memory of their loving by giving herself to another. And then there was the other, the greater sin that weighed on her conscience. She had already betrayed Simon once by giving away his most precious gift.
“No woman should be forced to endure someone she dislikes. I am only saying that you must be prepared. If God does see fit to take our good bishop, Hamel may pursue you.”
“I fear it has begun already.” She told Elinore of the tall man who had trailed her from the cathedral.
“Well, that explains why you looked like a hunted thing when you bounded in the door. Let me give you a room here.” Elinore had made a similar offer when Linnet’s father died.
“I hate to leave Drusa and Aiken alone.”
“Bring them here. He can sleep here in the kitchen, and she can have a pallet in your room.”
“I do not know.” Linnet twisted her hands together. “To leave the shop and my spices unguarded does not seem wise.”
“It is just through the back lane,” Elinore said. “I can have one of our serving lads sleep there if it would ease you.”
“Thank you, Elinore, you are a dear friend to try to protect me, but, if worse comes to worse, I would not want you to fall afoul of Hamel on my account.”
A soft gasp warned they were no longer alone. Tilly stood in the doorway, her eyes alight with speculation.
“What mean you sneaking in here?” Elinore demanded.
Tilly sniffed. “I didn’t sneak, mistress. I’ve come after four more bowls of stew. For the sheriff and his men.”
“The sheriff is here?” Linnet cried.
“Aye. He said he likes the food—” Tilly smiled provocatively “—and the service.”
Linnet waited to hear no more, but rose and headed for the outside door with Elinore close on her heels.
“Stay. It’ll be safer here,” Elinore whispered.
“Nay.” Linnet grabbed up her bundle. “I had best get back to the shop.” She dashed out the door with Elinore’s warning to take care ringing in her ears.
Behind the Royal Oak was a modest-size stable and beside it, the privy. A narrow lane cut through the grassy backyard and disappeared into a thick hedge. The lane led clear
through to the back door of the apothecary. Here there were no lights to guide the way, but Linnet knew it well enough. She ran, the cloak clutched tight against her chest. Just as she cleared the hedge, she ran headlong into something warm and hard as rock.
She bounced off and flew backward, striking her head as she went down and driving the air from her lungs.
“Are you all right?” inquired a low male voice.
Linnet whimpered, more from fear than pain. She tried to move, but her limbs only twitched, and a gray mist obscured her vision.
“Easy.” Large hands gripped her shoulders, stilling her struggles. “Lie still till I make certain nothing is broken.”
The voice was hauntingly familiar.
Blinking furiously, Linnet made out a figure hunched over her. His hair and clothing blended with the gloom so his face seemed to float above her.
Simon of Blackstone’s face.
“Sweet Mary, I have died,” Linnet whispered.
A dry chuckle greeted her statement. “I think not, though doubtless you will be bruised come morn. I am sorry I did not see you coming.” Dimly she was aware of gentle pokes and prods as he examined her arms and legs. “I do not think anything is broken.” He sat back on his haunches. “Can you move your limbs?”
“Simon?” Linnet murmured.
He cocked his head. “You know who I am?”
“But…you perished in the Holy Land….”
“Nay, though I came right close on a few occasions.”
Joy pulsed through her, so intense it brought fresh tears to eyes that had cried a river for him.
He leaned closer, his jaw stubbled, his eyes shadowed by their sockets. “Do I know you?”
A laugh bubbled in her throat, wild and a bit hysterical. She cut it off with a sob. She had been right. He did not even remember her or their wondrous moment together. “Nay.”
“Curse me for a fool. You’ve hit your head, and here I leave you lying on the cold ground. Where do you live?”
“Just yonder in the next street.”
He nodded, and before she could guess what he planned, scooped her up, bundle and all, and stood.
The feel of his arms around her opened a floodgate of poignant memories. “Please, put me down.”
“Nay, it is better I carry you till we can be certain you are not seriously hurt.”
So gallant. But his nearness made her weak with longing, and she feared she might say something stupid. “I am not hurt.”
“You are dazed and cannot judge.”
“I can so. I am an apothecary.”
“I see.” His teeth flashed white in the gloom as he smiled. Though she couldn’t see it, she knew there’d be a dimple in his right cheek. “I should have guessed, for you smell so sweet.” He sniffed her hair. “Ah, roses. I thought longingly of them when I was away on Crusade.”
She had always worn this scent. “Did they remind you of a girl you had left behind?” she asked softly, hopefully.
“Nay.” His eyes took on a faraway look, then he shook his head. “Nothing like that. I have no sweetheart and never have.”
Linnet’s eyes prickled. “Please put me down.”
“You are stubborn into the bargain, my rose-scented apothecary,” he teased. “But I am, too. Which way is home?”
Linnet sighed and pointed at her shop. It was heaven to be carried by him, to feel his heart beat against her side. If he had dreamed of roses, she had dreamed of this. She looked up, scarcely able to believe this was not some fevered imagining, but the warmth of his body enveloping her as it had long ago.
All too soon they reached the back of her shop.
“Will someone be within?” he asked.
Shaken from her reverie, Linnet nodded. “My maid.”
Simon kicked at the door with his toe.
“Who is there?” Drusa called out.
“It is I, Drusa,” Linnet said, but the voice seemed too weak and
