It drove him half-mad to think of it, ’twas so foolish. “Master Woodley is a very useful man.” She spoke primly and sat even straighter on her horse. “I’ve never had a better clerk.”
“You use a clerk for protection? For God’s sake, Linnet, don’t play games about this. Pomeroy is a dangerous man.”
She looked off into the distance with narrowed eyes for a long moment. Then, in a low voice he barely caught, she said, “Why can he not let it go?”
“Let what go?” Jamie asked. “There is something more to this business with Guy Pomeroy, isn’t there?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. After a pause, she said, “Sir Guy accused me of killing his uncle with sorcery.”
“The loathsome swine!” There was no more dangerous charge to level at a woman. “But I heard your husband was old as… uh, quite elderly.”
“Louis was three score and ten and in poor health, so no one took the accusation seriously.” With a roll of her eyes, she added, “Sir Guy even accused me of using a love potion to persuade Louis to wed me in the first place.”
Pomeroy was a fool. Linnet had no need of love potions. She could blow her breath into bottles and sell it.
“You’d best tell me what else you did to him,” Jamie said. “Surely, I deserve to know the entire story before I kill him.”
“You have not forgiven me for that day in Paris, so why should he?” With that, she spurred her horse and cantered ahead, splattering mud on him in her wake.
Damn, must she always bring up their past?
Jamie sank into a sour mood as the men ahead jockeyed for position, each trying to ride next to her. If an ox lay dead in the road, they would ride right over it unawares.
Martin, who must have been trailing behind them all this time, drew up beside him. Jamie ignored him; he wanted to be left in peace.
But peace was not to be his this day.
Martin cleared his throat. “Sir James?”
“I’ve told you that you may call me Jamie,” he said without taking his eyes off the group of riders in front of them.
Whatever Linnet had just said, all the men were laughing. What a pleasant journey this was going to be. He would be watching horses’ rear ends and men making fools of themselves over Linnet all the way to goddamned Windsor Castle.
“Sir, may I speak plainly?” Martin said.
Jamie turned to find his squire looking at him with a painfully earnest expression. “Just say it, Martin, and be done with it.”
“I am grateful, sir, that you accepted me as your squire after my liege lord was killed in France,” Martin said, his voice high with tension. “But I was raised to believe that a knight must always show respect to ladies.”
Jamie blew out his breath. His young squire must have seen Linnet slap him yesterday. ’Twas no playful slap either.
“Is it your custom, sir, to offend ladies?” Martin asked. “For if it is, I shall have to seek my knightly training elsewhere.”
As if Linnet’s presence was not torture enough, now he was saddled with young Galahad here. Surely God was punishing him.
“As far as I know, Lady Linnet is the only woman in whom I inspire violence.” Though Jamie was not yet twenty-four, this young squire made him feel a hundred.
“I hope you did not give her good cause to strike you,” Martin said, his voice stiff with reproach.
The saints preserve him, Martin sounded ready to pull his sword. Oddly, it both amused and cheered Jamie to see such chivalry in his young squire.
“Things are not that… simple… between this particular lady and me,” Jamie said, his eyes on Linnet again.
They rode in blessed silence for a time before Martin spoke again.
“Sir?”
This time, Jamie turned to find Martin gaping at him, his eyes wide and blinking, as if he had entered a brightly lit room from the dark.
