“Martin has such a pure heart. I wonder if he’ll notice?” Linnet said with a laugh. “I’ve grown quite fond of him.”
“A pure heart—likely he’s the only one in this room you could say that of,” the queen said with a sparkle in her eyes. She
took Linnet’s hand and squeezed it. “ ’Tis good to see you so happy, my dear.”
It was true. Joy filled her heart and lightened her step. She had floated through the days of holiday festivities in a feathery
cloud of bliss. The prospect of marriage was unexpectedly… freeing. Instead of making her feel confined, it brought her a
sense of contentment.
At least it did most of the time.
But now and then, the twin vices of anger and guilt dug their talons into her. Justice had been denied her. The man responsible
for ruining her grandfather’s last years still enjoyed the fruits of his thievery. He had robbed her of everything that protected
her and left her at the mercy of the worst sort of men.
She thanked God every day that Jamie’s uncle Stephen had saved her and Francois. And she would never forgive her father for
failing to do so. Of course, he had failed her long before that.
“When will you become formally betrothed?” the queen asked.
Linnet was grateful to the queen for diverting her. It was difficult, but she was determined to keep her word to Jamie and
not dwell upon the past.
Queen Katherine, dear friend that she was, was giddy over their upcoming marriage.
“As soon as Christmas Court ends, we will travel to Ross Castle to make our betrothal pledges in the presence of his family.”
Despite Jamie’s reassurances, she felt anxious about how his parents would receive her. She had met the Fitz-Alans briefly
in Normandy when she was a girl; both had seemed formidable. Once before, Jamie had led them to expect she would be his wife—only
to come home empty-handed.
She suspected that would be hard for a parent to forgive.
“It will be an adventure for you, living in the country and becoming part of a large family.”
“Although I used to tease Jamie about wanting this sort of life,” Linnet said with a broad smile, “it is what I want now,
both for me and our children.”
It comforted her to know that her children would grow up within the protection and warmth of a large extended family.
The thought of having a child lifted her heart. It was such a hopeful act. She had never allowed herself to think of having
a child before. Although she refused to admit it to Jamie or Francois, she did know her efforts involved some danger. Besides,
children were about the future, and she had been absorbed with the past.
“I should like nothing better than to raise my son in the country,” the queen said with a catch in her voice. “They will take
him from me again soon.”
“I am sorry for it,” Linnet said.
“At least I have Owen,” the queen said. “And a time will come when we, too, shall marry.”
“Do not speak of it here, please!” Though the queen had spoken softly, Linnet looked quickly about her to be sure no one had
overheard.
The queen seemed perilously close to tears. Desperate to divert her, Linnet said, “There is that awful Lord Stafford and his
daughter.”
Queen Katherine touched a kerchief to her nose. “I do hope they are not coming this way.”
“What could Bedford and the bishop have been thinking, attempting to pair Jamie with Agnes Stafford?”
“Nothing could be simpler to understand,” the queen said, in control of herself again. “Lady Agnes is a land-rich heiress,
and Jamie is a strong warrior from a family with close ties to the Lancasters.”
Though Jamie had told her—repeatedly—that it was a delicate situation, it nagged at Linnet that he had not poured cold water
on Stafford’s expectation of a marriage offer for his daughter. Jamie wanted to seek his parents’ counsel. His mother, he
assured her, would know how he could extricate himself without damaging his family or humiliating the young lady.
“The Stafford girl is quite pretty, but with a little effort, she could be a beauty.” Queen Katherine made a disapproving
tutting sound with her tongue. “She wears the most unflattering gowns. And a smile would do her no harm.”
Linnet was in no mood to hear this.
“
Mon Dieu!
Here they come.” The queen pasted a regal smile on her face.
“Your Highness, Lady Linnet.” Stafford made a bow and greeted them in a voice that easily carried above the noise of the hall.
Stafford’s orange and red tunic and matching hat and hose were so bright Linnet blinked. Perhaps his daughter wore such somber
colors to avoid drawing more attention to them.
The queen appeared too stunned by his attire to speak.
