Knight of Passion

by Margaret Mallory

  “Where can I find the mayor’s father-in-law?” “Brokely retired to his estate a few miles outside the city several years ago. He is in poor health and travels little.”

  “All the same, he visited Mychell’s house recently, did he not?”

  The alderman’s eyes shifted from side to side. “I would not know about that…”

  “Do not leave your house tonight,” Jamie said, jabbing his finger into the man’s chest. “And for God’s sake, wash yourself before I come back for you.”

  Jamie sent Master Woodley to wait at Linnet’s house and left Martin to watch the alderman’s house.

  “If he leaves, I want to know where he goes,” he ordered. “But do not follow him inside any buildings. You are to stay out of trouble, stay out of sight, and keep your distance. Do you hear me?”

  Martin nodded.

  Jamie rode at a full gallop for Brokely’s estate, cursing himself for not helping Linnet get to the bottom of the plot earlier. She could squeeze their purses, but some men only did as they ought with a blade at their throat.

  It was growing dusk when he finally reached Brokely’s enormous manor house on a quiet stretch of the Thames. Since a house this size would have a great many servants and guards, he could not push his way through the front door as he had at the alderman’s. Instead, he tied his horse and worked his way to the house through the shrubs and tall reeds along the riverbank. The wind still held the bite of winter, but there was a hint of spring behind it.

  The growing darkness put him on edge, and a sense of urgency nipped at his heels. Soon—he must find her soon.

  Here in the heart of England, defenses were minimal and guards lax. On his second try, Jamie found an unlocked door and slipped inside. He had learned from his uncle Stephen that if you acted as though you had a right to be in a place, no one was likely to question you.

  Jamie passed some men talking among themselves as they put their tools away for the day. They barely spared him a glance as he crossed the yard and entered the house from the back.

  ’Twas a different matter when he burst through the doors to the hall. Every servant turned to stare as he stood at the entrance, his sword in his hand. An old man sat alone wrapped in a blanket next to the hearth.

  “Brokely, your son-in-law sent me,” Jamie said, deciding to get the information he needed through subterfuge this time. “I suggest you send the servants away while we talk.”

  “How did you get into my hall? Who are you?” The old man pounded his cane on the floor as he shouted. It was a distinctive silver-clawed cane.

  “The mayor believes you know the whereabouts of Lady Linnet,” Jamie said.

  Brokely’s eyebrows flew up. A moment later, he waved the servants off with his swollen, knobby hands, saying, “Shoo! Shoo!”

  Jamie sighed. Pressuring old men and soft merchants was unpleasant. Give him a good fight against a worthy opponent any day.

  “Your son-in-law has learned of what you did to Lady Linnet’s family,” Jamie said.

  “ ’Tis high time Coventry knew and gave me proper thanks,” the old man said, banging his cane again. “If not for my fortune, he would not be mayor today. And I’m not ashamed of what I did to get it. ’Twas only because my daughter insisted, that I kept quiet.”

  So the mayor’s wife knew—and the mayor did not. “Was it she who gave you that fine cane? It must have cost her a pretty penny.”

  “She, at least, is grateful for all I’ve done for her.” “Then she must be grateful to her husband as well, for she gave him a cane just like it,” Jamie said.

  “Bah. I don’t know why she set her sights on that prattling dog. But ’twas my money that bought him for her.”

  “Money you stole from an honest man who had fallen ill,” Jamie said. “Have you no shame for that?”

  “He was a foreigner who made far too much profit than ought to be allowed on English soil.” Brokely shook his head. “I only wish I could have done it sooner. But that foreign devil was a clever bastard.”

  “The mayor says that if you wish to see your daughter and grandchildren again,” Jamie said, taking his lie a step further, “you will tell me what has happened to Lady Linnet.”

  “He would not dare.”

  “You know damned well he would,” Jamie said. “I suspect that is why your daughter kept it from him all these years.”

