“How did you get into my hall? Who are you?” The old man pounded his cane on the floor as he shouted. It was a distinctive silver-clawed cane.
“The mayor believes you know the whereabouts of Lady Linnet,” Jamie said.
Brokely’s eyebrows flew up. A moment later, he waved the servants off with his swollen, knobby hands, saying, “Shoo! Shoo!”
Jamie sighed. Pressuring old men and soft merchants was unpleasant. Give him a good fight against a worthy opponent any day.
“Your son-in-law has learned of what you did to Lady Linnet’s family,” Jamie said.
“ ’Tis high time Coventry knew and gave me proper thanks,” the old man said, banging his cane again. “If not for my fortune, he would not be mayor today. And I’m not ashamed of what I did to get it. ’Twas only because my daughter insisted, that I kept quiet.”
So the mayor’s wife knew—and the mayor did not. “Was it she who gave you that fine cane? It must have cost her a pretty penny.”
“She, at least, is grateful for all I’ve done for her.” “Then she must be grateful to her husband as well, for she gave him a cane just like it,” Jamie said.
“Bah. I don’t know why she set her sights on that prattling dog. But ’twas my money that bought him for her.”
“Money you stole from an honest man who had fallen ill,” Jamie said. “Have you no shame for that?”
“He was a foreigner who made far too much profit than ought to be allowed on English soil.” Brokely shook his head. “I only wish I could have done it sooner. But that foreign devil was a clever bastard.”
“The mayor says that if you wish to see your daughter and grandchildren again,” Jamie said, taking his lie a step further, “you will tell me what has happened to Lady Linnet.”
“He would not dare.”
“You know damned well he would,” Jamie said. “I suspect that is why your daughter kept it from him all these years.”
“Coventry always did have a pole up his arse, the self-righteous fool.” The old man spat on the floor. “The ungrateful son of a—”
“Tell me now!” Jamie shouted. “What have you done with Lady Linnet?”
“I’ll tell you, but it will do you no good now.” Brokely turned his gaze to the darkened window. “ ’Tis the full moon tonight. You are too late.”
Linnet heard the chanting in her dream before she awoke. The pounding rhythm pulsed through her, increasing the violent pain in her head. A familiar dankness clung to her skin and was heavy in the air she breathed. She came to full wakefulness in a sweat of fear, knowing where she was: behind the secret door at Winchester Palace, where the witches met.
At first, she was too frightened to open her eyes. The flicker of candlelight and shadows played against her eyelids. She took in a slow breath, then opened her eyes a crack.
Even though she expected to see them, she gasped at the sight of the figures whirling and twisting within a ring of candles on the floor. As before, the figures wore grisly masks and animal hides.
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.