“Where is Gloucester?” Stafford demanded, as if the queen were her brother-in-law’s keeper. “Haven’t seen him all evening.”
“Did you enjoy the mummers and the acrobats?” Linnet asked, seeking safer ground.
“Actors and acrobats are ungodly men and women,” Lady Agnes said. “I averted my eyes as best I could.”
Linnet was afraid to meet the queen’s eyes for fear of laughing.
“The money would have been better spent as a donation to the church,” Lady Agnes added.
The girl seemed unaware that she was judging the wisdom of royal expenditures—and to the queen, no less.
“Surely God would find no harm in a little entertainment,” Linnet said with a smile.
Lady Agnes looked at her as if she had spoken a foreign language.
“Lord Stafford,” the queen said, “I hear you must leave us soon.”
Praise God for that.
“I must take my leave on the morrow, but my daughter will remain here in Lady Elizabeth’s care.”
Poor Lady Elizabeth.
“You see, my health is not good. I…”
Linnet could not decide which was worse: hearing about Stafford’s digestive problems or listening to his daughter preach at
her.
When the pair finally left them, Linnet leaned against the wall to recover. Before she could catch her breath, Edmund Beaufort
glided between several people to join them.
“Your Highness,” Edmund said as he made his low bow, then turned to Linnet. “And the bewitching Lady Linnet. When will you
run away with me?”
“Never.” When he paused too long over her hand, Linnet tugged it free. At least he had not started writing poetry to her.
But then, Edmund only pretended to be a romantic.
She did not see Jamie until he stood beside her, scowling at Edmund as if he would like to rip him limb from limb. To Edmund’s
credit, he did not step back.
Jamie gave Edmund a curt nod and clamped his hand on Linnet’s arm. “Excuse us, Your Highness. Lady Linnet and I have an urgent
matter to discuss.”
Jamie’s jaw was clenched as he steered her across the room. He waited to speak until they were behind a pillar in the anteroom.
“If that man looks at you like that again, he will regret it.”
“Like what?” Linnet said, though she knew precisely how Edmund looked at her.
“Like he is imagining you naked in his bed,” he said. “Did he ask you to be his mistress again?”
The vein in his neck was pulsing.
“He believes your motives are the same as his, since he thinks you are about to wed Lady Agnes,” she said, because Jamie deserved
a little goading. “Edmund is a good sort, really.”
Jamie made an indecipherable sound that could not be interpreted as agreement. Truly, he had no sense of humor about some
things.
A servant going by with wine offered them a cup, which Jamie took.
“The stars were aligned in your favor the day we met again,” she said, leaning back against the pillar. “Otherwise, you might
have actually married that Agnes Stafford. Mercy, a duller woman I have never met.”
Linnet could jest about it now that she knew nothing would come of it.
“Do not speak harshly of Lady Agnes,” Jamie chided.
“There is much I respect and admire about her. She will make some man a fine wife.”
For men, there was a long distance betwixt respect and desire. However, Linnet chose not to mention the obvious.
“For such a godly woman,” she said in a low voice, “she has big breasts.”
Jamie choked on his wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Linnet, leave the poor woman alone!”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You noticed her breasts, didn’t you?”
“Aye, of course I did.” Jamie shrugged. “They are a fine feature—a God-given feature, I might add. Where you got the notion
a godly woman cannot have an attractive shape, I could not guess.”
The conversation had ceased to be humorous. “You find this Agnes attractive? Very attractive?”
“Are you jealous?” he said, grinning like an idiot.
He leaned down and blew in her ear, sending a ripple of tingles down her spine. Then he whispered, “Why would a man choose
a plain oatcake when he could have an apple tart with clotted cream?”
She burst out laughing, her ill humor gone in an instant. “So I am your apple tart, am I, Jamie Rayburn?”
“Wait a few moments, then follow me,” he said next to her ear. “I am going to steal a bowl of clotted cream from the kitchen.”
She leaned back and raised her eyebrows. “You cannot mean…”
He winked and nodded.
She rolled her eyes, but she said, “Where shall I find you?”
“Meet me downstairs in the undercroft. We’ll find an empty storeroom.”
