The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (41 page)

He
wouldn’t
dare
harm
Elspeth while
Alistair was
close
by, Alistair knew that
much. Gilles
would
wait
until
he
got
her
away from
Huntingdon
Keep. But s
h
e
would
never
make it back to
the
convent.
Some
accident would befall her,
and
De Lancey would
return
alone, sorrowful, smirking when
h
e
thought
no one
would notic
e.
And
if
Alistair had
any
sense
at
all
he would
allow
him to do so,
turning a
blind
eye
while
De
Lancey
did
the
dirty work.

But Alistair’s
cool common
sense
s
e
e
m
ed
to
h
a
v
e
evaporated. De Lancey had
been
a
useful too
l, but
now
his
usefulness was
at an
end. He
would
send Elspeth away
from
him,
someplace
distant
w
h
e
r
e
he
could swiftly forget about her. But
first
he
would
kill De
Lancey.
Before
De
L
an
c
e
y
killed him.

Elspeth didn’t
move.
Misery
and
despair
formed
a tight
ball
i
n
s
i
d
e her heart, burning
through
her
soul.
He couldn’t
dismiss
her
so
readily,
so abruptly.
She couldn’t let
him
do it.

“We’ll
leave within
the hour,”
De
Lancey said
gently.

She turned
to look
at him,
her eyes bright with
unshed tears. “I won’t go.”

“Yes, you will,
my lady.”

“He’ll
change his
mind,”
she cried, certain
of no
such thing.

But
De
Lancey suddenly looked
unsure. “
It’s
possi
ble,” he said. “It could be made
to
happen.”
For
a
moment
the
notion didn’t look
the
slightest
bit pleasing to
him,
and then he
put
h
i
s
usual affable
smile on
his
handsome
face.
“We c
o
u
l
d m
ake it
happen,
my
lady,”
he continued.
“If
you
love
him,
I will do everything I
can to
help
you.”

Through her misery her Elspeth still retained
a
trace
of
suspicion. “Why?”

“Why,
because
he’s
my lord and my
cousin. I want
only
what’s best
for
him,”
De
Lancey said smoothly
.
“But
we’ll have
to
be circumspect.
He’s ordered
me to
take
you back
to the convent, and we’ll
have to
make him think
we’re
leaving. He
doesn’t like his will to
he
crossed.”

“So
I’ve
observed,” Elspeth
said faintly.

“You’ll
need
to
change
for
the journey. Act
as
if
to
accept his
d
e
cr
e
e
.
I’ll send
one
of t
h
e
serving
women with
c
l
o
thes
for
you.”

“Not Helva,”
s
h
e begged, remembering
the
woman’s
sour
old
face.

“
No,”
said De Lancey,
with
commendable sadness,
“Not
Helva.
S
h
e
’
s dead.”

A
sudden
icy
fear
trickled
through Elspeth’s body.
“What do you mean?”

“Someone cut her
thro
a
t
last night.
She
was
found
in
the
tower bedroom,
hidden
be
h
i
n
d
some
furniture. Some
one
butchered her
in
a
mindless fury.”

“Not Alistair,”
s
h
e said
fiercely.

“Of
course
not,”
De
Lancey agreed softly, his
eyes
full
of pity for her
obvious naiveté.
“
Are you certain you don’t want me to get
you
safely
away from here?
While you
can
still
go?”

“Very certain.”

De Lancey
nodded, a certain
grimness
around his fine mouth. “Meet
me
in
the outer chapel.
If anyone questions
you, say
you’r
e going
to make confession so
that you
may
reenter the convent absolved of
any
worldly
sins.”
There
was
a
pregnant
pause.
“Were
there
any worldly
sins,
my l
a
dy?”

She
looked
at
him with
a
haughty
expression worthy
of
her
husband.
“What business is it of yours, my lord?”

“None,
of
course,”
he
said hastily. “Remember, we’ll
meet in
the
chapel.
No one
will
be
there at this
t
i
me
of day. We
can
talk privately.”