  “Coventry always did have a pole up his arse, the self-righteous fool.” The old man spat on the floor. “The ungrateful son of a—”

  “Tell me now!” Jamie shouted. “What have you done with Lady Linnet?”

  “I’ll tell you, but it will do you no good now.” Brokely turned his gaze to the darkened window. “ ’Tis the full moon tonight. You are too late.”

  Linnet heard the chanting in her dream before she awoke. The pounding rhythm pulsed through her, increasing the violent pain in her head. A familiar dankness clung to her skin and was heavy in the air she breathed. She came to full wakefulness in a sweat of fear, knowing where she was: behind the secret door at Winchester Palace, where the witches met.

  At first, she was too frightened to open her eyes. The flicker of candlelight and shadows played against her eyelids. She took in a slow breath, then opened her eyes a crack.

  Even though she expected to see them, she gasped at the sight of the figures whirling and twisting within a ring of candles on the floor. As before, the figures wore grisly masks and animal hides.

  She lay outside the circle, on the dirt floor against the wall. The chill of the ground and the sweat of fear caused goose bumps to rise on her skin. When she looked down, she saw that she was draped in a thin red silk cloth. She swallowed; she was naked beneath it.

  Nay, she would not let herself think of how she had become undressed, of what hands had touched her. Not now. All her thoughts must be on escape. So long as they did not drug her again, she could hope to get away. It was a thin thread of hope, but she held on to it.

  In the deep shadow against the wall, she could watch the circle unnoticed. In the center, there were two tables, one large, one small. The larger one was covered in black cloth, as before—except that no naked woman lay on it this time, praise God. On the second table, steam rose from a pot cooking over a small brazier.

  Linnet drew in a sharp breath as a tall figure entered the circle from the far side of the room. The wolf-man.

  She dug her nails into her palms as the wolf-man lifted a wriggling rabbit in one hand and a long black-handled knife in his other. With a sweep of his arm, he sliced the animal’s head off.

  Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Over and over, she repeated her prayer as the wolf-man used the bleeding carcass to draw a triangle in blood along the ground. His voice rose above the others in the chant as he performed the ceremony.

  A chill went through her—she knew that voice. The wolf-man was Sir Guy Pomeroy.

  Pomeroy took a white-handled knife from the table and cut herbs of some kind into the boiling pot. While he worked, the others gyrated around the circle, singing. Pomeroy lifted the pot with long metal tongs and poured the steaming liquid into a painted wooden bowl. Then he walked around the larger table dribbling liquid from the bowl onto the ground.

  When he completed the circle, he held the bowl high over his head and turned in a circle, calling out “earth,” “air,” “fire,” “water,” in each quadrant. Then he poured the remaining liquid onto the ground.

  There were two entrances, both at the far corners of the room, beyond the circle. Linnet intended to get to one of them and escape. Her limbs felt sluggish from the bitter liquid she remembered someone pouring down her throat, but she was unbound. She rolled onto her stomach and began to inch her way over the ground.

  Her attention was drawn back to the center of the circle as a woman joined Pomeroy. Linnet remembered the woman’s bird mask and black curls. This was the woman who had lain naked on the table last time—the woman who had had sexual congress with the wolf-man right before Linnet’s e
yes. God have mercy, she did not want to see that again.

  And now, Linnet knew who the woman was—Margery Jourdemayne, the Witch of Eye.

  Linnet began crawling faster. Then, without warning, Margery fell prostrate on the ground. Linnet went still as the room fell silent and all the dancers stopped to watch Margery.

  Pomeroy raised his arms. In a deep voice that reverberated against the walls of the cavelike room, he called out, “ Conjuro te!”

  Margery thrashed about on the ground making strange sounds. Then she grew still. Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes bulging. In a voice that sounded more like an animal’s growl than human, she said, “ Adsum!”

  Linnet knew just enough Latin to know this meant, “I am present.” But who was present? She ignored the shiver that went up her spine and set her mind to slipping past the group while their attention was on Margery.

  “What fate awaits the bishop with tainted royal blood?” Pomeroy called out.

