Knight of Passion (36 page)

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 eyes. 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!”

J
amie 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 paid 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.”

She stared into his eyes until he gave her a reluctant nod.

The chanting grew louder, making her head throb as she worked feverishly on the knots.

“Goddess! Goddess! Goddess!”

The new chant sent frissons of terror through the taut nerves of her body. Soon they would come for her.

Finally! The first knot came loose, and she began to work on the second. She nearly had him free when Martin hissed between
his teeth, “Lady Linnet.”

Just in time, she stilled her hands and closed her eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest as arms draped in animal
skins grabbed hold of her. She moaned and let her head flop to the side as the two men in smelly furs lifted her.

“Goddess! Goddess! Goddess!”

By what perversion did they think her goddess?

The tops of her bare feet scraped on the rough dirt floor as they dragged her to the center of the circle. All about her,
the voices shouted, “Goddess! Goddess! Goddess!”

Linnet awoke, dazed, lying on her back on the table at the center of the circle. They must have held the cloth to her face
again. She struggled to shake off her grogginess and sit up, but her hands were tied to the table. When she tried to move
her legs, she found that they were tied, too, so that her knees were bent.

A current of cool air touched her skin…

It could not be so. She slit her eyes and saw her own bare breasts, the nipples erect with cold. She closed her eyes.