“Good day,” she said and then continued down the stairs at a brisk pace, as if she had an important errand to attend to—which she did.
She continued along the low arched passageway wondering where she would find Jamie. With all the guests, servants would be in and out of the wine cellar, so he would not choose there. Farther down, the door to the spicery was ajar. That was odd. Because spices were as valuable as gold, the room was usually locked up tight.
Was this where Hume and Margery had been? The spicery would be a treasure trove for a woman in Margery’s trade. After glancing up and down the corridor, Linnet slipped inside.
Pungent smells surrounded her. She stopped to draw in a deep breath, trying to identify them. Rosemary, mint, lavender, sage, cinnamon. The rich, intermingled scents were intoxicating. Which had Margery come for? Mint leaves for the headache? Mustard for a poultice? But why would Father Hume come with her?
There was a drop of some substance on the long table used to mix or pour spices into smaller containers. Linnet put her nose to it and sniffed. It had a strong, tangy odor. She rubbed her finger over it, then touched her finger to the tip of her tongue. Her tongue went numb—an analgesic of some sort? Father Hume seemed young to be suffering from aching joints.
She ignored the herbs hanging from the ceiling and went to examine the rows of bottles, jars, and pots. A small cloudy jar that sat alone on the corner of a high shelf caught her eye. It looked as if it was kept apart so it would not be mistaken for another.
She found a small stool underneath the table and stood on it to take a closer look. From the light dust, she could see the bottle was not quite in the circle where it had been.
She lifted it off the shelf and put her nose to it—the same strong, tangy smell. Carefully, she put it back in its place.
What could it be? Perhaps it was something for Eleanor, though it hardly seemed like an ingredient for a love potion.
She jumped as the door to the spicery swung open. “There you are.” Jamie gave her a devilish grin as he kicked the door closed behind him. “I brought the clotted cream.”
He set the bowl on the long table and sniffed as his gaze drifted around the small room.
“Are the smells not wonderful in here?” she said.
“I do like a touch of spice with my clotted cream,” Jamie said with a glint in his eyes.
He dipped his finger in the bowl and brought a large dollop of clotted cream to her lips. She licked it off his finger and closed her eyes with pleasure as the rich flavor filled her mouth. When he took her in his arms and kissed her, the taste of him mixed with the sweet taste of cream. Heady smells filled her nose as he laid her back on the table.
She decided she could tell him later about Margery, the unlocked door, the mysterious potion…
Chapter Twenty-three
Christmas Court was nearly at an end. After so many days of drinking and feasting, the crowd was boisterous. Linnet could barely hear the music of harp, flute, and tabor above the hum of conversation in the Great Hall.
Linnet caught sight of Martin talking with some other squires and touched his arm to pull him aside.
When he turned, his eyes went wide.
“L-L-L-Lady Linnet.” After a delay, he swept her a formal bow, bumping a man behind him in the process. The man swore at him, but Martin did not appear to notice.
Linnet sighed inwardly. Surely, the lad should have grown accustomed to her by now.
“Have you seen Sir James?” she asked as she peered through the crowd.
“H-he took Thunder out for a gallop.”
Someone moved, and a glint of silver near the floor caught her eye. She stood stock-still, unable to breathe. In the gap between men’s leggings and the skirts of gowns, the silver-clawed bottom of a cane shone bright against a black square of the tiled floor. Her vision narrowed like a tunnel to fix on it through the crowd.
Linnet swayed on her feet, hit by a wave of dizziness as the memories burst into her head. She and Francois holding hands as they hid under the bed. The men arguing. All she could see were the men’s feet… and that distinctive silver lion’s paw on the base of the cane.
Where are his grandchildren? Where are they?
The raspy voice had been angry, insistent. With each word, the silver-clawed paw thumped on the floorboards. The memory of the sound made her stomach tighten and her palms go damp.
“M’lady, are you well?” Someone had taken hold of her arm and was speaking to her. She shook the hand off her.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze from the silver base of the cane to take in the man who held it—the man she had been seeking for so many years. She saw a flash of green brocade, but then the crowd moved and her view was blocked.
“Leave me,” she said, shaking off the hand that had fastened onto her arm again.