“It matters because we provide an alibi for each other. If we are strangers, we have no reason to lie. If not…”
Linnet’s mouth went dry. How many people in Durleigh knew that she and Simon had been lovers long ago?
Chapter Six
He did not want to like her.
Scowling, Simon leaned his shoulder against the far wall of Linnet’s shop and tried to ignore his growing fascination with her and his appreciation of what she had created here.
The shop was small but tidy. The walls were lined with cupboards holding clever displays of creams and potions in clay pots, interspersed with bunches of dried flowers. More flower-filled earthen crocks sat on the table in the center of the room, alongside wooden bowls of peppercorns, red, black, green. The whole effect was pleasing to the eye and the nose.
Aiken had been kept busy at the counter, really more like a wide windowsill, over which he dispensed common herbs like sage and rosemary to customers on the street.
Simon had been here all morn, watching Linnet ply a trade at which she obviously excelled. There had been a steady stream of women who had come seeking treatment for everything from the ague to dry skin. Small wonder the apothecary was so busy. Linnet considered each problem, no matter how trivial, as though it mattered to her personally. Her concern was evident in her soft voice as she asked a question, her smile as she hit upon the solution. Only the shadows under her eyes and the faint tension in her expression betrayed the strain she was under.
It bothered him that he noticed these things. It bothered him more that they moved him. Dammit, he did not want to like her. Uncomfortable with his feelings, Simon scowled.
The woman Linnet had been waiting on looked up at him, gasped softly and fumbled with the pennies in her pouch. “Never mind about the cinnamon. I’ll get it another time.”
“It will take only a moment to grate some,” Linnet said.
The woman cast another fearful glance at Simon, shook her head and rushed out, clutching her purchases to her chest.
Linnet bustled around the table and confronted him. “If you do not cease glowering, you will drive away my customers,” she hissed under her breath.
“You should be resting.”
She sighed, and her eyes filled with bleak despair. “If I lie down, I would not sleep. If I do not have work to keep my mind busy, I would go mad thinking of what has happened.”
“My own thoughts have been none too cheery.”
“That much I guessed from your black looks.” She smiled ruefully. “I thought it was because you are wroth with me.”
Simon shrugged, unsure how he felt about her.
“Well, could you not take your scowls elsewhere? Even if Hamel did come here, I should be safe enough in this crowd.”
“I doubt these goodwives would stop the sheriff.”
She shivered and looked away, but not before he read her fear. “I will be all right.”
“As you would have been outside the Hosier Lane tavern had I not found you? I am staying till Brother Anselme comes.”
The glance she sent him mingled sorrow and gratitude. “I had forgotten he was the reason you came.”
So had he. And that troubled him. “I would not want to ruin your business,” he said stiffly. “I will go into the kitchen. If anything happens, you have only to call out and I will come.”
“I know,” she said softly. “You always do.”
“Always?” Simon asked, but she had turned away to wait on a customer, so he went through the workroom to the kitchen.
Drusa looked up from sweeping the floor and grinned. “Tossed ye out, did she?”
“Aye. Said I was bad for trade.” Simon sat at the table where they had eaten last night. Dieu, those happy hours now seemed a lifetime ago. From this vantage point he could see through the workroom and into the shop beyond.
“Ye do look intimidating when ye scowl.” She set a cup of ale before him and sat down across the table. “Are ye upset because the bishop is dead?”
“He was nothing to me,” Simon said sharply.
“Bishop Thurstan affected the lives of everyone in Durleigh.” Drusa sipped her ale.
That Simon could not dispute. “What of Linnet?”
Drusa regarded him over the rim of her cup. “If ye are asking was she his mistress, the answer’s nay. And ye cannot know her if ye believe the gossip.”
“I do not…know her.” He drank deep of the ale, letting the coolness soothe his tight throat. “She is old to be unwed.”
“Twenty’s not ancient. She’s been busy learning her trade.”
