The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (15 page)

“Ready,” she said
coolly, moving
out
in
front
of
him
with
all
the
grace
of
a
queen. They
traversed
the keep
in
silence, climbing
the long winding
stairs
with deliberate care.
It wasn’t until
they
reached
the
landing
outside
her rooms that Gilles
De Lancey finally spoke.

“I worry
about
you, my lady,” he murmured, pausing
to
take
her
hand.
His
own
were so
different
from the
sheriff’s.
Strong and calloused, but oddly small against her own. “My cousin is not quite…sane. I
would hate
to
s
e
e
you
suffer for his…oddities.
”
He kissed her hand,
and she
had
the strange urge to snatch it away. “I am at your service, good lady.”

She was
being foolish.
D
e Lancey
was the only
friend s
he had in this
castle of
enemies. She didn’t dare offend him. “There is
nothing
to worry
about,” she said calmly, letting
her
hand
rest in his.

“Forgive
m
e
,
lady,
but I
know
my
cousin
far better than
you do, and there
is a very great deal
to worry
about.
I
will
do everything within my power
to keep you
safe. You must
trust
me,
my lady.”

She didn’t. It was that simple. Despite
his
warm
smile,
his
handsome face,
and his earnest, affable
manners,
she didn’t trust
him at
all.
He
reminded her
of
one
of her father’s
stewards, a man
who had been
found guilty
of
cri
m
es too
numerous to mention,
both financial and so
cial,
a man
whose
hideous
death she
didn’t
care
to remember.

Carefully, gently,
she detached her hand. “I appreciate your
offer,” she murmured, slipping
in the door
a
s
H
elva’s
snores continued to
fill the landing.

“I
won’t let him hurt
you,”
Gilles
swore. “I’ll help you
escape before I would let that happe
n.”

She
should have jumped
at the hint
of an offer. If Alistair
hadn’t kissed
her with that
odd
blend of
anger
and desperation,
she might
have.

But he had kissed her. And for
the
time being, she was in no rush to
leave.

“Good
night,” she
murmured, closing
the
door
behind
her.

And
from beyond the heavy wood she heard his voice, shy
and
earnest
and ju
s
t
faintly
breathless.
“Good night,
dear lady.”
Just
before
he turned
the heavy lock.

Alistair Darcourt was getting very
d
ru
n
k
indeed.
He’d dismissed
the
t
w
o
women,
though
he
had
l
i
t
t
l
e
doubt
he could
summon
t
h
e
m
back if
he
were
to change
his mind.

He
wasn’t
about to.
He
had other things
to
d
e
a
l
with,
th
i
n
g
s a great
d
e
a
l
more
troubling
th
a
n
climbing
between
the
le
g
s
of a pair of
overly willing
wenches.

White and black they shall combine
.
The
words
rang
in
his
head,
and he stared
at
his
r
e
fl
e
c
t
i
on
in
the polished
silver goblet with
moody rage.
There
w
a
s
n
’
t
a
soul
much
blacker than his
was, from
his midnight
b
l
a
c
k
hair to the
black velvet
clothes
he
favored,
a
l
l
the
way
down to
his
undeniably black heart.

And
there
wasn’t much w
h
i
te
r
than a
flaxen-haired, white-robed
nun
w
h
o
was
st
i
l
l
as
pu
r
e
and virginal as
the
day
she came
into the
world.
White
and
black they shall combine.
He didn’t
w
a
nt
to
combine
with her. If he
had any
sense
at all he’d send her
back
to the convent, as she’d
begged him
to.

It
wasn’t
as if he had
need
of a woman. There were dozens around eager
to do his
bidding if he
so
much
as
nodded
in
their direction.
And
there
would
be no ne
e
d
to
give
back
Dunstan
Woods. They were
h
i
s
now,
a
n
d
if it hadn’t
b
e
e
n
for
his cursed
mother
he
never
would
have
bothered with this farce of
a marriage,
but simply
taken the Woods
from
Gaveland in the
first
place.