The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (47 page)

“Liar,”
he said, and dropped her.

She landed with a tiny yelp.
“What
do you
mean by
that?” she demanded,
affronted.

“You didn’t
faint.”

“I
felt dizzy.”

“You d
i
d
n
’
t
want to see me
cut out
Gilles’s heart.”

She sat
up, fully aware
that
the
neckline
of the blood-red dress
ga
ped attractively.
At
least she
suspected he
found it attractive, judging from the
way
he was
looking at her.
“Well, no,”
she
admitted. “I told
you,
I
don’t like
the
si
gh
t
of
blood. Would
you
have done it?”

“Yes,” he said
flatly. “What about this?”
H
e
touched her neck and
she winced. “Doesn’t
he
deserve
to pay
for
this?”

“Considering
that
he
is
already dead,
I
think the debt
is
paid
in
full,” she said
.
“What
are you
going to do
now?
Continue
to terrorize
t
h
e
poor
pe
o
p
l
e
of Hunting
don?
Send
me
back to the
convent? Find another
madman
like De Lancey
to
commit
your
crimes?”

He stared at her, and there was
no reading
his expres
sion.
“Things
have
worked
well
so far,”
he
said.
“In my
short
life I’ve amassed
enormous power
and wealth. People will do
anything
I
tell
them
to.
I
see no reason to
change the
way I do things.”

“You have
everything you
could
ever
want. There’s
no
ne
e
d
to
frighten
people
i
n
t
o
doing your
w
i
l
l
.
It’s
just
as
easy to
inspire
their love.”

“Why in
the devil’s
n
a
me
would
I want to do that?” he
demanded.

“If
not
for God,
then for
m
e
,”
she
said simply.
“
And
for
the
sake
of
your children.”

He
looked
horrified
.
“I
could always gag
you,”
he
said,
half
to himself.
“You
must have taken
a
vow
of silence
in
the convent.
There’s
no
other
explanation
for
your
being quite
so vociferous now.”

“I’m
not
as
m
e
e
k
as
I
should
be.”

“That,”
h
e
said calmly,
“i
s
an
understatement.”

“You don’t
need
a
mousy
wife.”

“I don’t
need
a
wife
at
all.”

“But
you’ve
got one.”

“It’s nothing I can’t remedy. I’ve
broken
the
proph
ecy. We
weren’t
destroyed by
flame
and
fire. I
h
av
e
nothing
to worry about
by getting
rid
of you.”

She shook
her
head,
f
e
e
l
i
n
g
her
l
o
n
g
hair flow
around
her.
“You didn’t
b
r
e
ak
the
prophecy.
You
made it co
m
e
true. ‘Flame and fire
destroy
them both, death
and
re
birth,
blood
t
he
i
r
troth
.’
She touched
his fingers, which
were still
marked
with her blood. “A part
of
me
died
in
that
fire.
A
part
of you as
well.”

He jerked
a
w
a
y.
“You’re fanciful.”

“No, I’m
not.
You try so
hard
to
be
wicked.
A
truly
wicked
man would have left me
in the flames.
You
came back and
saved me.”

“It
was
a mistake,”
he said
sourly.
“If
I’d left
you
there,
at
l
e
a
s
t
I
wouldn’t
have
to
listen
to your
infernal yammering.
And
I would
have caught
up
with De Lancey before
Morgana got
to him.”

“Morgana?”

“Somewhere
in the heart of Dunstan Woods she’s sitting
with
a
little doll
in
her
hand.
And there’s
a
pin
stuck
right through the
center of
that
doll’s neck. I
may
not
ha
v
e
had revenge, but
my mother has.”

“I
don’
t
believe
in witches,”
Elspeth said, shivering.

“Fortunately,
De
Lancey
did.”

“You can’t
send me away,”
s
h
e
said desperately, rising
to
her
knees
in the
bed.