“We should return alone, same as we came,” Rose said, rising to her feet. “If I’m seen with a young man, Father is sure to hear of it and ask questions.”
Jamie was surprised to hear that Mychell was a watchful father. But then, even rats cared for their young.
“You could use a second sword,” Martin said, slanting his eyes toward the elderly clerk.
Martin was young and had no fighting experience, but he did have sharp eyes, a good sword arm—and no fear at all. And most persuasive of all, Jamie had no time to get anyone else.
“Come then,” he said. “You can watch the door for me while I pay an unexpected visit.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
As best Linnet could tell, two days had passed since she awoke in this room. All she had to mark the passage of time was the appearance of her keepers every few hours to bring her food and water and empty her chamber pot. There were three of them: goat, pig, and fox. At least, those were the names she gave them because of the masks they wore.
It gave her hope that they bothered with the masks. If they meant to kill her, why would they care if she saw their faces? She pushed away the thought that they might wear them to hide their identities from one another.
The first day she had made herself hoarse with screaming. When her keepers did not bother to admonish her, she understood no one could hear her and saved her strength. She made herself eat for the same reason. If they gave her a chance to escape, she would be ready. How she would escape with her leg shackled to the bed by a four-foot chain she did not know. At least her wrists and ankles were no longer tied together.
Her keepers moved about silently, ignoring her questions and entreaties as if they were deaf. They never spoke a word, until the last time they brought her a tray of food. Then, for the first time, she heard them whisper to each other.
“Tonight is the full moon.”
“ ’Tis time then. He will come.”
Who would come?
Which of her enemies would it be? Would it be the merchant she had been looking for? Though she did not know him, he would know her. After she had cornered Mychell, she had made no secret of who she was or her intention. That had been a mistake. She should have pursued him with stealth, as she had done with the merchants in Falaise and Caen. But she had grown impatient.
But how had she come to be held by witches? What was the connection between the merchants she had upset and these silent creatures in masks?
One thing was certain. Her drive for revenge had brought her to this place—alone and chained to a bed in the dark. Both Francois and Jamie had warned her again and again that her efforts were dangerous. But she had wanted justice.
Nay, she had wanted more than justice. She had wanted revenge. Was this her punishment for attempting to serve the final reckoning that belonged to God?
In the long hours on this narrow cot, she had ample time to dwell on her actions. What had she been seeking, truly? She thought she understood it now. Ironically, what she had wanted was to feel safe.
All these years she had been trying to put back the pieces of her grandfather’s business—as if that would bring back her grandfather and the safety of her early childhood. His death had left her at the mercy of every sort of evil the world had to offer. She and Francois had each other, but a child needs more than another child.
Ironies abounded. By fighting to regain something lost to her forever, she had closed the door on the love and security Jamie offered her. But the truth was that she had expected to lose Jamie from the start. After losing so much else in her life, she had been afraid to let herself believe Jamie’s love could be lasting.
But was it? If he did love her, why was he about to wed someone else? She tossed and turned on the narrow cot. How could he do it?
She must have eventually drifted off to sleep, for she awoke abruptly to the sound of the door closing. She sat up, her skin prickling with awareness. Someone was inside the room with her; she could feel him staring at her in the darkness.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Show yourself.”
She heard a whoosh and gasped as a flame appeared inches from her face… on the palm of an outstretched hand. The flaming hand appeared to float in the darkness, unattached to any human form. As her eyes adjusted, she discerned a sleeve above the hand and then the outline of a figure in cloak and hood.
Linnet tried telling herself it was all trickery and illusion, but her hand shook violently as she crossed herself.
The figure’s hood was pulled low, making him appear faceless. Using the flame rising from his palm, he lit the candle next to her bed. Then he closed his hand in a fist, and the flame was gone.
“A marvel, is it not?”
The figure’s deep voice was male and familiar. With a sweep of his arm, he threw back the hood to reveal his face. This was not a new enemy. Nay, this was the man with the oldest grudge against her.
Sir Guy Pomeroy.
“You look rather pale, my dear. Did I surprise you?” Pomeroy said. “I cannot tell you how gratifying that is.”