Knight of Passion (13 page)

Linnet let her breath out when one of the fur-clad figures came forward to take the bowl from him. But it was not over. The
wolf-man leaned over the woman and lowered his masked face to her breast, where he had dripped wine. The woman moaned as he
gave a sucking kiss to her nipple.

As he lowered his mouth to her other breast and kissed it, the chanting grew louder until it pulsed in Linnet’s body. The
dancers’ movements were frantic, twirling and flailing, casting unearthly shadows against the walls.

Linnet held her breath as the wolf-man took hold of the woman’s ankles. Then, as Linnet knew he would, he slid the woman’s
feet apart and leaned down to place the last kiss between her legs. As he did so, the woman tossed her head and chanted.

Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me.
Linnet prayed even as she was rooted to the ground, unable to take her eyes from the scene before her. She was horrified,
and yet there was a dull ache between her legs. It was as if some primeval force held her there and would not let her go.
Three times, the wolf-man did the ritual kisses.

Then, in a sudden movement, the man straightened and swung his arms out, flinging back the wolf skin. He was naked beneath
it, his member engorged. Linnet gasped and finally scrambled to her feet.

But then, the eyes behind the wolf mask met hers and held them, as if he had known she was there in the dark watching all
along. Her heart pulsed in her ears in rhythm with the pounding chant. The wolf-man kept his eyes fixed on hers as he grasped
the woman’s thighs and thrust forward.

Linnet screamed and ran blindly into the darkness. With one hand banging against the wall to guide her, she stumbled through
the passageway. The chanting followed her, vibrating off the walls and pressing in on her from all sides.

Mary, Mother of God, protect me.
Mary, Mother of God, protect me.

At last, she saw a dim light high above her. She imagined the masked figures of hideous demons chasing her, grabbing at her
feet, but she did not look back. Fear choked her as she lurched up the steps toward the light.

A
fter a clandestine meeting with the bishop next door at Westminster Abbey, Jamie returned to the palace. He was weary of politics.
Intent on escape, he avoided the Great Hall, which was still crowded, and headed for the privy palace. Most of Gloucester’s
guests were Londoners and would be returning to their homes tonight. Consequently, the guest wing was nearly empty—and blessedly
quiet.

As he neared his guest chamber, running footsteps broke the silence. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he followed the
sound to the corner ahead—and saw Linnet. She was looking over her shoulder and running hard right at him.

“Ahhh!” Linnet gave a piercing scream as he caught her.

Her eyes were as big as platters, and her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, as if she had been badly frightened. And she
was utterly filthy.

“Linnet, what has happened to you?”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then only shook her head.

Mother of God
. Keeping his voice calm with an effort, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

When she shook her head again, relief poured through him.

“Come, my chamber is right here,” he said, guiding her with an arm around her shoulders. “We will get you cleaned up, and
then find Francois.”

Her headdress was askew, and a dozen tiny braids had come uncoiled and fallen loose from the nets on either side of her face.
How could a woman be such a mess and look more beautiful than ever?

“I had a small fright,” she said, her voice unnaturally high. “But I am all right now.”

“I am sure you are,” he said as he opened his chamber door and brought her inside.

He had forgotten that both his manservant and Martin would be in his chamber. They jumped to their feet and gawked openmouthed
at Linnet, but had the grace to look away when she tilted her chin up and stared them down.

“Go now,” Jamie said in a low voice and tilted his head toward the door. The two murmured their hope that the lady was unharmed
and filed out.

His manservant stuck his head back through the door to say, “The pitcher of water by the brazier should be warm now.”

Jamie nodded his thanks. With his free hand, he picked up the pitcher on his way to the wash table.

Steam rose as he poured the water into the basin.

“Oh, my!” Linnet said, looking down at herself for the first time. And then she laughed, of all things.

Lord above, there was no woman like her.

The water turned brown and gritty as she washed
her hands. While she wiped them on the small towel he handed her, he took the basin to the window and tossed the dirty water
out.

