Knight of Passion (37 page)

The Virgin protect her. They had her naked. Never had she felt so vulnerable. Even when she and Francois were children and
cornered by rough soldiers in an empty house, she had not felt this helpless. Or so utterly alone.

She fought to keep her features smooth, though she wanted to wail and weep in her despair. From beneath her lashes, she watched
Pomeroy refill the bowl from the steaming pot on the brazier. The others were doing their mad dance around the circle again,
their eerie shadows playing on the cavelike walls behind them. Their chanting filled her head, pounded through her veins.

God give her strength! She remembered the rest of the
ceremony all too vividly. She recalled precisely what the wolf-man had done to Margery while she lay on the altar table.
But Margery had been a willing participant in the play.

Pomeroy turned and lifted the bowl high above his head. As he walked toward her, panic welled up in her chest and shot through
her limbs. He came to a halt beside her. His burning eyes scorched over her skin, taking in every intimate curve and line.

I am strong enough to live through this. I will survive until Jamie comes. I will!

It was too late to save her from what Pomeroy was about to do to her, so she devoted her prayer to Martin.
Please, God, let Jamie come before they kill the boy.

Pomeroy rested the warm wooden bowl on her belly, then went to stand at the base of the table. Tied down as she was, she could
not fight him. She lifted her gaze to meet his and let him see the loathing in her eyes.

“I curse you to hell for this,” she said between her teeth.

“You shall know who defiles you,” Pomeroy said, his voice rising. “Who fills you with the spirit of a demon. Who weds you
in the sight of the great Lucifer himself!”

The others in the room gasped as the wolf-man pulled off his mask and flung it across the room. But Linnet had known who the
wolf-man was all along.

Sir Guy Pomeroy, gone mad.

The witches took up their chant again. Amid their rising voices, Linnet began to shake. Nay, she could not do this.

Pomeroy raised his arms out like a massive bird,
spreading the wolf skin wide. Beneath it, he was naked, his member swollen and erect. Linnet bit her lip and tasted blood.

Pomeroy’s glowing black eyes locked with hers as he shouted, “I shall make you my goddess!”

“T
he steps are steep,” Edmund warned as he held the secret panel open for them. “God go with you.”

“I’ll not forget this.” Jamie clasped Edmund’s arm before ducking through the doorway.

Edmund glanced up and down the hall as Jamie helped Master Woodley through. One day Jamie would laugh at how he’d gone into
the battle of his life with only an old man as his comrade in arms. But not today.

Edmund closed the door, and Jamie heard a distant, eerie chanting.

“Remember,” Jamie said as he fixed his torch into the brace in the wall, “you are to wait here at the top of the stairs. If
I do not return, go to Edmund Beaufort.”

Jamie clambered down the long flight of stairs and hit the dirt floor at a run. Almost at once, he lost the light from the
torch and had to slacken his pace. He followed the chanting through the darkness, Linnet’s description of the witches’ sabbat
vivid in his head.

Lord, let me be in time to save her.

The tunnel must be taking him close to the river. A
dank smell filled his nose, and he was splashing through puddles.

There was now light ahead. The passageway opened up into a larger area, lit by flickering candlelight, just as Linnet had
described it to him. As he approached, he slowed his steps and pulled his sword. He paused in the shadows outside the entrance
to observe his enemy before making his attack.

God in heaven! Rage and fear roared through him at the sight of Linnet lying naked on the table. Every muscle screamed to
charge in blindly, sword swinging. But he forced himself to keep his head, because he must to save her.

In a flash, he took in the rest of the room: the dozen fiends thrashing and swaying to their blasphemous chant; a woman prostrate
on the floor, arms outstretched; a man in wolf’s hide and mask, at Linnet’s feet.

He scanned the room for weapons. Four swords leaned against the wall opposite, next to a second entrance. Only four, though
some of the devil-worshippers could have shorter blades hidden beneath their strange attire.

Jamie’s goal was simple: to put himself and his sword between Linnet and her captors. These foul demon-lovers would have to
kill him to get to her. And he did not intend to die today. He was going to grow old with that woman on the table.

