The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (2 page)

By
t
h
e
fourth day she was so
weary of trying to breathe through a knotted
piece
of
silk
that smelled
and tasted of
r
a
n
c
i
d
venison
that she
subsided
into
a
furious
silence.

Her father wasn’t lulled
into
thinking
s
h
e
’
d
accepted her fate
.
Although he’d
been
blessedly,
peacefully free
of
his
y
o
u
n
g
e
r
daughter’s
presence in his comfortable
household
for the last eight
years
, he
hadn’t forgotten the
lamentably
w
i
l
l
f
u
l
streak that ran through such an otherwise unremarkable
girl. It was
t
h
e
willful streak
that
had
decided him on
the convent
for her
;
t
h
a
t
,
and her
talent
for
m
a
n
a
g
i
n
g
.
She was the
kind
of
woman
who did very well
with
power;
even at
the
tender
age
of
fourteen
she’d
managed
to run
his
holding
and
see to
his comfort
with
extraordinary
efficiency.

She’d
also
put
a
damper on
some of
his
more
warlike
behavior,
and he’d
d
e
c
i
d
e
d
the best place
for
a
managing
little dove of peace like Elspeth was
the
convent. Particularly
when Sir Hugh
still had two
other daughters
to dispose
of
comfortably.

The
church had been
satisfied
with
a small
dowry,
and
if
Sir
Hugh
of G
a
v
e
l
a
n
d
had missed the
comfort
Elspeth was
adept
at
providing,
his
two younger
daughters had
made no
more
than
fi
nanc
ial
demands
on
his
g
o
o
d nature,
At
least they
hadn’t
wanted
him to change
his ways.

But now
he
was
stuck
with Elspeth again, at least for as
long
as
it
took
to
deliver
her
to her bridegroom. He
glanced
over at her pale, furious face, and wondered
whether he might live
to
regret
this
piece
of work.

Not
that
h
e’
d
had
a
choice. Darcourt
was
not
a
man o
n
e argued with. When
Gilles
De Lancey
had
arrived
with
the
s
heriff’s
ultimatum,
Sir Hugh had told
himself
that
things
could
have
been worse. T
he
sheriff
demanded
only
one
of
his daughters,
and
the
fact that
Elspeth
was
the least
comely
and already
immured in
a
convent
seemed to
disturb
her
prospective
bridegroom
not one
w
h
i
t
.
Or
so De Lancey
had
informed
him.

Sir
Hugh
was
a
great
deal
more
grieved
to part
with
Dunstan
Woods.
It
was
a
prime piece
of forest
,
albeit
a
h
a
u
n
ted one,
and it
held
more
venison
t
h
a
n
a household could
go
through
in
several
lifetimes.
Sir Hugh w
o
u
l
d have
gladly
married
all
three
of his
daughters to the mad
sheriff of
Huntingdon rather
than lose
the
wo
ods. But
he’d
h
a
d
no
choice
in
the
matter,
he
knew that
full well.
He’d s
een
evidence of
t
he
sheriff’s
temper
and
determination
,
knew
about the
scores of
d
e
a
d
,
had seen
the
burned,
blackened
villages
that
had
been left
in his
henchmen’s
wake. The
s
i
g
h
t
of
Gilles
De Lancey
riding
into
his
stronghold
had
put
the
fear of God
into
h
i
m
,
far
greater
than
any worry
about tearing his daughter
away
from her
v
o
c
a
t
ion
.
Huntingdon
ha
d
used
an
yt
h
i
n
g
within his reach
to
consolidate
his
wealth and
power,
including
some
of
the
most
l
a
wl
e
s
s
men-at-arms
ever
known.
Sir
Hugh
knew the
alternatives—do
w
ha
t
Darcourt
de
m
a
n
d
e
d or
see his
own
villages
l
a
i
d
waste
over
s
o
m
e
trifling excuse.