Knight of Passion by Margaret Mallory

the queen?”
    “Aye,” Owen said. “Your father gave me a letter recommending me to her service.”
    “Well, you can’t see her like that,” Jamie said, grinning. “I fear the maids will murder me if I bring you inside.”
    He turned to his squire. “Martin, go fetch soap and towels. I am taking him to the river to get cleaned up.”
    “But sir, the water is freezing.”
    “This man survived the winter siege at Mieux,” Jamie said, slapping his friend on the back again, despite the mud. “He can
     survive a dunking in the Thames in November.”
    “I’ve not been this filthy since the siege,” Owen said with a laugh.
    “Praise God you don’t smell as bad as you did then.”
    “ ’Tis because I bathed in your family tub just last week,” Owen said. “With your pretty sisters washing my back.”
    “Like hell they did,” Jamie said. “I expect my father locked the older girls in their bedchambers until he raised the drawbridge
     behind you.”
    “I never got closer to them than thirty feet,” Owen said with a grin. “By the by, your entire family threatens to come here
     if you do not pay them a visit soon.”
    “I am anxious to see them, too, but I cannot leave Windsor yet.”
    “Your parents hinted they had something important to discuss with you.” Owen elbowed him. “Don’t suppose they’ve finally found
     some poor girl to wed you, do you?”
    They walked along the path by the river in companionable silence, looking for a good spot. The rain had stopped, but the path
     was slippery with mud.
    Jamie looked over his shoulder to be sure Martin had gone, before saying in a low voice, “Linnet is here.”
    Owen turned to stare at him, the whites of his eyes showing against the mud. “Linnet? The same Linnet whose name no man dared
     mention to you for five years?”
    “The very one.”
    After a long pause, Owen said, “Has she a husband now?”
    Jamie shook his head.
    “You bedding her yet?”
    Jamie did not answer.
    Owen laughed. “I can see you have, you devil.”
    Jamie shrugged.
    “Ha, I knew it!” Owen said. “You two could never keep your hands off each other.”
    That was true enough, but it had been more than that for him back in Paris. Jamie stopped and looked out across the river.
     He took a deep breath and told himself he would not let it happen again—and he did not mean just the bedding part.
    “I have bad news for you, Jamie boy,” Owen said. “She seems to be the only one who will do for you. Instead of fighting against
     it, why don’t you fight for her this time?”
    Jamie snapped his head around and glared at Owen. “Aye, I said fight for her. But for God’s sake, Jamie, fight dirty this
     time.” Owen raised his muddy fist in the air. “Fight hard. Fight to win.”
    “As a Welshman, you may be willing to chain a woman to your hearth, but we English are more civilized.”
    “I can see I shall have to speak plainly, since you are but a slow-witted Englishman,” Owen said, shaking his head. “Last
     time, you left the field.”
    “After what she did, how—”
    “Ach!” Owen said, dismissing his objection with a wave. “The other man found you in bed with her, not the other way around.
     What is your complaint?”
    “She deceived me, scoffed at my good intentions, and made a fool of me.” Not to mention, ripping his heart from his chest.
    “You know nothing about women! Your problem is that you feel you must be truthful,” Owen said. “Believe me, if I loved a woman
     as you do—and do not even attempt to tell me you do not—I would find a way to keep her.”
    Jamie put his weight behind a shove that sent Owen sliding down the slippery riverbank. Owen waved his arms wildly, trying
     to catch his balance before his feet went out from under him and he disappeared over the bank.
    “Enjoy the water!” Jamie shouted as he clapped the dirt from his hands. “Catch me a fish while you’re in there.”
    He heard a muffled string of curses coming from