The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (44 page)

“
As
I
said,
Gilles,” Alistair
remarked pleasantly,
“you are most
definitely
a
fool.”

Elspeth had
been tugging
at
the
dress,
trying
to rip it
free,
but for
all that the material was
ancient, it
was still very
strong.
Her
neck
w
a
s
wet,
and
she
knew
the
dampness
c
a
m
e
from
her own blood,
but
she
refused
to
think
about it,
too
intent on
freeing
herself, too
intent on the
confrontation
between
the
man
who looked
like the
devil
and
the man
who
was
the devil.

She
saw
Gilles move,
the knife slashin
g, and
she
screamed out
a warning,
but Alistair was
out
of
range, disappearing into
the
darkness
in
the back of
the small chapel.

Gilles
laughed, a pleasant,
benevolent chuckle.
“So
be
it,”
he
said. “I’ll do
you both, you know. People
know
the
prophecy,
cousin;
I’ve made certain they’ve heard
it. ‘Flame and fire
destroy
them both, death and rebirth,
blood
their troth.’
I
only
wanted
to
serve
you. You
and
I shared so much. The same love
of
power,
the
same
lack
of
weakness. I
never
would have
been
dis
tracted
by
a woman.
Perhaps
I’m better
off
without
you
interfering.”

“How are
you
going to manage
the
flame, Gilles?”
Alistair’s mocking
voice
floated forward.

“Oh,
quite
easily,
dear
cousin.
I
was
already planning
it for your lady wife. I will
simply send
you
to your doom
along
with
her. You
can’t
escape,
you
know. There’s
no
way
out
back there, and
I’ll
be waiting
by
the front.
I’ll
run
you
through—it
won’t
matter.
No
one
will find
your
body unti
l you’re
too
blackened and
burned
for people
to know
w
h
a
t
actually killed you.”

“Don’t you think my
p
e
o
pl
e
might notice
if
the
chapel goes up in
smoke in the
middle o
f
the day?” Alistair s
ou
n
ded as
reasonable as
Gilles
did,
as if they were
d
i
s
cu
s
s
in
g
the
proper deployment of troops,
or
where
the best fi
s
h
in
g
was
to be
h
a
d.
“I’ve tried
my best
to
rid
them
of
their
foolish, sentimental
religion,
but I’m afraid I’ve
f
a
i
l
e
d
.
They do cling
to
t
h
e
old
ways,
and would do
anything
to
k
e
ep their
s
h
a
b
b
y
little
chapel from burn
ing.
And
w
h
o
’
s
to
say
it won’t
spread
to
the stables,
and
on
to
the kitchens?”

“
Th
e
r
e
are
o
t
h
e
r
horses. Other kitchens. And I’m afraid
there’s
no one
around
to
come
to your assistance.
They have
orders—from
you, I
told
them—to keep
to
their
houses,
no
matter what. They’re too terrified of you to
disobey.
Even
if they
h
e
ar
your
w
i
f
e
’
s
screams
for help,
they
won’t
interfere.”

“You’re
probably
right,
dear cousin,”
Alistair
reflected. “Then I expect
it
behooves
me
to save
myself.”

“You
can
al
w
ay
s try, dear
Alistair,”
Gilles
said
gently
as he
slipped out
the
door, slamming it
behind
him.

In
a fl
ash
A
l
i
s
t
a
i
r
hurtled out of the
darkness,
throwing
h
i
mself against the
door, but
it
was
already
barred.
He
po
u
n
d
e
d
on
it,
his
formidable
voice
raining
curses
and
imprecations
at
De Lancey’s
golden
head, but
the smoke was
already
seeping through
the door,
crackling
noisily
with the
h
un
g
ry
sound of dry tinder.