The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (36 page)

The
memory,
a
n
d
something
else.
The old
woman
had
told
him
there’d
be
a
son from
this night’s work.
Elspeth had
no
doubt
about
that
whatsoever.
Whether
it
made
sense
o
r
not,
she knew.
She
carried
his seed, his child, within
her.

She heard
a
guttural,
unromantic
sound,
and
she turned her face
from the moonlit
sky
to stare
a
t
him. He was
asleep,
obviously sated. She must
have
pleased
him, at l
e
a
s
t a
little bit.
How could something that was
so as
tonishing,
so
cataclysmic,
be
mundane
for him?

Of
course, he’d
d
o
n
e
this
a thousand times
before.
And suddenly
Elspeth,
who
considered herself
relatively
m
e
ek and
charitable, wanted
to scratch
the eyes
from every woman who’d
ever l
ay
beneath him.
Starting with that
brazen hussy who had been clinging to his
arm
when
she
first
saw him.

How
had
t
h
e
prophecy
g
o
n
e
?
White and
black they shall combine
.
They’d certainly done
that,
in
marriage
and
then in
the
fl
e
s
h
.
Pure as snow, as blood-red wine
.
Not so
pure
any
more.
It had gone
on
with
something
about death
a
n
d
destruction,
fire
and
thunder
and
rebirth.

His
head
lay
on
her
shoulder. He lo
o
k
ed
like a boy,
innocent,
unsullied.
Not
the creature of
l
e
g
e
n
d
ary
rages and awesome
excesses. Simply
a
man. Her man.

For
however long
he
c
h
o
s
e
to
k
e
e
p
her.
And
w
h
e
n
he
dismissed
h
e
r
she’d have little choice
but
to
take
her
leave,
go
back to the
haven of the
Sisters
of
the
Ever
lasting
Martyr,
or
wherever
else
he
chose
to send
her.
And
she’d go
meekly.

Like hell
she
would! She’d
been brought
up to
be dutiful;
in
this
life she
had
little
choice. When
she’d prove
n
too
willful,
too intelligent
for
her father’s peace o
f mind,
he’d simply shipped her
off
to the
convent.

She wasn’t
going
to
be dismissed again.
She wouldn’t
relinquish Alistair Darcourt
without
a fight. While she’d
taunted
him
w
i
t
h it,
she
had
never actually
believed him
capable
of
killing
her. After
last
night, it
would
be
the
only
way he’d
be
able
to
be rid of her.

His
destiny,
his prophecy, his
curse
.
She was his.
And she
wasn’t
going
to
l
e
t
him go.

The
room
was
filled
will the
faint gray light of approaching
dawn. Elspeth
shivered,
trying to burrow deeper into
the
soft
furs,
only
to find
them ripped
ceremoniously
from
her.

Her
husband
towered
over
h
e
r
,
dark, distant,
clothed
once more in black.
“Get
dressed,” he
said in
a
lazy tone
that
she
didn’t
quite
believe.
“It’s
time
to go
back
to the
keep.”

She
reached
for
t
h
e
covers,
but
he
jerked
th
e
m
out of
her way.
She had
to
content
herself with wrapping her arms
around
her body.
“I
don’t have anything to
wear,”
she
said in
a husky, practical voice. “You ripped
it off
me
l
a
s
t
night.”

He looked
momentarily
d
au
n
te
d
.
He
wheeled
around,
disappearing i
n
t
o
the outer room,
and
a
moment later
he
was
back,
a
blood-red
dress
over
his
arm. He
tossed
it
on
the
bed,
barely glancing at her.
“It’ll
be too big for
you,” he said. “It
must
have belonged
to my mother in her
wild youth. It will
h
av
e
to do.”