The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (24 page)

“He’s
not dead,”
th
e
old
woman said,
more
a
state
m
e
nt than a
question. “
It
would take
more
than
the
likes of
you
to
stop him.
He’
s
got protection
from his mother, the
w
i
tc
h,
and
f
r
o
m
his father, the devil
.
No puny
little weakling
like
you could
harm him.”

“I haven’t
done
badly so far,”
s
h
e
said,
her
unrepen
tant tongue
getting the best of
her once
more.

“He’ll kill
you.
He’ll
cut out your
heart
and feed
it
to the crows,” she hissed.
“He’ll slash
your
throat from ear
to
ear,
just
like poor Jenna,
a
nd
the
stones
will grow red with
your blood.”

Elspeth controlled her
queasy
reaction
to
such
an
im
age with
a
strong effort.
“Then
I’d
better
get out of
here,” she
said
in
a
practical
voice,
wondering
whether Helva
would
try to s
t
o
p
her. Wondering
whether
she
stood
a
chance
in
hell of
overpowering such a
mountainous
woman.

But
Helva
made
no
move
toward her.
“Run,” she
said in a
low,
evil
voice.
“It
will do
you no
good. He’ll
find you.
He will,
or
his
mother.
Your body
will be
out
a
t
the crossroad,
the
flesh
flayed from
your bones
as a warning…”

“Please!” Elspeth
protested.
“I
can
imagine
the rest.”
She
pushed
past her,
starting
down
the
winding stair
s
as
quickly
a
s
she dared.

“He’ll f
ind you!” Helva shrieked after
her,
standing
on
the landing
like
an
avenging angel.
“And you’ll
die
a
slow,
terrible death.
You’ll
die, you’ll
die…”

Elspeth
closed
her
ears
to
the
shrieks
a
n
d
curses, in
creasing
her
sp
e
e
d
in
the
dark
tower.
Though the
noise from
t
h
e
great hall
was
thunderous, so was
H
e
l
v
a
’
s
voice,
and
she
didn’t
dare
run into any
of Alistair’s
men.
Not
if she
hoped
for a chance of escape.

She
heard
the
noise of booted feet
on
the stone floor
just
as
she
re
a
c
h
e
d the
bottom
of
the
stairs,
and without
hesitation
she
slipped
into
the
s
h
a
d
ow
s
,
grateful for
the
darkness
of the
pilfered cloak. She
could
see Gilles
De Lancey’s blond hair,
his stalwart body
as he paused
at
the foot of the stairs,
and she
almost
called out
to
him, asking
for
h
e
lp
.

Something
kept
her silent. Something
stilled
her
hand
as
s
h
e
was
about
to reach
out
to
him.
Something quieted her
as
he started
a
slow, steady
climb
to
the
tower.
When he moved
past
the
first
c
ir
c
l
e,
she stuck her
head
out to
peer at
him. The
torchlight glinted on the
jeweled
knife
at his
belt,
and
she stared
at the weapon
with
some
thing
akin
to fascination.

All men
were
a
rm
e
d
nowadays,
even
priests.
Of
course
De
Lancey would wear
a
knife at his
belt. Why did
s
h
e
think
there
was
evil
attached to
it, any
more
evil
than
came
attached to
m
o
s
t
weapons?

He
might
have felt her eyes
on
him,
or
he
might simply have
been naturally
cautious. He
s
topped,
whirling
around to
stare
down into the
darkness an instant after she’d
flattened
herself against the wall, her breathing and
her
heartbeat
stilled.

A
moment
later she
heard his footsteps
continue moving
up
w
a
r
d
until the sound vanished into
the
darkness.
A noise drifted
down,
an eerie,
gurgling
sound,
like
a v
oice
being
cut
off
mid-sentence.
And then
all
was
silent
once
more.
She
didn’t dare
hesitate
any
longer.
It took
her
precious minutes
to
wrestle with
the
heavy
door, and then
she
was outside
for
the
first
time in almost
a
week,
the soft night
air
swirling around her.