The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (5 page)

He sat up, threading
his
fingers
his lo
n
g
hair,
and
began
to
curse in a low,
vile
voice.
He
had
no
i
d
ea
what the
prophecy meant
bu
t
some
sixth
s
e
n
s
e
inherited from
h
i
s
mother warned him
that
the
ti
m
e
was
close. The
years
of waiting
were
over.
And
he
had no
intention of
surrendering
to
his
fate without a fight.

He knew the knock on the
door. It
was
De Lancey’s,
a
very clever kind of knock, but then, De Lancey
was
a
very
clever fellow.
The
knock suited him,
strong
yet
subservient,
ever so
faintly sly
. Alistair truste
d
De Lancey
as
much
as
he
trusted anyone
i
n
this world. Which meant that he trusted him
not
one bit.

“Go away,”
he
shouted, throwing
himself back down
among
the velvet
bed-coverings.

De Lancey was a brave
man,
there was that
to be said for him. He opened
the
do
o
r
anyway, obviously prepared
to
duck if Alistair
threw
something
at
him.
“I
hate
to interrupt
you,
cousin,” he began.

Alistair
picked up
an
empty goblet
and hurled
it across the
room.
It
bounced
off the door,
rolling along
the stone
floor with
a clanking
noise.
“
Get out
of
my sight,
Gilles
.”

“As you
wish,
sire.” De Lancey’s irony wasn’t lost on Alistair. “I
just thought
I
might inform you that your bride is
about to arrive
.”

Alistair fell
back
a
m
o
n
g
the
pillows, considering
the
notion.
Now that he’d finally
gotten his way, he’d
lost interest
in
the woman.
“About
time,” he
muttered.
“What
does
she
look like?”

“No
one has
seen
her
yet, though
it
appears
she’s
still dressed
in
h
e
r
habit.”

“What?”
Alistair thundered,
furious
.
He
threw him
self
out of the bed,
storming toward his discarded c
l
o
t
h
es
and dressing with
a
rapid disdain
for the fri
volities of
fashion.
“Why the
hell is
she
dressed like
a nun?”

“Cousin,
she
is
a
nun.”

Alistair
scowled
at him. “Not
anymore.
The
girl
is
my bride.
The
sooner
she realizes
it,
the
better.”

“I
imagine you’re going
to
enlighten
her.
That is, if Jenna didn’t wear
you out.”

“Jenna?” Alistair
threw
his
cousin an
irritated
glance
over his
shoulder as
he fastened
his
black
hose. “Who
is Jenna?”

He
d
i
d
n
’
t miss
the sudden darkening
of Gilles’s
determinedly affable
expression.
But
he
had
no
interest
in
deciphering
it.

“Jenna
was
the
woman
who
shared your bed
last night,” De Lancey
replied
in
a
neutral voice.

“Eminently
forgettable,”
Alistair
muttered,
running
his
hands through his
thick hair.

“She didn’t please you?”

“If
it’s
any
concern of
yours,
Gilles,
she
did
not.”

“I’ll
do
something
about it.”

Alistair
barely
heard
him.
“See
th
a
t you
do,”
he said
absently. “Where
i
s
my bride?”

“I
imagine she’ll arrive in
the front courtyard.”

“Very
good.
You
may
greet
her,
take
her to her rooms, and get rid of her
idiot father.”

He’d managed to surprise
De Lancey,
a
feat he seldom accomplished
any more. “Where will you
be?”

“Looking
for
someone
a
little
more talented than
Jenna.
M
y
bride has
made me wait for days.
Now
it’s time for her
to
wait.”

“What rooms?”

A
small, cool smile
p
la
yed
around Alistair’s
mouth.
“Where
else? Put her in the
haunted tower.”

De
Lancey’s
grin
displayed
his
strong white
teeth.
“You never cease to
impress
me,
cousin. Your
bride
will
feel
most
welcome.”

“That,
dear
De Lancey, was my
intention.” 
Alistair strode toward the door. Only for
a moment
did he
con
s
id
e
r
that
he
felt
far
more lively
t
ha
n
he had
in months.
Marriage
certainly did
wonders
for a man.