He took one step forward before a movement near the far wall caught his eye. What he had thought was a pile of clothing was
a second captive.

His heart froze. God in heaven, how did Martin get in this place? Rescuing the two of them would not be easy.

The wolf-man raised his arms and shouted. Jamie could not hear the words above the chanting; he did not need to.

The wolf-man would be the first to die.

The chanting suddenly changed to shouts of alarm. Linnet turned her head in time to see Jamie leap into the room, sword flashing.
The witches scattered before him like boys before a charging bull. In an instant, he was beside the table, facing outward,
sword in one hand and dagger in the other. With a slash of his dagger, he cut the rope that bound her right wrist.

“Take it,” he said without turning, and she felt the weight of the hilt of his dagger in her palm.

As soon as she closed her hand around it, Jamie drew a second dagger from the back of his belt. His sword whistled over her,
and a scream pierced the air as it sliced someone reaching for her from the other side.

Linnet cut through the rope holding her other wrist and sat up to free her ankles. As she worked, Jamie moved around the table,
slashing at any who dared come close. She severed the last rope and yanked at the black drape beneath her, intent on covering
herself from the filthy eyes of the devil-worshippers.

Jamie’s cape fell over her. A rush of gratitude choked her as she touched her fingers to his back. “Thank God you have come.”

Jamie had found her. They were outnumbered and surrounded by black-hearted men and women who consorted with the devil. But
with Jamie here, all else was possible.

The sorcerers began closing in, their numbers giving
them false courage. But where was Pomeroy? It worried her that she could not see him, for he was by far the most dangerous.

A man in a sheepskin took a step too close and fell with a gurgling scream, blood pouring from his neck and soaking his white
fleece red. Another grabbed at her from behind. No sooner did she feel the man’s hand clasp her arm than Jamie’s sword struck
the man’s side. The man dropped to his knees, his mouth moving like a fish caught onshore.

Jamie was a deadly, whirling force, whipping his sword back and forth as he moved around the table. By now, the witches stayed
well back to escape his blade.

But Pomeroy had not fled to the river. He and three other men pushed past the other sorcerers, carrying broadswords. These
four were not soft-bellied merchants unused to fighting. Nay, they carried their swords with the practiced ease of warriors.

Four swordsmen. Linnet did not like the odds.

She got to her knees and whispered close to Jamie’s ear. “Pomeroy is their leader. If you take him, the others may lose heart.”

He nodded a fraction. “He is a dead man.”

Linnet knew she was a hindrance; Jamie would not leave her to attack Pomeroy while the others were circling her.

“We must back up to the wall where Martin is,” Jamie said in a low voice. “I will hold them back while you cut his ropes.”

Suddenly, there was a shout and a blur of movement as Martin shot out across the room. He barreled into several of the witches,
taking them to the floor with him. Before
anyone else could act, Jamie reached into the heap of bodies and pulled Martin out by the back of his tunic.

Linnet had not seen Jamie use his blade, but two more men in hides lay screaming and bleeding on the floor. Three female witches,
including Margery Jourdemayne, fled out the doorway that led to the river.

“Guard Linnet,” Jamie ordered as he handed Martin his sword. “Now get your backs to that wall.”

Now was not a time to argue. Linnet slid down from the table and, holding Jamie’s cloak about her with one hand and his dagger
in the other, backed up to the wall with Martin.

Her heart was in her throat. Jamie stood alone with only his short blade as the four swordsmen came toward him. In one quick
move, Jamie lunged for the alderman and then tossed him through the air at the four swordsmen. Pomeroy sidestepped in time,
but two of the swordsmen fell back as the alderman slammed into them. As soon as the alderman gained his feet, he scrambled
toward the doorway that led to the river.

“The alderman will get away!” Martin said, but she grabbed his arm.

“Jamie said to stay here.”

The other sorcerers who were still standing—save for the four swordsmen—exchanged glances and then scurried out behind the
alderman.

“I will find you and kill you!” Jamie shouted after them.

Linnet felt the tension of the four swordsmen as they moved as a group toward Jamie. Pomeroy was on the far left, a silver-handled
sword gleaming in his hand.