He poured more water in it, then stood back and watched as she washed her face. It was an intimate activity to witness—something
she did every day, alone in her bedchamber. Water dripped from her long slender fingers as they caressed her cheeks and forehead.
With her eyes closed, she reached her arm out. He handed her the towel again, as if he always shared this routine with her.

When she looked up from the towel, her skin was damp and glowing. And she was smiling at him.

He took the towel from her to wipe a drop from her chin.

“You’ve smudges on your neck as well.” He dipped the edge of the towel in the basin and took his time dabbing at a long streak
of mud that ran from beneath her ear and—God help him—down across her collarbone. He swallowed. This was dangerous country.
But he already knew he was not going to turn back.

He dipped the towel in the water again. Her breathing grew shallow as he wiped at another streak marring the perfect white
skin just above her bodice. His own breathing quickened as he saw how her nipples pressed against the cloth.

“Your gown is heavy with mud and past saving, anyway,” he said. “You’d best take it off and wear my cloak to leave the palace.”

She nodded and turned around for him to undo the buttons. He undid them slowly, praying this was going where he thought it
was. He should ask her what had happened, how she got so filthy.

But if she did not care to discuss it right now, neither did he.

His mouth was dry as he eased the gown off her shoulders. This was wrong, he knew it. He might regret it later, but no man
was made to resist this kind of temptation. At least for him, Linnet was the apple in the garden. The one great passion he
could not resist.

He stood still, aching to touch her. Every part of him throbbed with need as she pulled the gown down over her breasts and
hips. It fell to the floor with a wet swoosh.

When she turned, her lips were parted. His breath caught at the sight of the pink tips of her nipples showing through the
thin white cloth of her chemise. When he returned his gaze to her face, she was looking at him with wide blue eyes, in that
direct way she had, as if he were the only man in the world for her.

“Jamie…,” she whispered, leaning toward him.

He pulled her against him and crushed his mouth to hers. God, how he wanted her. Her hands gripped his hair, and her mouth
was open, tongue seeking his. His desire grew into a raging inferno.

And she was as inflamed as he. When she locked her arms around his neck, he did not care if this was heaven or hell. He clamped
his hands on her buttocks and pressed her against his throbbing shaft. Right now. He wanted her right now.

Nay, he wanted her naked first. He pulled away, breathing hard. Her lips were swollen from his kisses.

“Your chemise,” was all he could manage to say.

She nodded and reached down her side for the hem. “Slowly,” he said and dropped to his knees beside her. He ran his hands
up her bare thigh as she eased the cloth
up out of his way. Closing his eyes, he rested his head on her hip as he rolled her stockings down, inch by inch. She tugged
at the chemise to free it, and his face touched bare skin.

“Touch me,” Linnet said above him, and it was all he wanted to do.

It was always like this between them. A shared lust that allowed for no embarrassment. No denial.

She quivered as he ran one hand up the inside of her thigh. When he touched her center, she was already hot and wet, and he
thought he might explode. She leaned forward against the wash table, gripping it with both hands as he moved his fingers over
her sensitive nub. When she dropped her head to rest her forehead on the table, he nipped at the smooth rounded flesh of her
buttocks with his teeth.

He thrust a finger inside her, and she gasped. His throat tightened. Oh, Lord, she was going to come quickly the first time.

He’d been wanting to taste her since he first dropped to his knees, and he wasn’t getting up until he did.

“Turn round and lean your back against the table,” he said.

Without a word, she did as he asked. Her chemise had fallen down so he pushed it up to her hips to reveal the golden triangle
of hair.

He looked up at her. “Will you be too cold if you take your chemise off?”

In one motion, she crossed her arms, pulled it over her head, and dropped it on the floor.

Her breasts were as beautiful as ever. He covered them with his hands. She groaned as he finally put his mouth to
her. No other woman tasted like her. What did the priests know about women, to preach that this was a sin?

