Free Knight of Passion by Margaret Mallory Page A

boiling again.
    “A scratch is nothing,” she said. “You cannot murder a close ally of Gloucester over it, when killing him might set off a
     civil war.”
    How he had burned to take his sword to Pomeroy right there in the Great Hall at Westminster. But she was right that any spark
     could ignite the conflict between the feuding royals into violence. And so, Jamie had issued achallenge for Pomeroy to meet him in single combat at a place outside the city.
    Yesterday afternoon, he rode to the appointed place a mile and a half outside the city and waited for Pomeroy.
    Three hours he waited.
    When Jamie stormed back into the palace, ready to run the cockroach through on the spot no matter the consequences, Pomeroy
     was gone. He had left London for his estate in Kent. If Jamie did not have a duty to stay near the queen, he would have followed
     Pomeroy.
    For now, he had to content himself with sending a message to Kent renewing his challenge. He left it to Pomeroy to name the
     place and time. Eventually, he would teach Pomeroy the lesson he needed.
    “It is not your place to defend me,” Linnet said, bringing Jamie back to the conversation at hand. “I can take care of myself.”
    Jamie snorted. “I have seen how you do that. What can you be thinking, traveling about London with no one but that ancient
     man for an escort?”
    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. Hewould 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