The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (37 page)

Still Elspeth
d
i
d
n
’
t
move.
She
hadn’t expected
ten
derness
or
affection.
Being
brought
back to
the keep
was almost more
than
she’d hoped
for. But
that
didn’t
mean
she
didn’t
still
long for something
else.

“Are
you
witless?”
he demanded,
deliberately trying
to goad her.
“Was
the
shock of last
ni
g
h
t
too
much for your
delicate
sensibilities? You’d best get
used
to
it. I’m far from
through with you.”

She couldn’t
help it. A smile wreathed her face. “Good,” she said fla
t
l
y,
reaching
for
t
he dress, which lay across her bare
feet.

His hand caught
hers,
hauling her naked body up against his. He threaded one hand thro
ug
h her
thick hair,
holding her face still as he pressed her up
a
gains
t
his
rich
velvet
clothes.
“You’ve
heard the stories, Elspeth
of
Gaveland. Only
half of
them
are true.
But
that’s enough. I’m the
son
of the
devil,
in
spirit if not in fact, and running away from me was probably the wisest
thing
you
ever did.
You
just didn’t run far enough.”

“Should
I
run
now?”

“I’d find you,
”
he
said flatly.
“You’ll never get away.” And he pressed his mouth against her, a
hard,
possessive kiss.

She
endured it
patiently,
waiting.
And to
be
sure, his
mouth
softened, coaxing, teasing, nibbling at her lips,
and his
tongue danced
across the soft
contours
of her mouth, seducing with an unexpected tenderness.

Then he thrust her away
from him,
as if he suddenly realized what he was doing. “I think you’re the witch,” he said in a
cold, bleak voice.
“Get dressed, or
I’ll haul
you back to
the keep naked.”

She picked up the dress, holding
it
against her, waiti
n
g
for him
to
leave. “Is there any water? I need to wash.” He didn’t answer as he strode
from the
room, from the cottage, leaving her alone. She climbed off the bed, feeling stiff and sore, only to find an earthenware bowl of herb-scented wa
t
e
r
on
the rude table by the wall. A soft
dry
cloth
l
ay
beside it,
and
when she touched it she realized the water had been warmed for her.

She washed
and
dressed as swiftly
as
she could, marveling at her sense of well-being. The dress was
long
enough, but built for a more voluptuous frame, and
it
had a
tendency
to
fall off her narrow shoulders and expose far too
much
of her chest. Not that
there
was
much
to
expose, she thought with deliberate self-mockery. She
was
hardly
endowed
with the necessary
curves to delight
a
man.

But
the odd thing
was,
she
felt as if she
were.
She
felt
voluptuous,
sensuous.
ripely sexual.
Her
extremely bad-tempered husband would
probably
laugh if
he knew what
she was thinking.

When she stepped
out
into the
main
room,
he
was
lounging in
the d
o
o
rw
a
y
,
staring
at her
w
i
t
h
a
brooding expression
on
his dark face.
“There’s tea
for you.
Drink it
swiftly,
and
we’
ll be
on
our way.”

She
glanced at
the small
b
owl
on
t
h
e table,
the steam
drifting upward. “Where’
s
your
mother?”

“Somewhere
on
the other
side of Dunstan
Woods, I
suspect. Why
do
you
ask?”

“I wanted to
thank
her for
warming
the water
for me.
And
for
brewing the
t
e
a
.
But
you must have done
it.”

He
obviously
didn’t
like it
that she’d taken
notice.
“Anything to speed
you
along,” he snapped.
“I
need
to
get back
to the
castl
e.
I’m not certain
I trust De Lancey.”

“But he’s your cousin,”
she said,
shocked. “Y
our
closest
friend!
Your second
in
command.
”

“Exactly,” he
said dryly.
“Drink your tea.”

She took the small bowl
in
her hands, noting
that they
trembled slightly, and brought the
hot brew to her lips. It
smelled sweet and s
avo
ry
,
and
sudden
doubts assailed
her.
She set it back down again wi
t
hout touching
it.

His
m
ockery was back
in
full
force. “Afraid I’m going to poison
you,
Elspeth? I
t
wouldn’t be very
practical
me, and I am
a
very practical man. What
would
we
do with your body? If I
want
you
dead,
you’ll know
it. It’s
simply
an
herbal
brew
to strengthen your blood and ease your discomfort.”

“You reassure me,” she said
with a
faint mockery
of her own, ignoring the blush that
rose
to her as she reached for the tea and took a
small, delicate sip. It
warmed its
way
d
ow
n
her throat, spreading more well-being through
h
er
body.

“Of
c
o
u
r
s
e
,
I
could
be lying
t
o
you,” he said
c
a
s
u
a
ll
y,
s
te
pp
i
n
g
into the
s
m
a
l
l
room.
“
It
c
o
u
l
d
be
a love
philtre.
Just to
keep
y
o
u
pliant
and amenable,
I
could
ha
v
e
had my
mother
brew
you
a
potion
that would convince you
t
ha
t
you
were
in l
o
v
e
with me.”