  Why would he ask about Bishop Beaufort? And just who was he asking? And then she knew: The witches were conjuring the dead. In addition to their other sins, they were necromancers.

  “John of Gaunt’s bastard shall wear the red cardinal’s hat,” Margery said in her rasping animal voice, “and die an old man.”

  Linnet could not wait to hear more, from the living or the dead. She crept forward, her belly just off the ground.

  Pomeroy’s voice rang out above her. “What of the boy-king? What is his fate?”

  Linnet halted in place and held her breath. Asking this question of the dead was not just heresy, but treason.

  “He shall go mad and be king two times,” Margery said in her slow, rough voice. “He shall die with a pillow to his face.”

  King twice, mad and murdered?

  “Spirit, can you tell us the day and hour of his death?” Linnet’s blood froze in her veins at the menace in Pomeroy’s voice. For a certainty, these sorcerers meant the child harm.

  “Many years! Many years!” The words spewed forth from Margery’s mouth as she fell to thrashing about on the ground again.

  There was a rumble of low voices and shuffling of feet; the witches were not pleased with this last answer.

  Linnet scooted forward a few more inches. From the corner of her eye, she watched Pomeroy go to the small table and stick his blade into the steaming pot. When he lifted it, a waxen shape was skewered on the end of it.

  With a flick of his wrist, he flung the waxen image to the ground and shouted, “Cut short the life!”

  Suddenly, voices swelled and filled the room. “Cut short the life! Cut short the life!”

  This was an evil Linnet could not fathom: a wish to hasten a child’s death. And the child they wished to harm was the great King Henry’s heir, his only living legacy. Her friend’s four-year-old son.

  This evil must be stopped before they harmed the young king. She must escape and give warning.

  The chanting echoed in the room and inside her head, repetitive and pulsing as she crept behind them. She moved slowly, hampered by the effort to keep the flimsy red silk wrapped about her.

  “Descend into the darkness and the burning lake!” Pomeroy shouted in a voice like thunder.

  Linnet dropped flat on her stomach as silence descended upon the room once more. She prayed none of the witches noticed that she was several feet from where they had left her.

  Into the silence, a woman said, “To change so strong a prediction will require a blood sacrifice.”

  An argument ensued, with repeated calls for a “blood sacrifice.” Then a single voice—Pomeroy’s—rose above all the others.

  “Bring the prisoner to the altar!”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Jamie rode hard for Winchester, the bright moonlight on the London Road serving as a constant reminder of the danger Linnet was in. Sorcerers and witches! He crossed himself and beseeched God to protect her.

  When he reached the bishop’s palace, the guards recognized him and let him in.

  “Where is Edmund Beaufort?” he asked.

  “In the privy chamber,” one of the guards answered.

  “I know my way,” Jamie said and hurried past them. Edmund stood to greet him. After one look at Jamie’s face, he dismissed the men who were with him. As soon as they were alone, Edmund asked, “Have you news of Lady Linnet? We expected her to seek sanctuary, not disappear.”

  “She is in dire danger,” Jamie said. “There is no time to explain, but I must know how to enter the secret passage in Westminster Palace. No matter what your uncle told me, I believe he knows how to gain entry to it. I pray to God he shared the secret with you.”

  While Jamie spoke, Edmund poured two cups of wine from a silver pitcher on the table.

  “Even if I could admit to having such knowledge,” Edmund said as he handed one of the cups to Jamie, “you cannot expect me to tell you.”

  Red wine splattered across the table and against the wall as Jamie knocked the proffered cup from Edmund’s hand.

  “Did you not hear me? She is in danger!” he shouted. “Pomeroy and a cabal of witches have her in the bowels of the palace. If you know how to enter the passageway, for God’s sake, tell me!”

  Edmund’s rapid blinking was the only sign he was taken aback by this extraordinary news. “If someone has taken her there, then a member of the royal family has shared the palace secrets,” Edmund said. “I promise you it was not a Beaufort.”

