The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (45 page)

“Damn!”
Alistair
said, whirling
around
and storming
to
the darkened
end
of the
chapel.

“He said there
w
a
s
no
exit there,”
Elspeth called after
him,
still
yanking at
her dress.

“He’s
an
i
d
i
ot
,”
Alistair
s
h
o
t
back.
“I’m
not
about
to
be a
roasted
pig
for
his delectation.”
And
he began
slamming
his
body
at
a
spot in
t
h
e
far
wall.

The
fla
me
s
had
spread rapidly,
licking up
the sides
of
t
h
e
wall
and edging toward the thatch.
Elspeth gave
one
more mighty yank of
the
dress, and
the
material
ripped.
In
s
tea
d
of freedom, however,
it brought
the
ancient altar
down
on
h
e
r
leg
with a
painful crash, trapping her even more
securely.

The
smoke was
filling
her
lungs
and
her e
y
es
,
and she
could
no
longer see. S
h
e
could
hear Alistair
cursing,
however,
and
the
sound
was
oddly reassuring.
F
l
ames
were
filling the dust-dry
building,
blocking any possible exit. But Alistair
would
escape. It would be a
small
victory.

“Where
the
hell
are you?”
h
is voice
snarled through
the
thick smoke.

“I’m
trapped,”
she said between
fits of
coughing. “You
go ahead and
save yourself.”

“
For
God’s sake,”
he
snapped, “get
on your
feet and
get
out of
here
.”

“I
can’t.”

The
thatch
had
caught, setting
the entire ceiling ablaze.
It
wouldn’t
be
long,
and
Elspeth
expected
it would
be
painful,
and she
only
hoped she
wouldn’t
scream.
Despite
Alistair’s
protestations of cold-bloodedness, she
didn’t
think
he’d
want
to hear
her scream.

A
shape
loomed
up
out
of
the
sm
o
k
e
with such suddenness
she
did
scream.
The
heavy
altar
was shoved
off her
leg, and
s
h
e
was
hauled
to her
feet,
then
up
into
her
husband’s arms.
“Hide
your
face
a
g
a
i
n
s
t
my
chest,” he ordered
,
and
st
ar
t
ed
through
the
flames.

The
noise and h
e
a
t
were unbearable,
suffocating.
She
wanted to
push
him
away,
but
she
knew
further argument
would only
e
n
d
a
n
g
e
r
him.
“Stupid
man,”
she
whispered
against his
chest,
certain
they were both about
to die.

A moment
later
t
h
e
y
were out
of the
in
f
e
rno
,
into
air
so fresh
it hurt to
breathe it.
Alistair sank to
his knees, Elspeth
still
clutched
in
his
arms,
and
she raised her head
to see
embers
burning
on his
dark
v
e
l
v
e
t
sleeve.
She
slapped
at them,
ignoring
the pain
in
her
hands and in her
neck
until
he
stopped
h
e
r
,
holding
her
hands
in his,
s
tari
n
g
at
her
out
of
his w
i
l
d
,
golden
eyes.

“He
cut you,” he
said,
his voice hoarse
from the
smoke.
He touched
the
blood
on
her neck
a
n
d
it
glistened
bright
red
with life.
“I’ll rip his
heart
out.”
He
tried
to pull
away,
but she
c
a
u
g
h
t
his
hands firmly. Her
st
reng
th
was no
match
for his, yet he didn’t pull away.

“Why
didn’t
you
l
ea
v
e
me in there?” she d
e
m
a
n
d
ed.
“You
could have been killed.”