Knight of Passion by Margaret Mallory Page A

to their house in the dead of night and helped them get out of London. He had even paid
     their passage on the ship to Calais.
    If that swine Mychell was to be believed, Higham was one of the men who had been in their London house that day she and Francois
     hid under the bed. Mychell said it was this Higham who carried the unusual silver-tipped cane she remembered.
    She did not expect to recognize the men’s voices after all this time, but she would remember until her dying day that silver
     claw pounding on the floorboards.
    Mychell told her that he and this Higham received their instructions from the third man, whose name they never knew. But Mychell
     was lying. Whoever had the cane was the man giving instructions that day. Now that Francois had found Higham, she intended
     to discover if he was another intermediary or the man behind it all.
    It was time for her to make a trip to London.
    Jamie wiped the rain from his face with his sleeve. Damn, it was coming down hard.
    “There’s no game,” Owen said as he pulled his horse up to ride next to Jamie through the brush. “Animals have the sense to
     stay under cover.”
    Jamie had insisted they go hunting, despite the freezing rain. He needed to get away from the castle or go mad. Every time
     he saw Linnet in the hall, he found himself speculating over which man she had taken as a lover.
    Or men. Blood pounded in his ears every time he recalled her saying she might require more than one.
    Fortunately, there were few noblemen or wealthy merchants at Windsor in this lull before Christmas. But since Linnet made
     it clear she was not looking for a husband, she could just as well dally with any of the myriad clerks, grooms, hawkers, and
     guards. There was an abundance of such men at Windsor.
    “Why the sour look, my friend?” Owen said.
    “The damned rain is running down my neck.”
    “ ’Tis more than this foul weather,” Owen said, wiping the rain from his eyes with his gloved hand.
    “Quiet. Too much talk will scare the game.”
    “So Linnet has kicked you out of her bed, has she?” Owen said with a wide grin.
    “That is none of your business,” Jamie snapped. “But while we are talking of women, I have a warning to give you.”
    Owen made a face. “Come, Jamie, I already swore to you I did not touch one of your pretty sisters.”
    “Not with my father at home, or the birds would be pecking at your swollen body in the marshes below our castle wall.” Jamie
     laughed, his mood finally lifting.
    “My body pecked by birds is a humorous notion, is it?” Owen leaned between their horses to punch Jamie’s arm. “I am not so
     foolish as to risk William FitzAlan’s ire.”
    “You should fear my mother no less. I warn you, she keeps her dagger sharp and is not afraid to use it.”
    “ ’Tis lucky, then, that I’ve no interest in deflowering virgins.” Giving Jamie a broad wink, Owen said, “I like a woman who
     knows what she’s about, if you know what I mean.”
    Indeed, Jamie did.
    Owen’s remark about his sisters had diverted Jamie from what he meant to say. “The woman I must warn you about is Her Highness,
     Queen Katherine.”
    “Has she suggested she is not pleased with my work in some way?” Owen asked, playing innocent.
    “ ’Tis more that she seems a bit too pleased.”
    Owen’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “What are you accusing me of, Rayburn?”
    “I accuse you of nothing,” Jamie said, ignoring the gesture. “But where the queen is concerned, perception alone could get
     you hanged.”
    “ ’Tis bad enough I let you persuade me to come out ina gale for sport,” Owen said, shaking the water off his hat. “But I must put up with another lecture?”
    “I am telling you, Owen, they may punish the queen by putting her away in an abbey, but as for you”—Jamie turned to point
     his finger at his companion—“Gloucester and Beaufort would be quarreling over who had the better right to stick your head
     on a pike on