The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (46 page)

“Foolish sentiment,” he snapped.

“Is
that
all?”

“Practicality,” he added. “You might
be carrying my
child.”

“Your son,” she
said,
saying it aloud
for
the
first time.

He
looked
s
t
a
rt
l
e
d
. “You’re
not
the witch. There’s no way
you
could know.”

“I
k
n
o
w.
”
She looked up, rea
li
zing with
s
u
d
d
e
n
shock
that
it was
raining
quite heavily,
s
oakin
g
down
upon them
as
they
knelt
in
the courtyard.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and li
g
htni
n
g streaked across
the
l
ea
den
sky.
“You
had
no other
reason
to
s
a
v
e
me?” she asked.

“Perhaps I
didn’t want
the
prophecy
to
come true.
I
detest
b
e
i
ng
a whim
of
God.”

She smiled
then,
and
released
his
hands. “If
you
say
so,”
sh
e
said, sinking
back.

Whatever threats
De
L
a
nc
e
y had used
to
keep the
inhabitants of
Huntingdon Castle in their homes
had
long
since
lost their power.
A
crowd of people
was
congregating
around
the
burning
chapel,
muttering
darkly. The heavy
rain
w
as
s
o
aking everything,
keeping the fire from spreading.

“You,
there,”
Alistair
called in
his lordly, arrogant voice. “See to my wife. She needs
tending.
The rest
of you,
there’ll
be a reward of forty marks
for
the man who
b
r
i
n
gs
Gilles De Lancey to me.”

“He’s right here, your lordship,”
one
of the
men-at-
a
r
m
s said
in an
uneasy
voice.

Alistair
s
u
r
g
ed
to
his
f
e
e
t
,
instantly
dismissing
Elspeth’s
existence
as he followed the
v
o
i
c
e,
but she
man
a
g
e
d
to
struggle to
he
r
feet,
h
au
li
n
g
the
heavy wet dress around
her
to trail after him.

“Where?” he demanded.

“
He’s dead,
your
lordship. Looks
like he fell
on
his
knife.”

Elspeth came up
behind her tall,
rain-drenched
hus
band
and
stared down
at
the
dead man, trying
to
keep
the
bile from rising in
her
throat.
In
death, Gill
es De
Lancey
was
no
longer
a handsome
man.
He lay
on
his
back
in
t
h
e
mud,
his
bright
b
l
u
e
eyes wide and
staring, his jeweled
knife
skewering
his manly throat.

She
c
o
u
l
d
feel h
e
r
husband’s
r
a
g
e
,
his
tension as
he took
a
step
toward his enemy’s body,
and she decided
now
was
as
good
a time
as
any.
She
swooned,
deliberately graceful, prepared
to
topple onto
the
ground if
need
be
to s
t
o
p
her
husband from
committing
an act of
sav
agery.

She never
made
it to
the
ground.
A
l
istair
caught
her, cursing
loudly,
holding
her with infinite gentleness.
She closed
her
eyes and
let him
carry
her
out of the
rain
and
into the warmth
and safety of the keep
as he
cursed
all the way,
issuing
orders
and then
countermanding
them.
He
was
a
rare handful, her husband, she though
t
,
hiding
her
trembling
smile against the
wet v
e
lv
e
t of his tunic.
He smelled like rain
and
smoke
and Alistair, and she
wanted to
cry.

The eventual
silence
came as
a shock. She lifted
her
head, plastering
a wan expression on her
face, only
to find
that
he’d
brought
her to
his
rooms
.
None
of
the
servants had followed—he
must have
di
sm
i
ss
e
d
them
or
scared
them away with all
his ranting
and raving,
and now they were alone. He
stood
beside
the
high carved bed and
stared
down
at
her, an enigmatic
expression on his face.