The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (40 page)

Gilles De
Lancey was
awai
t
i
n
g
them, a welcoming
smile
o
n
his handsome face, a guarded
look in
h
is
perfect blue
e
y
e
s
. “We
wondered
where
you w
e
r
e
,
cousin,” he
said
pleasantly.

Alistair fixed
him
with
a
cool stare. “Were
you
unable
to
discharge
your
duties during my absence, De Lancey?
You
c
ou
l
d
be r
ep
laced.”

De
Lancey flushed.
“Everything
is in good heart, my
l
o
r
d
sheriff.
I was
simply concerned…”

“That touches me,
G
i
l
l
e
s,”
Alistair
said, shifting Els
peth
in
h
i
s
arms.
“And
I
do
know how
to
reward loyalty.”
He
started
through the hallway, his
arms
too
tight
around
her.

“Where
are
you
taking me?” she
asked. “My
rooms
are
in
the
north
tower.”

“Your
r
oo
m
s
are wherever
I
say they are. If
you
try
my
patience
any
l
o
n
g
er
,
they’ll
be
in
the
dungeon.”

“Yes, my
lord
sheriff,” she said
meekly.

He cursed her
under
his breath.
“Between
you and
De
Lancey
I’ll never
h
av
e
a
moment’s pe
a
c
e
.”

“And were you looking
for
pe
a
c
e
,
my
lord?”

The
hallway
was
deserted. Deliberately,
Elspeth
knew.
Though
De Lancey
wouldn’t be far
away
;
he’d be
silent,
watching,
spying.

Alistair
let
Elspeth down,
her body sliding against his,
her bare feet cool on the stone floor.
“If
I
am,”
he said,
“then
d
o
u
b
tle
ss
I
married the wrong nun.
You’ll sleep
with
me,
wench.
Until I tire
of
you.”

“Or I
o
f
you.”

He
caught
her chin
in his strong hand, and his fury blazed. “
Don’t
push
me
too far,
E
l
speth.
You’re mine,
and
what is mine, I keep.”

It
was
a clash
of
wills. If
she
had any sense at all, any decorum,
she
would
lower
her
eyes and docilely agree.

Instead
she
lifted her hand and
gently touched his
cheek.
H
e
flinched, trying
to
pull away,
but
she simply wrapped
her hand in a
lock of
his
thick, dark hair.
“My
name
is
Elspeth
of
Huntingdon. And you’re mine, Al
istair.
Remember
the prophecy.”

He
stared down
at her in
mute
frustration.
“I only
wi
s
h I
could for
g
e
t
.”

6

“You
aren’t
going to abandon
me
here?” Elspeth
demanded
when
Alistair
dragged
her into
a
huge room
and
then
started
for
the door.

He paused,
staring
a
t
her. “Would
you prefer my company?
I
have five
m
i
n
u
t
e
s
to
spare. Get
on
the
bed
and lift your skirt
s
.”

He
watched
the faint
color
rise
to
her
cheeks,
but
she managed
a steadfast
expression.
“
There is no
need
to
be
crude, my lord.”

“There’s
every need.
I
am ruler
of this castle, lord
of
this
domain,
placed here
by his
highness,
King
John.
I have power
over
everyone, your family included, and I
can
do anything
I
damned
well please. I
can
be crude, I can be vicious, I can be completely murderous if it takes my fancy.
Get on
the
bed.”

She had a temper, his bride.
That much he’d discovered early on. She turned
to look for something to
throw at him.

He
was
at
her
side,
catching her
arm
before she
could
heft
the heavy
candelabrum.
His fingers wrapped
around
her wrist so tightly he
numbed it,
and
she dropped the
heavy
metal
with a cry of pain.

He
relea
sed
her instantly, squashing the flash of
guilt
as swiftly as
it came
upon
him.
“You
will
learn
not to defy me,”
he
said. “Unless
you
relish
pain.”

“I
was
never
particularly
obedient,”
she
said quietly, rubbing her aching wrist.

He
took
her hand and
he
could see that
it
required all her willpower
not
to
flinch as
be brought her
wrist to
his
mouth,
kissing the
red
marks his
l
o
n
g fingers had left.

He felt
the
h
o
t chill
run
through her,
and
she shud
dered,
closing
her eyes
for a
brief
moment.
He stared
at her,
obsessed, wanting her with an intensity that
made
him
forget everything, including
his suspicions, his des
perate
need
for
power.
He
stared
at her,
and
all he
wanted
was
her,
h
e
r
gentleness, her temper,
her
stubbornness,
her
humor.
The thought terrified
him, he, who
had
never known
fear.

“De
Lancey,”
he bellowed,
his eyes not leaving her.

“My
lord?”
h
e said,
appearing
in
the
open
doorway.

Alistair still
looked
at her, and
his
fingers were
caressing
her
wrist,
u
n
a
b
l
e
to
help
himself.
He
had
no
choice.
H
e
had
to
se
n
d
her away while
h
e
still could.
“You
w
i
ll
take
Lady
Elspeth back
to the con
vent.”

“No!” she cried, trying to
pull away from
him
in
sudden
despair.

He
d
i
d
n
’t let
her go. “The
marriage
will be
annulled.
I
nform the bishop.”

“No,”
she
said again.

“By your
command,”
De Lancey
said, and
there
was no
missing the
satisfaction
in his voice.
“I
warned you,
cousin.
She’ll
weaken you, and there’s
no
way you can
hold
y
o
u
r
power if
a
woman gets
in your way…”

“Silence!”
Alistair thundered, still staring
down at
Elspeth’s
miserable face, his fingers caressing her. And
then
he threw
her hand
away from him
and
stormed from
the
room without
a
backward
glance.

He
didn’t stop
until
he
reached
the courtyard. The people
were scurrying away
from him,
as always, and
he told
himself he was pleased
to
have such a reputation for harshness.
Doubtless
they thought
him capable of witchcraft at the
very least, and
no
one dared disobey him.

Except
for the
man
who’d
killed
Jenna. The
man who
professed to
be
his
devoted
servant,
his best friend, cousin. The man he’d left alone with
his bride.

It
h
a
d
been a
simple enough matter
to
find who’d spent
the
last
night
with
Jen
n
a
.
De
Lancey
was
possessed of any
number of
useful
qualities—brutality,
charm,
deviousness,
and
a
certain
slyness that
stood
him well
in
the
place
of
intelligence.
But
he
was
also
cursed
with
an
overweening vanity, one
that threatened
to
rival
Alistair’s
own,
and he
had
failed
to realize his cousin
knew
him
far too
well.