  “I suspect Gloucester told his mistress, and that Eleanor told Pomeroy,” Jamie said. “These are devil-worshippers, Edmund. I must get to her without delay.”

  Edmund blew out a breath. “If Eleanor is involved in some way, it would be… unfortunate… if either I or my uncle’s men were the ones to discover her. With the tension between Gloucester and my uncle, matters could quickly get out of control.”

  At the moment, Jamie did not care if all of England went down in flames.

  Edmund paused, then said, “What I’m asking is, if I get you into the secret passageway, will that be sufficient help?”

  “Just get me in, Edmund. That is all I ask,” Jamie said. “Now we must go.”

  When they stopped for Martin on their way to West-minster, Master Woodley informed Jamie that his squire had never returned to Linnet’s house.

  Where in the hell was Martin? He should have returned hours ago. It wasn’t like the lad to disappear. As soon as Jamie rescued Linnet, he would have to go looking for his squire.

  Damn and blast, he needed a lookout.

  Jamie looked down from his horse at the elderly clerk. Clearly, God was testing him—making him prove his worth by giving him such unlikely tools to work with. He held his arm out to Master Woodley and hoisted him up behind his saddle.

  They rode on to Westminster. In the distance, Jamie heard the chimes of Westminster Abbey ringing for matins.

  It was midnight.

  At the sound of a loud commotion outside the doorway, the chanting came to an abrupt halt. Linnet fell back to the ground, hope thrumming through every vein. Somehow Jamie has learned of my capture and has come to save me. Please, God!

  Several of the witches ran out in the direction of the noise. From her place on the floor, Linnet watched the doorway through half-closed eyes, her every muscle strained with tension. Over the thunder of her heartbeat, she heard sounds of a scuffle outside, followed by shouting.

  A short time later, a new witch in a dog’s pelt entered. The others came in behind him, holding someone in their midst. Linnet was so startled to see who it was that she nearly shouted his name aloud.

  “Who is this intruder?” a woman in a goat’s hide asked.

  “I know him.” Pomeroy’s commanding voice was cold with anger. “How, pray tell, did Sir James’s squire find the river entrance to the passage?”

  “He must have followed me.”

  Linnet recognized the voice as Alderman Arnold’s, though he wore the dog’s pelt, rather than his usual colorful attire. “Sir James p
aid me a visit earlier and must have left his squire to keep an eye on my house.”

  “You fool!” Pomeroy said. “Where is Sir James? Did you lead him to us as well?”

  Linnet prayed with all her might that Jamie would charge through the doorway behind them.

  “Sir James shall come,” Martin shouted as he struggled against the men who held him. “And when he does, he shall kill every one of you.”

  Give her a blade, and Linnet would help him. Gladly. “We shan’t be seeing Sir James this night,” the alderman said in a self-satisfied tone. “I sent him on a fool’s errand miles outside of London.”

  Linnet’s spirits plummeted like a boulder down a cliff.

  “Bind him,” Pomeroy ordered.

  Poor Martin! He fought like a young lion, but there were a half dozen on him and soon they had him bound.

  “It appears we have our blood sacrifice after all,” Pomeroy said.

  God no, not this sweet young man.

  A burst of righteous fury burned through Linnet as two of the devil-worshippers tossed Martin’s trussed body on the ground next to her as if he were an animal carcass. She wanted to rip these masked devils apart with her bare hands.

  Martin landed with his face just inches from hers. She looked into his wild eyes and wished she could pull him into her arms and comfort him.

  She waited to speak until their captors began their chanting again. “Hold still while I work on your ropes. They must believe I am still asleep from the drug they gave me.”

  He nodded a fraction to show he understood.

  The fools had tied his hands in front of him. She felt for an end of the rope and began to work it loose.

  “You must close your eyes and ears if they take me,” she said. “Whatever they do to me, they do not intend to kill me.”

  “Sir James will come,” he whispered. “I know he will.”

  “That is why you must wait to act, no matter what you think they may be doing. Do not risk wasting your chance before Jamie comes… unless they come for you.”