The Champion. Suzanne Barclay

care what others think of me.”

      “Not now, but when he is gone,” Elinore said delicately, “those whose tongues were stayed by the bishop’s power may speak out against you.”

      “Their words cannot harm me.”

      “They might if they cost you custom or your place in the guild,” said practical Elinore. “And then there is the matter of Sheriff Hamel’s persistent interest in you.”

      “Aye.” Linnet shivered. “Why can he not leave me alone? I have said time and again that I want nothing to do with him.”

      “Silly girl, you know little of men if you ask that.”

      Indeed. She had known only one man, and him so briefly.

      “Men are hunters who revel in the chase. To Hamel you are a challenge. If he caught you, he might well abandon you the next day and never bother you again.”

      Elinore’s words ripped open an old wound. Simon had taken Linnet’s innocence that warm spring night and looked straight through her the next morn when the Crusaders left Durleigh for the East. Nay, he had not done it out of meanness. Logically she knew darkness and drink had likely fogged his memory. After all, Simon had-been unaware of her existence, while she had mooned over him for some time. Fate had thrown them together for that brief, passionate interlude in the dark stables. Shame had driven her to creep off while he still slept. So it was her own fault if he did not know with whom he had lain that night.

      “Well, I will not give in to Hamel,” Linnet said. Though Simon was gone, she could not sully the 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