“She said she spent time with the sisters at Blackstone Abbey.” It gave him an odd jolt to think she had studied in the abbey where he had been born. Were there records of his birth? His mother’s name, perhaps? He did not recall the place. His earliest memories were of a manor where he’d been reared by an elderly couple. They had told him he was the bastard son of a young maid and Lord Edmund’s distant cousin. The fact that Lord Edmund had fostered him and seen him knighted had seemed to support this.
Lies, all lies.
Above all things, Simon hated lies. He wanted to know who his mother was, whether she was alive or dead and, most important of all, what sort of person she had been.
“We missed Linnet while she was gone.” Drusa’s expression changed subtly. “But the sisters taught her much. There is not a more capable apothecary in all of Northumbria. It worries me that these vile rumors about her will ruin the business and the reputation she’s worked so hard to gain. There’s some in the guild who resent her success. Jealous men.”
Not only men, Simon mused, thinking about Nelda’s vicious accusations. “Why did she not wed another spicier? If she had a husband in the trade, he would protect her interests.”
“And claim the proceeds of all her hard work.” Drusa snorted. “She’s that independent, our Linnet. Besides, there was no man she fancied enough to put up with.”
Simon grinned, oddly warmed by Drusa’s words. Judging by Linnet’s response to him last night, she fancied him.
“And, too, her heart had not mended.”
“What?” His smile faded.
“There was someone she loved,” Drusa continued. “A Crusader of the Black Rose, he was. She cried herself sick when they left and again when they were reported dead.”
Who was it? Two hundred men had left Durleigh with him. Young farmers, jaded tourney fighters, ambitious third and fourth sons eager to make their fortune. Which one had captured Linnet’s heart and rode off to his death? It bothered him to think of her pining away for some other man.
“But ye see, the fact that she’d not entertain any suitors made folk suspect there was already someone. When Hamel Roxby began pestering her, and the bishop warned him off…”
“People jumped to the wrong conclusion.” Or had they?
It is because I love you that I am worried, Thurstan.
Linnet’s words. If they had been lovers, Linnet might not have admitted it to her faithful maid.
“I have closed for dinner.” Linnet entered, followed by a frazzled-looking Aiken.
“Such a morn,” the apprentice whined. “My legs and feet ache something fierce.”
“And my back.” Linnet arched subtly as she crossed the room, seemingly unaware of the tempting way her breasts pushed against the bodice of her gown.
Simon looked away quickly, but not before Drusa caught him staring and grinned. Face heating, he leaped up and offered Linnet his place.
She smiled and brushed past him to sit, the scent of roses teasing his nostrils.
“I’m starved. What’s there to eat?” asked Aiken.
“Ye’re always hungry.” Drusa bustled to the hearth. “Chicken soup.” She lifted the cover, and a mouthwatering aroma filled the room. “There’s bread and meat pies, too. I figured we’d need a bit more than usual to fill yer belly, Sir Simon, and young Aiken’s hollow legs.”
Simon frowned. “You fed me last nigh
t, as well. Let me pay you for the meal.”
“We owe ye, for twice saving Mistress Linnet.”
“I was happy to be of service.”
“And we are happy to feed you,” said Linnet.
“My thanks.” Simon sat but did not relax. Whenever he looked up, his vision was filled with Linnet. The mere sight of her face tugged at him.
“After we eat, I’ll step across to the Royal Oak and fetch back some more ale,” Aiken offered.
Linnet sighed. “Tilly will be busy this time of day.”
“I know.” Aiken traced a drop of ale with this finger. “But I can see her, at least.” His voice was low and mournful.
Linnet understood Aiken’s anguish only too well. For years her dreams had been fed by glimpses of Simon. The second and fourth Saturdays of every month she had gone to the field off Stonebow to watch Simon and Lord Edmund’s other knights train the menfolk of the town in the use of sword and bow, in case Durleigh was attacked.
“Mind ye don’t get in the way,” Drusa grumbled. “Don’t want Dame Elinore complaining ye’re keeping Tilly from her work.”
