Now she understood her maid’s unease and furtive glances.
“They are saying,” the priest said, leaning forward, “you used sorcery to make the queen fall in love with Edmund Beaufort.”
Her mouth went dry. This had to be Pomeroy’s doing. “Sir James Rayburn’s family is a powerful one. While you were ‘under his protection,’ certain persons were afraid to act.” The priest cleared his throat. “They are no longer afraid.”
“I have means to protect myself,” she said.
“They will prove insufficient. Your friend recommends you leave at once for your homeland.”
“Leave for France?” she asked, startled.
“You haven’t much time.”
As a child, she had been forced to flee London in the dead of night. She was sorely tempted to do so again. But she could not leave England until she saw Jamie again.
Or heard news of his marriage.
Besides, she had done nothing wrong. She would not let her enemies force her to leave this time. She had no intention, however, of sharing her plans with this weasel of a priest—or his keeper.
“You can thank my ‘friend’ for her counsel,” she said as she eased the door closed.
“They will arrest you tomorrow.” The priest stopped the door with his foot to give her his parting words. “And here in England, they burn witches.”
Linnet paced her solar, considering what to do. It seemed foolish to stay. Jamie wanted a wife who could give him a quiet life and a peaceful home. Even if she were not arrested, tried, and burned, she could never persuade Jamie she could be that sort of wife—not with accusations of sorcery whispered about her.
Who was behind this? At first, she assumed it was Pomeroy. But now, she wondered if she had ruffled too many feathers among the powerful London merchants. They were suspicious of her, just as they were of the queen.
As a foreigner, she should have walked softly. Instead, she had fanned the flames of their resentment by her success in trade. And then, she had used the leverage her success gave her to pursue one of their own.
Whether it was Pomeroy or the merchants spreading these accusations, she would not just sit here, waiting for her enemies’ next move against her.
“Lizzie!” she called, wanting her maid to help her change.
When Lizzie did not answer, Linnet went looking for her. After finding no one belowstairs, she went behind the house to the kitchen. Carter, the rough man Master Woodley had hired to escort her about the City, sat on a stool eating an apple. Master Woodley must have hired Carter for his size alone, for the man was huge.
“Where is Lizzie?” she asked.
Carter cut a slice from the apple and ate it off his knife. “The other servants are gone.”
They must have heard the rumors of sorcery. Apparently Carter was too surly to be frightened.
Fighting back the sour taste of nausea at the back of her throat, she said, “I will need you to escort me to Westminster in an hour.”
Carter nodded but did not get up. “I shall be here.” Linnet went to her chamber to dress for the occasion. She would dare them to make the accusations to her face. Damn them! She was so angry that her first instinct was to wear a bold, blood-red gown. Instead, she made herself think carefully about the impression she wished to make.
She was well aware her looks could be both an advantage and a disadvantage. Rather than the red, she chose a delicate eggshell-colored gown embossed with intricate embroidery. The trim was a warmer shade of the same creamy white shot through with silver threads. A thin ribbon of the trim ran along the top edge of her bodice, while wider bands were sewn at the high waist, at the wrists, and along the bottom of the gown.
It was not easy getting into the gown and matching headdress without a maid, but when she looked at herself in her polished steel mirror, she was satisfied. The snug bodice, set off by the trim, subtly showed off her breasts and the whiteness of her throat. When she walked, the trim along the hem drew attention to the movement of the skirt and made it appear to float about her.
Coils of fair blonde hair were visible through the delicate silver mesh on either side of her face. Most important, a heavy silver cross rested just above the top of her bodice. Everyone knew witches could not wear crosses. On a longer, more delicate silver chain, Jamie’s pendant hung out of sight between her breasts. She touched it and closed her eyes, wishing with all her heart that he was here.
Never in her life had she felt so alone. Jamie was gone. Francois, too. She could not call on the queen without putting her in danger. It was up to her to save herself, as it had always been.
After slipping on her cloak with the silvery-gray fur trim, she took one last look in the mirror. She was ready for them.
She was no angel, but she looked like one.
Chapter Thirty-four