“Aye, aye,” she said in harsh breaths as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

His shaft throbbed as he licked and sucked. Every sigh and groan told him she was closer. He wanted to hear her scream with
pleasure, to know no other man could do this for her.

He stuck his finger in her as he worked the sensitive spot with his tongue. How he loved it when her breathing changed like
this. He knew her, could read her body as if it were an extension of his own.

Her cries as she climaxed were the sweetest sound a man could hear.

“My knees are weak,” she said, her voice breathy, weak. “I will fall…”

“I’ve got you.”

He put an arm behind her knees and swung her up across his chest as he got to his feet. When she put limp arms around his
neck, he gave her a deep kiss to remind her he was a long way from being finished.

She gave him a languid smile and raised an eyebrow. “You are not going to regret it this time, are you?”

He shook his head and carried her to the bed.

After the weeks of denial, his hunger was so great it made him shake. He made love to her as if it were the first time and
might be the last. Their passion for each other was bottomless and heedless.

Afterward, he lay with her sprawled on top of him, with only one thought in his head:
This is what I want.

She
is what I want.

Why had he been fighting it? This was how it should be. Owen was right. If she was the woman he wanted—and she was—he should
stay and conquer, not leave the field.

He ran his hand down her back and cupped her bottom. As she sighed and moved against him, he smiled to himself. The effort
to win her would be a good deal more pleasant than trying to resist her had been. Aye, this would be no penance at all.

Linnet would find that he could be every bit as determined as she, once his mind was set. And it was set on her.

Pride is a terrible thing. He wanted to leave her sated. He wanted to make certain that the next time she wanted a man, she
could think of no one but him. He wanted her to sit by her window and long for him, ache for him. To dream of him, despite
herself. To know that no other would ever satisfy her completely.

He wanted her to suffer as he did.

Jamie lay propped up on one elbow, watching her.

Without opening her eyes, Linnet took a deep, satisfied breath and murmured, “I cannot lift my arms.”

She looked as though her body fit the mattress like warm wax on the candle holder.

When she cracked her eyes open, he could not help giving her a wide grin. Then he blew on the damp skin between her breasts,
down the center of her chest.

“That feels… heavenly,” she said, closing her eyes again.

He blew again, making her sigh.

“If we are to have an affair again, as it appears we are,” he said, “this time, it will be on my terms.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Terms? You speak as if we were enemies settling a war between us.”

“You are always insightful. Now, do you want to know the terms?” She drew in a sharp breath as he paused to flick his tongue
over her still-sensitive nipple. “Or shall we end it here?”

He could not be sure if that was a flash of hurt in her eyes or just surprise. Regardless, he was not making the mistake of
showering her with romantic professions of love this time. Nay, he was a wiser man. And he was out to win.

“I cannot say,” she said, lifting an eyebrow, “until I know the terms you propose.”

“First rule: no other men during the course of our affair.”

She must have felt at a disadvantage lying down, for she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Then no other women
either.”

“Agreed. Rule two: When one of us wishes to end it, we will simply advise the other.”

She rolled her eyes. “Will it be sufficient just to tell the other person, or must this be done in writing?”

He smiled. “Either method will do.”

“Any other terms?” she asked, sitting straighter and sounding very prim.

“Just one more.” He held her eyes as he ran his finger slowly down the length of her arm. “I know there are herbs you can
take to prevent conceiving a child.”

“ ’Tis no guarantee,” she snapped, then turned her head to glare at the tapestry on the wall—a particularly gruesome one of
a bleeding saint with a chestful of arrows that
was unlikely to help her mood. In a low voice, she muttered, “Just like a man, thinking a drink of herbs could be foolproof.”

“All the same,” he said, keeping his tone easy. “Will you do it?”

He did not want her to feel trapped into marrying him. Nor did he want to always wonder if a child was the only reason she
did so. There would be time for children later.