married to you either, now is he, dearie?”

  Linnet had nothing to say to that.

  “You can be sure I never taught that sort of magic to Margery when she was my apprentice.” As she put another scoop of wild carrot seeds into the small bag, she mumbled, “Sorcery! Consorting with the devil!”

  Linnet lea
ned back. “Surely not.”

  “Just mind you don’t cross either of them two women,” the old woman said as she tied the bag closed with her gnarled fingers. “Birds of a feather—and they are sharp-beaked ravens who would pick eyes from the dead.”

  The woman stopped what she was doing to stare at nothing Linnet could see. After a long moment, she said, “I wonder what others have joined their coven…”

  Covens? Consorting with the devil? Linnet eased the small bag from the woman’s fingers. “Thank you kindly for the herbs. How much for the bag?”

  “Three silver pennies.”

  Linnet gave her two extra coins for her trouble.

  “Take my advice, dearie, and toss the herbs in the river on your way home.” The woman patted Linnet’s hand. “A beauty like you—your man is sure to wed you once he gets you with child.”

  Linnet made her escape.

  “I am sorry to keep you waiting so long, Master Woodley,” she said when she found him in the tiny lane outside the shop.

  She looked over her shoulder as they walked. “Did you see anyone watching the shop while I was inside? Or anyone in the lane who did not seem to belong here?”

  Perhaps it was just the strange old woman and her gossip, but Linnet felt a prickle of unease at the back of her neck, as if someone were watching her.

  “I saw no one out of the ordinary for this neighborhood, save for a priest who passed.” He cleared his throat. “And you, of course, m’lady.”

  Master Woodley was always precise and accurate, excellent attributes. “I am certain you are the best clerk in all of England.”

  “That may be,” he said, sounding peeved. “But I am too old to serve as your protector as well. If you insist on going to every unsavory part of the city, you need a strong young man to accompany you.”

  How thoughtless of her! Master Woodley did look tired.

  “You may hire a young man as big as an ox for me when I return to London,” she said, taking his arm more for his benefit than hers. “ If you promise to make Francois pay attention to the accounts while I am gone.”

  Master Woodley drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “The second task is by far the more difficult one.”

  She patted his arm. “I know you will do your best.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jamie sat on his horse waiting for the queen and her entourage to board the barge that would take them up the Thames to Windsor. As he watched Linnet, he congratulated himself on his decision to make the journey by horse. Spending an endless day in an enclosed barge with her would have been uncomfortable for them both.

  She appeared to be giving instructions to an elderly man—the very one who had sought his help the day Linnet was caught on the bridge. After bidding the old man farewell, she joined the other ladies on the wharf. She was the loveliest of them all, in a deep blue-gray cape and hood with silver-gray fur trim that framed her face.

  He touched his cheek, remembering the slap, and felt a twinge of guilt.

  If she was traveling with the queen, why was she taking the queen’s hands and kissing her cheeks? A horse whinnied, and Linnet turned to look up the bank. Following her gaze, Jamie saw none other than his own squire leading a pure white palfrey up the path.

  Nay. She would not do it. She would not ride with them all the way to Windsor.

  Martin swept her a low bow and went down on one knee to help her mount. For his excessive gallantry, Linnet gave the lad a smile that must have warmed him to his toes. She swung up onto her horse with the grace of a natural rider.

  All the other ladies had the good sense to travel by covered barge. It was a full day’s ride to Windsor. And November, for God’s sake. Jamie had told Francois he would bring her horse for her. But he could see that Linnet was back to her stubborn, independent self.

  What a sight she made on the high-strung palfrey. As she rode up the hill toward him, she looked like a fairy queen come to tempt lowly mortal men. He glanced at the men gathered to make the ride to Windsor. Judging from their rapt faces, her magic was having its usual effect.

  “Let us be off,” he called out to them. “We’ve a long day ahead.” That was the God’s truth.

  Since they could both be at Windsor for weeks to come, he would have to get used to being around her. He fell in beside her, deciding to set the tone now. They would be courteous to each other. No intimate conversations, just formally polite.

  “You’ve a fine horse,” he said, making his attempt at banal conversation. He should have stopped there, but somehow he could not help adding, “Not so fine that you shouldn’t have left her on the bridge in the riot. But a fine horse, nonetheless.”

  “She is special,” she said, smiling as she leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck.

  He forced himself not to think of those long, slender fingers grazing the flat of his stomach. But that only made him think of them stroking his thigh… or clenched in his hair as she cried out…

  “Your uncle Stephen found her for me,” she said. Found who? He nearly asked the question aloud before he remembered they were talking about her horse.

