Page 21 of Knight of Passion
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. “Ifyou 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…