“No need to worry about that. She barely sees me. Especially if Sheriff Hamel is about,” he muttered darkly.
Linnet started. “I did not know he was often there.” Lurking in her own backyard. It was intolerable, frightening.
“He spreads himself about, does Hamel. Wherever he can get a free meal and a few cups of ale.”
Simon accepted the bowl Drusa handed him. “I was surprised to find him sheriff.”
“He has been our temporary sheriff since January,” said Linnet. “Sheriff Turnebull was killed then, chasing the bandits who’ve been plaguing the roads to the south.”
“If they were the same men who set upon my friends and me, they will not be causing any more trouble…except in hell.”
“Ye killed them?” Aiken asked around a mouthful of stew.
“All but one.” Simon scowled.
Linnet touched his arm. “Do not feel guilty, they were a bad lot, who robbed and killed many a merchant. Since Allan Turnebull’s death, they have grown more bold. Few dare to travel these roads without an armed escort”
“Hamel does nothing to catch them?”
Linnet made a face. “He claims to be trying.”
“He spends most of his time swaggering about the town impressing the women,” muttered Aiken. “He has a wee house near the market square, and it’s said there’s a constant stream of women at his door.” He sighed enviously.
“Well, the bandits will not be terrorizing anyone else,” said Simon “I am only sorry one got away, wounded but alive. I thought I recognized him from Durleigh Cathedral.”
“An outlaw priest?” Drusa exclaimed.
Aiken chuckled. “Fighting’s not something they teach.”
Teach? Perhaps the brigand had been a student, not a priest. Simon frowned, but could not remember exactly when he’d seen the man. “I’ll know him if our paths cross again.”
“What of the battle?” Aiken actually set down his spoon as he leaned forward.
“The engagement was short and none too well fought, the thieves being cowards.” Simon frowned. “Odd now that I
think on it. You say they had robbed all winter, but they were skinny, scruffy creatures, not well armed.”
“I want to be a knight,” Aiken said suddenly.
Linnet sighed but bit her tongue. She was rewarded by a sidelong glance from Simon. His smile of sympathy warmed her clear to her boots.
“It is a hard life and not so pleasurable as the ballads make out,” Simon said to Aiken. “Unless you have land of your own, you are at the beck of others.”
“Still, there’s nothing so fine as a man in chain mail.”
Linnet could almost hear Tilly saying that.
Simon’s lips twitched. “Perhaps tomorrow I will let you try mine on and you can see how it sets.”
“Really?” Aiken’s eyes fairly bugged out. “Can Tilly come?”
“Insolent pup,” Drusa chided. “Eat yer supper and leave Sir Simon to his. Tilly, indeed.”
The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence, broken only by Drusa’s offer of second helpings. Aiken accepted, of course, cleaned his bowl and left for the inn. Drusa went with him. For a spot of air and to see what Elinore was planning for supper, she said.
Linnet was suddenly aware that she and Simon were alone. The room seemed close, the air heavy with possibilities. Nervous, she picked up their bowls and carried them to the wash table. “I am sorry he is such a pest. He does not truly want to be an apothecary.”
“A pity,” Simon replied from just behind her. “He is too slightly built for soldiering.” His arm brushed hers.
Linnet froze, the bowls still in her hand. Her blood warmed and her skin felt all prickly.
“His questions do not bother me. Most lads his age are fascinated with fighting and killing.”
Ordinary words. Concentrate on them. Do not let him guess his nearness made her heart race. “You are good with him.” She set the bowls down and dried her hands on a linen towel. “It has been difficult with Papa gone.” Her hands trembling, her voice shaky, she fought for control. “Aiken does not much like taking orders from a woman only a few years older than he.”
“What makes you so nervous?” Simon asked.
“N-nothing.” Linnet turned, the rest of her words died.
Simon’s eyes were more green than gray now, staring intently into hers. “You are hiding something.”
Several somethings. “I do not know what you mean.”
His eyes narrowed. “Last night I heard you tell Thurstan that you loved him.”
