The air went out of him. There was only one woman in Christendom with hair like that. Linnet.
And she was in grave danger.
“Do not touch her!” he roared. He raised his sword and pulled the reins, making Thunder rear to clear his way.
He pushed forward through the seething mass. As he fought his way the last few yards, he heard Linnet’s voice over the clamor, cursing the men in both French and English.
A burly man gripped her thigh with a filthy hand, and murder roiled through Jamie. Just as Linnet raised her whip to bring it down on the man, she looked up and saw Jamie. Their gazes locked, and all the sounds around him faded away.
In that moment when she was diverted, the burly man caught her arm that held the whip. Another man yanked at her belt. Over the thunder in his ears, Jamie heard her bloodcurdling scream as they pulled her off her horse.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
She was hanging off the side, clutching at her saddle with both hands. God help him, she would be trampled to death in another moment. Her horse had remained remarkably steady until now. With its rider unsaddled, however, it was wild-eyed, tossing its head and sidestepping into the crowd. Jamie’s heart went to his throat as Linnet swung sideways and slammed against her horse’s side.
The men, whose hold was snapped by the horse’s movement, were grasping at Linnet’s skirts as the horse flung her from side to side. She was hanging on by one hand when Jamie finally broke through to her. With one sweep of his sword, he slashed the two men as he leaned down and caught Linnet around the waist with his other arm and lifted her up onto his horse.
Praise God, he had her! Now he just had to get her off this damned bridge before arrows started flying.
“My horse!” she said, twisting to look over his shoulder.
Without warning, she leaned over the side of his horse with both arms outstretched. Was the woman mad? He gripped her tighter as she reached out to catch hold of her horse’s loose rein with her fingertips.
She sat up and gave him a triumphant grin as she held it up in her hand. Good God, she hadn’t changed a bit. She was happiest in the midst of tumult and trouble. He wouldn’t be half surprised to discover it was she, and not Gloucester, who had caused the riot.
“You gloat too soon,” he said through clenched teeth. “We could be killed yet.”
Her eyes flicked to the side, and she brought her whip down on an arm reaching for her horse’s bridle. He turned his horse and shouted at the crowd, “Get off the bridge! Get off the bridge!”
The panicked mass of people surged against them like rolling swells against a ship at sea. Linnet ignored his repeated command to “let go of the damned horse and hold on.” He had to hold her tight enough to leave bruises on her ribs, while she slashed at people who tried to grab her horse’s reins.
She felt so slight against him. It seemed a miracle she had been able to fight off those men and stay on her horse for so long. But anyone who touched her now would be a dead man. Jamie was a battle-hardened knight. Now that he had her, he had no doubt he could protect her from the rabble.
Flying arrows, however, were another matter.
By a miracle, he managed to reach the end of the bridge a hairbreadth before the bishop’s men blocked the way. Then he rode east along the river, away from the bridge and the crowd, until his heartbeat returned to normal.
They were a quarter mile down the river before he spoke. “What in God’s name were you doing on the bridge? An idiot could see that was no place to be today.”
Linnet turned around to look at him. This time, with the danger past, his heart did a flip-flop in his chest. In addition to everything else she was, did she have to be so beautiful? It was the curse of his life.
“ ’Tis nice to see you, too, Jamie Rayburn.” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “After all this time, I expected a better greeting.”
He fixed his gaze dead ahead and grunted. God in heaven, how could she be so cool after what had just happened on the bridge?
When she leaned lightly against him, his chest prickled with sensation. Lust and longing took him like a fever. He should put her on her own horse now. He wanted to pretend she was too distressed to ride alone, but the thought was ridiculous. This one small weakness he would allow himself. It meant nothing.
“I heard you were with Bedford in France,” she said.
“Hmmph.”
“When did you arrive in London?”
“Yesterday.”
After a long pause, she said, “Are you going to tell me what you are doing in England?”
“Nay.”