His eyes went dark as he ran a finger slowly down her arm. Such a small gesture, and yet her pulse beat wildly. She would
go anywhere with this man.
“Count to two hundred,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Linnet only got to thirty-five.
She picked up her skirts as she hurried down the stone stairs. With her mind occupied with thoughts of Jamie and clotted cream,
she almost ran headlong into two people coming up the steps.
The black-clad figure was Hume, the priest who served as Eleanor Cobham’s clerk. Whatever was he doing down here? He could
have no more business in the undercroft than she.
Even more surprising, the priest was in the company of Margery Jourdemayne, the Witch of Eye. All the ladies in Eleanor’s
circle used Margery for their medicinal needs, from love potions to headache powders. Since Margery’s arrival at Windsor,
however, Linnet had not heard a whisper about her providing anything but these ordinary remedies.
Consequently, Linnet had dismissed the old herbalist’s dire warnings about Margery practicing dark magic and consorting with
the devil. All the same, something in the woman’s penetrating stare sent a shiver up her spine.
“Good day to you,” Father Hume said.
Who was he to give her that malevolent look? She arched an eyebrow and swept her gaze over him.
“Good day,” she said and then continued down the stairs at a brisk pace, as if she had an important errand to attend to—which
she did.
She continued along the low arched passageway wondering where she would find Jamie. With all the guests, servants would be
in and out of the wine cellar, so he would not choose there. Farther down, the door to the spicery was ajar. That was odd.
Because spices were as valuable as gold, the room was usually locked up tight.
Was this where Hume and Margery had been? The spicery would be a treasure trove for a woman in Margery’s trade. After glancing
up and down the corridor, Linnet slipped inside.
Pungent smells surrounded her. She stopped to draw in a deep breath, trying to identify them. Rosemary, mint, lavender, sage,
cinnamon. The rich, intermingled scents were intoxicating. Which had Margery come for? Mint leaves for the headache? Mustard
for a poultice? But why would Father Hume come with her?
There was a drop of some substance on the long table used to mix or pour spices into smaller containers. Linnet put her nose
to it and sniffed. It had a strong, tangy odor. She rubbed her finger over it, then touched her finger to the tip of her tongue.
Her tongue went numb—an analgesic of some sort? Father Hume seemed young to be suffering from aching joints.
She ignored the herbs hanging from the ceiling and went to examine the rows of bottles, jars, and pots. A small cloudy jar
that sat alone on the corner of a high shelf caught her eye. It looked as if it was kept apart so it would not be mistaken
for another.
She found a small stool underneath the table and stood on it to take a closer look. From the light dust, she could see the
bottle was not quite in the circle where it had been.
She lifted it off the shelf and put her nose to it—the same strong, tangy smell. Carefully, she put it back in its place.
What could it be? Perhaps it was something for Eleanor, though it hardly seemed like an ingredient for a love potion.
She jumped as the door to the spicery swung open. “There you are.” Jamie gave her a devilish grin as he kicked the door closed
behind him. “I brought the clotted cream.”
He set the bowl on the long table and sniffed as his gaze drifted around the small room.
“Are the smells not wonderful in here?” she said.
“I do like a touch of spice with my clotted cream,” Jamie said with a glint in his eyes.
He dipped his finger in the bowl and brought a large dollop of clotted cream to her lips. She licked it off his finger and
closed her eyes with pleasure as the rich flavor filled her mouth. When he took her in his arms and kissed her, the taste
of him mixed with the sweet taste of cream. Heady smells filled her nose as he laid her back on the table.
She decided she could tell him later about Margery, the unlocked door, the mysterious potion…
C
hristmas Court was nearly at an end. After so many days of drinking and feasting, the crowd was boisterous. Linnet could barely
hear the music of harp, flute, and tabor above the hum of conversation in the Great Hall.
Linnet caught sight of Martin talking with some other squires and touched his arm to pull him aside.
When he turned, his eyes went wide.
“L-L-L-Lady Linnet.” After a delay, he swept her a formal bow, bumping a man behind him in the process. The man swore at him,
but Martin did not appear to notice.