Knight of Passion by Margaret Mallory Page B

Rayburn.
    She shrugged. To each his own.
    “Wait, I believe I do know who he is,” Linnet said. “ ’Tis Owen Tudor. He was one of the king’s squires of the body. Do you
     remember him?”
    “I am sure I have never laid eyes on him before,” the queen said in a soft voice.
    This was not good. After Edmund Beaufort, the queen could afford no more entanglements. Linnet felt sad for her friend. After
     three years of widowhood, the queen was a very lonely woman. And what was worse, she was full of romantic notions.
    Everyone seemed to expect her to be content to mourn the glorious King Henry for the rest of her life. But she was young,
     and she had already been a widow longer than she had been wed. Unfortunately, any relationship wouldthreaten the men vying for control of her son. The episode with Edmund Beaufort was proof of that.
    As she observed the queen’s dreamy expression, Linnet felt a shiver of apprehension.
    “Your Highness,” she said, touching her friend’s sleeve, “let us go to dinner now.”

Chapter Nine
    L innet’s spoonful of soup was halfway to her mouth when the three men strode through the entrance, filling the hall with a
     burst of vibrant male energy. With their hair slicked back from their faces and their glowing good health, they drew every
     eye in the room. Slowly, Linnet set her spoon back in her bowl without tasting her soup.
    Jamie’s wet hair was black, which made his violet eyes all the more striking. When they met hers, the air crackled down the
     length of the room between them. A high-pitched sound came from the back of her throat as the vision of him standing naked
     on the riverbank, water streaming down his muscles and glistening on his skin, filled her head.
    Desire darkened his eyes, as it did every time he looked at her. It would be so easy to be drawn into that burning passion
     again, but she made herself remember Jamie’s regret after his passion was sated. No amount of pleasure was worth the pain
     of that.
    She broke the gaze. She would not be shamed by him. If lust was all he felt for her now, she would not have him.
    Linnet devoted herself to cutting her venison as Jamie strode up to the high table with Owen. Then, recalling herduty, she turned to glance at the queen. Saints above! The queen was staring at Owen with that dreamy expression again—right
     here in the hall, in front of everyone.
    “Your Grace, I beg forgiveness for interrupting your dinner,” Jamie said with a low bow. “I was unavoidably detained.”
    Linnet choked on the piece of venison in her mouth. She shot another glance at the queen, but her friend appeared oblivious
     to the absurdity of Jamie’s remark.
    “With your permission, I wish to present my friend, Owen Tudor,” Jamie said, extending his arm toward Owen. “He served your
     husband, our most dear and glorious King Henry.”
    The queen blushed faintly as Owen gave her an elegant bow—no doubt she, too, was recalling the men’s recent naked state. Owen
     rose from his bow with a broad smile that held frank appreciation, but not an ounce of awe.
    The queen blinked at him, her mouth forming a perfect “O.”
    “Your Grace,” Owen said in a deep, resonant voice. “If it pleases you, I ask your permission to give your steward a letter
     recommending me to your service.”
    While she waited for Queen Katherine to murmur politely and defer the request to her steward, Linnet set her mind to the matter
     of Owen Tudor’s employment. Just what position would give the green-eyed Welshman the least contact with the queen? Falconer
     might do. The queen hated hawking.
    Better yet, “Keeper of the Royal Sheep.” Linnet smiled to herself as she pictured Owen on a very distant hillside. If the
     queen owned no sheep, Linnet would suggest to the steward that he buy her some… on the Isle of Man.
    Queen Katherine spoke, startling Linnet from her thoughts. “Would ‘Keeper of the Wardrobe’ suit you?” the queen asked in a
     breathy