  “Stephen did?” The traitor. All the members of his family who had met Linnet in France remembered her fondly. But then, they did not know her as he did. He unclenched his jaw to ask, “So you’ve seen Stephen and Isobel?”

  “Aye. They were in London when I arrived a few weeks ago.”

  Of course Stephen and his wife would see Linnet. “Speaking of kin,” he bit out. “I learned that you and Pomeroy are related.”

  “I would hardly call it that.”

  “Christ’s blood, Linnet, did you have to marry his uncle? Was there not some other wealthy old man you could have ensnared?”

  “There were others,” she said in a pleasant voice, “but Louis was the best.”

  Louis. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “How was he best?”

  “He had a sense of humor.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “ ’Twas a good arrangement,” she said with that annoying little smile on her face. “We both got what we wanted.”

  “I can guess what he wanted,” Jamie muttered, not quite under his breath.

  She shrugged one delicate shoulder. “He wanted a young wife to flaunt before his friends.”

  “As I recall, you wanted a brief marriage,” he said. “I take it this ideal husband of yours complied?”

  She was an effortless rider, sitting tall but at ease in her saddle. To watch her, you would never guess she had rarely ridden as a child—unless you counted riding in a carriage or cart, which he didn’t.

  “What I wanted,” she said, her gaze fixed on the road ahead, “was funds to start my business, a house in Calais, and a foothold in the Flemish cloth market.”

  Francois had mentioned something about Linnet taking up their grandfather’s trade.

  “Francois said you challenged Pomeroy to a duel.” She turned to fix him with that determined look of hers that said she meant to get her way. “You must know how utterly foolish that was. I insist you withdraw the challenge.”

  “A man cannot let that sort of brutish behavior go unpunished,” he said, though he felt a bit queasy about his own behavior toward her.

  Evidently her thoughts traveled in the same direction for the look she gave him would sear the bacon crisp. He refrained from reminding her that she had been every bit as passionate as he.

  “Pomeroy did not harm me,” Linnet said.

  “He did.” Seeing the thin line on her cheek where the devil’s spawn had cut her set his blood boiling again.

  “A scratch is nothing,” she said. “You cannot murder a close ally of Gloucester over it, when killing him might set off a civil war.”

  How he had burned to take his sword to Pomeroy right there in the Great Hall at Westminster. But she was right that any spark could ignite the conflict between the feuding royals into violence. And so, Jamie had issued a challenge for Pomeroy to meet him in single combat at a place outside the
city.

  Yesterday afternoon, he rode to the appointed place a mile and a half outside the city and waited for Pomeroy.

  Three hours he waited.

  When Jamie stormed back into the palace, ready to run the cockroach through on the spot no matter the consequences, Pomeroy was gone. He had left London for his estate in Kent. If Jamie did not have a duty to stay near the queen, he would have followed Pomeroy.

  For now, he had to content himself with sending a message to Kent renewing his challenge. He left it to Pomeroy to name the place and time. Eventually, he would teach Pomeroy the lesson he needed.

  “It is not your place to defend me,” Linnet said, bringing Jamie back to the conversation at hand. “I can take care of myself.”

  Jamie snorted. “I have seen how you do that. What can you be thinking, traveling about London with no one but that ancient man for an escort?”

  It drove him half-mad to think of it, ’twas so foolish. “Master Woodley is a very useful man.” She spoke primly and sat even straighter on her horse. “I’ve never had a better clerk.”

  “You use a clerk for protection? For God’s sake, Linnet, don’t play games about this. Pomeroy is a dangerous man.”

  She looked off into the distance with narrowed eyes for a long moment. Then, in a low voice he barely caught, she said, “Why can he not let it go?”

  “Let what go?” Jamie asked. “There is something more to this business with Guy Pomeroy, isn’t there?”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. After a pause, she said, “Sir Guy accused me of killing his uncle with sorcery.”

  “The loathsome swine!” There was no more dangerous charge to level at a woman. “But I heard your husband was old as… uh, quite elderly.”

  “Louis was three score and ten and in poor health, so no one took the accusation seriously.” With a roll of her eyes, she added, “Sir Guy even accused me of using a love potion to persuade Louis to wed me in the first place.”

  Pomeroy was a fool. Linnet had no need of love potions. She could blow her breath into bottles and sell it.

  “You’d best tell me what else you did to him,” Jamie said. “Surely, I deserve to know the entire story before I kill him.”