The air left her lungs in a rush of relief. “I do.” Tears prickled behind her lids. “He was a dear, dear friend, and I will miss him all the days of my life.”
“He was a liar and a fraud.”
Linnet gasped, then realized what must have happened. “He told you the truth last night.”
“That I am his son, you mean.” His expression grew even grimmer. “Nay, I had that news from a priest who went on Crusade with us. Three years I waited to confront your dear friend, to hear from his lips why he—”
“You hated him,” Linnet whispered.
“Because of him, my whole life has been a lie. I am not the son of Lord Edmund’s cousin, as I was told, but the bastard of a selfish, manipulative priest who betrayed his vows of celibacy to sire me on some poor maid.”
“He was not selfish. He was good and kind.”
“He broke his covenant with God, violated my mother and did not even have the decency to claim me.”
“I am sure he had his reasons.”
“Aye. Protecting his reputation,” Simon growled.
And yours, Linnet thought, but she saw he was in no mood to listen to anything good about his father. So much anger, and beneath it, pain. How it must have eaten at him while he was away. Festering like an unhealed wound. “When you saw him last night, did you tell him how you despised him?” she demanded.
“I told him that I knew the truth, and I demanded to know about my mother. But he would not answer my questions.”
“Likely he was too shocked. We thought you were dead. How he grieved when the news reached us. He collapsed and—”
“Likely he feared I’d ruin his pristine reputation.”
“You are wrong about him. He loved you.”
“So much so that he ignored me.” Simon turned away.
“Fool. You know not how he truly felt” Temper seething, Linnet grabbed his arm to stay him and raised her chin to challenge his dark scowl. Angry words crowded her throat. The pain she glimpsed beneath his rage held back her sharp retort. The silence spun out, growing heavier by the moment.
She was acutely aware of how close they stood, of the warmth of his arm seeping through his woolen sleeve and the strength of the sinewy muscles contracting beneath her palm.
His eyes narrowed slightly, the expressi
on in them changing from fury to something even more dangerous. An earthy hunger that reminded her of the kiss they had shared.
A knock at the back door shattered the moment. Brother Anselme stuck his head in. “I have come at a bad time?”
“Nay.” Linnet let go of Simon’s arm, conscious she had narrowly escaped the trap she’d fallen into last night.
Simon stepped back from her, his expression shuttered. “You have discovered something, Brother?”
“Your servants, are they about?” Brother Anselme’s guarded look and low voice were chilling.
Linnet shivered. Something bad had happened. “They have gone to the tavern, but I cannot say how long they will stay.”
“Let us walk in the garden, then,” said the monk. “I have spent a long day inside.”
They fell into step beside her, out through the tiny gate and into the garden that had been started by her mother’s father. It took up nearly as much room as the shop, surrounded by a high stone wall her father had put up to keep out the pigs and chickens that roamed free in the yards. A narrow gravel walkway separated the beds from one another laid out in the shape of a wagon wheel, with a rowan tree in the center.
Anselme stooped to pick a sprig of basil. Holding it to his nose, he inhaled deeply.
Simon shifted impatiently. “How did Thurstan die?”
Anselme exhaled and let the herb drop. “I do not know exactly.” His voice dripped weariness.
“But you said you’d not come till you knew,” said Linnet.
“Oh, his body has told me all it will, but I still am not certain what happened. Three things were done, any of which might have taken his life.” Anselme began to pace. “As you suspected, Linnet, he was being poisoned with monkshood.”
“Monkshood?” Simon frowned. “I thought it was belladonna.”
“I will get to that,” said Anselme. “I found traces of monkshood m the herbal brandy he drank before retiring.”
Linnet’s belly cramped. Did Anselme suspect Thurstan had done it himself? She sank limply onto the small bench where she’d spent so many happy hours with her plants.
“The monkshood killed him?” Simon asked.
“It weakened him, and it would eventually have killed him,” Anselme murmured. “But there is also the wound to the head.”
The Champion (Knights of the Black Rose Series : Harlequin Historicals, No 491) Page 9