The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (17 page)

But
how
was
he to
explain
t
ha
t
her
implacable, omnip
otent
son was
f
e
e
l
i
n
g
endangered
by
a
slender
reed
o
f
a
girl?
White and
black they shall combine… And all shall be as God’s design.

What
did
it
mean?
His
death?
Or
simply
t
h
e destruction of
the
power
he’d
amassed
for
himself?
She
was
his
nemesis, he
knew
it deep
in
h
i
s
bones,
with
the
faint
tr
a
c
e
of intuitive power he’d inherited from
his
mother.
Elspeth was his
destiny.
And
h
e
refused
to
submit to
any
d
e
s
t
i
ny but that
of h
i
s own
choos
i
ng.

If he
had to,
he’d
have
her
killed before
he’d succumb to
t
h
e ancient
curse.

But
for
a moment,
a brief, errant thought
s
lip
p
e
d
into
his
mind, and he
remembered
the shock of
her sweet, untutored mouth beneath his.
And
he wondered
whether
the reward might
not
be worth the danger.

3

“She’s
eager
for
you,”
Gilles hissed
in
his
ear.

The sheriff barely
heard
him.
He
was watching the
men
training. Savage,
cunn
ing
animals,
all
of
them,
and quite
the
most
e
l
i
t
e
fighting force
in
the whole of
Engl
a
nd.
It was
no
wonder King J
ohn
had
chosen
to
reward
him mightily.
To do less would
be
to
endanger his
own
security.

Not
that
Alistair had
any desire to disrupt
the throne. King John
was efficient
enough,
too
b
usy
worrying
about the nobles i
n
the north that he left Alistair
alone,
the master of Huntingdon w
ith no one to interfere. His
men
guarded
the
western
border from
the bloody Welsh
, who
were more
savage than
human in
the
opinion
of
most people. Only
the savagery o
f
Alistair’s
own
men co
u
ld
match
theirs.

“I doubt it,”
he
said absently a few moments later.
He turned
to glance at
Gilles. “I assume you’re referring
to my
wife? I imagine the only thing she’s eager for is
a
return
to her
nice
safe
convent.”

“You
might consider letting her go.”

Suddenly Gilles
had his
full attention. “That’s an
odd suggestion
,
c
o
m
i
n
g
from
you.
What
would
have
me do,
a
nn
u
l
the
marriage and s
e
n
d
her back
with an
armed guard?”

“I’d make
c
ert
a
i
n
she
arrived safely,”
Gilles said in a suitably modest
voice,
his
blue
e
y
e
s
downcast.

“Would you now?
I
wonder.” Alistair turned back to
watch
t
h
e
men.
It
was
late afternoon,
two days since
he’d accosted his
wife in
that
deserted
hallway. He’d
dreamed about
her
since.
The
first n
i
g
h
t he’d drunk so
much wine he
thought he’d ensured
that
he
wouldn’t
think
of
her.
I
n
s
t
e
a
d
she’d
haunted
his dreams
l
i
k
e
a
white
ghost

The
s
e
con
d
night
he’d
been sober,
and
accompanied. It
had
been
no
better. When
he
pushed
the
clothes
off
the
girl’s
shoulders,
he hadn’t s
e
e
n
the
overripe
body, the sagging,
full breasts exposed
for
his entertainment. Instead he’d
se
e
n
her
body, as pale
and
white as
her
h
a
b
i
t.
Pure, untouched,
a
s
he’d
n
ev
e
r
been
in
his
long, dissolute
life.
He’d
ended up
kicking
the
woman
out,
having lost
his
t
a
st
e
for
her.
If he were
any le
s
s
powerful,
h
i
s
recent
l
a
c
k
of bed
partners
w
o
u
l
d
bring forth gossip. As
it
was,
no
one
would
d
a
r
e
whisper
about
him.
His
capacity for
w
o
me
n,
for
w
i
n
e,
for
w
arf
a
r
e,
was legend
ary.
If
he had
temporarily lost
interest in
the obvious
pl
e
a
s
u
r
e
s of
the
flesh,
it
wouldn’t
reflect
on
h
i
s
a
bi
l
i
t
y
to
control
his men.

But
sooner
or
later
they
would
talk.
Even
his reputation
couldn’t
keep wagging tongues
silent,
and
women who were
rejected
tended
to complain.
He
was
feeling
frustrated,
nervy
as a cat
on
a
hot
stone
wall. He
had
to
take
action, to
do something
about
the
white woman living in the
haunted tower, haunting
his
mind
more
than any h
e
a
dl
e
s
s
g
h
o
st had
ever h
a
unt
e
d
Huntingdon
Keep.