Though Jamie faced them with nothing but a short
dagger, he showed no fear. Nay, he was angry. Seething with it.

“Martin, take her out,” Jamie ordered without turning around. “Get her to safety, and I will take care of these foul Satan-lovers.”

“I will not leave you!” she cried.

The swordsmen’s eyes went to her, and Jamie sprang forward. In an instant, he drove his dagger into the belly and up under
the breastbone of the closest swordsman. Just as quickly, he withdrew the dripping blade and stepped back with the man’s sword
in his other hand.

As Pomeroy and the other two inched closer with their swords raised, Jamie again positioned himself in front of her and Martin.

“Kill the boy, and hold the goddess for me,” Pomeroy told his companions. “We must complete the ceremony before dawn.”

“You wanted to see Lucifer,” Jamie hissed. “And now you shall—for all eternity.”

When Jamie attacked, fighting all three in a whirl of shining blades, Linnet could not take her eyes off him. Despite the
danger, she was captivated by the sheer beauty of Jamie in motion. He was a warrior’s warrior, a fighter of grace and strength,
with honed skills and controlled fury.

In contrast, the sorcerers were hideous, half-naked heathens in dark hides.

Jamie’s sword was a blur, first high and then low, left then right, in front and behind. Not one of them could get past him.
Then he lunged, and Pomeroy went down with a scream that made the hairs on Linnet’s arms and neck stand up. Pomeroy dragged
himself a few feet, leaving
a dark swath of blood behind him, before collapsing for good.

Linnet stared at his still form, bleeding out on the dirt floor, not quite believing it. After all these years, she was safe
from him forever.

A table crashed, drawing her attention back to the fight. Jamie and the two remaining swordsmen went up and down the room,
swords clanking. When they came near, Martin raised his sword, ready to enter the fray.

“Stay with her!” Jamie roared. “If one gets past me, you must be ready.”

A moment later, Jamie got caught between the two. He ducked in time to avoid a fatal blow, but blood dripped from a long gash
down his side. Linnet felt as if a hand squeezed her heart as he stumbled and shook his head to clear it.

Enough of this. “Martin, which one shall we take?”

“The one on the left.”

“Aaargh!” She and Martin shouted as they ran forward together.

The man turned at the sound, and Jamie’s sword hit his throat with such force it nearly severed his head from his body. As
the last man charged from behind, Jamie spun around and impaled his dagger in the man’s chest.

Linnet stood in the middle of the room, clenching her dagger in her fist. But it was over. Bodies littered the floor around
her.

The dagger fell from her hand, and she dropped to her knees. She covered her face with shaking hands. God be praised, they
were all three alive.

Jamie rested his hand lightly on her head. “ ’Tis all right
now, love,” he said in a soft voice. “Come, let us leave this evil place.”

He sheathed his sword and lifted her to her feet.

“No matter how long it takes, I shall track down every one who escaped and punish them for what they did to you,” he said,
holding her face in his hands. “I shall gouge out the eyes of every man who saw you before I cut his throat.”

“Please, Jamie,” she whispered, “I just want to leave it behind me.”

“I swear,” Martin said, and Linnet turned to see that he was stepping back up with his hands up. “I did not look at her when
she was naked. Not once.”

Jamie did not ask how the lad knew she was naked, but he gave Martin a look that would skin a cat.

“Let him be,” Linnet said, putting her hand on Jamie’s arm. “Martin did well here today.”

“You and I will talk later about how you failed to follow my instructions,” Jamie said to Martin, then pointed toward the
passageway that led into Westminster. “Master Woodley is waiting at the top of the stairs. Run ahead and tell him all is well
before his heart fails him.”

Jamie enveloped her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “God forgive me, I was almost too late to save you both.”

“I knew you would come.”

When she slipped her arms around his waist, her fingers touched the wet stickiness of blood, and the breath went out of her.

She leaned back to look at him. “Are you badly hurt?”

“Nothing worse than a usual day’s fighting,” he said, giving her a cocky grin.

Reassured, she started to smile back—and then screamed. Pomeroy had risen from the dead and was charging toward them with
his blade leveled at Jamie’s back.