The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (7 page)

She glanced at
her father. She’
d
been taught forgiveness
during her years
in the
convent,
s
w
e
e
t
acceptance
of
a stronger
force.
Her
father
was
looking miserable, guilty, and eager to
escape, leaving
his daughter i
n
the clutches
of
her
new
life. She wanted to kick him.

She didn’t. Pulling her hand free from her
new husband’s henchman, she
crossed
the
few steps that separated
her from her father
and kissed his ruddy cheek.
“Don’t worry,” she
said
in a low voice, “I imagine I’ll be fine.”

Sir Hugh’s
troubled
expression lightened. “You’re sure
, lass?
I
can
always take you back.”

“Could
you?”

He
frowned,
obviously
irritated
that
she’d called his bluff.
“Your husband is
n
’t
a man
to be trifled with, I’ll
warn
you
of that right
now.
Best
learn
to
keep your eyes
down and
your tongue
silent, or it
will
go hard for you.”

De Lancey
was beside
her,
taking
her
arm in his.
“Have
a
g
oo
d
journey,
Sir
Hugh,”
he
said
i
n
a
smooth
voice.

Sir
H
u
g
h
opened
his mouth
to protest, then
closed
it
again with a
s
i
g
h of
defeat.
“Take
care of yourself,
lass,”
he
said
heavily.

“That
will be
the
sheriff’s
job,”’ De Lancey
said.

Elspeth
didn’t
miss the
look
of
acute
dislike
her
father
cast
the
handsome
lieutenant.
Her
father
was
a
simple
m
a
n
,
accepting
of
most
people.
His
dislike
of De Lancey
was
both surprising
and disturbing.

She
d
i
d
n’
t
have long
to
consider
it.
B
e
f
o
r
e her
father had
l
e
f
t
the
c
a
st
l
e
she was
be
i
n
g
led
in
t
o
the interior of
the keep, through dark, odorous corridors
lit
w
i
t
h
greasy
tallow
candles. Two
people accompanied
them—a
plump,
sour-faced
woman
and
an
armed
guard with a
fierce
scar
across
h
i
s
face. Elspeth
w
a
s
n
’
t
sure
which
on
e
was
t
h
e more
dangerous.

They
c
l
i
m
b
e
d
forever,
up the
winding
steps
of
t
he tower.
After
the
days in
the carriage
her legs
wer
e weak
but not for anything
w
o
u
l
d she allow her energy to flag.
She
didn’t want
that
mean-looking
woman putting her
hands on
her.
And for
some
reason
she
didn’t want to
give
De Lancey
another excuse
to touch her.

They climbed until they reached
the
top. The
door
stood ajar on a large, cold
chamber with an
empty fireplace despite the
e
v
e
n
i
n
g
c
h
ill
,
a
huge bed, a chair, and little else. The
few
wall
hangings
were
torn and
dusty, and the entire place
was
filled with cobwebs.

“This is
my
husband’s bedchamber?” she
asked
with creditable
calm,
gazing around
her.

De Lancey
and
the
soldier
were
a
l
re
a
d
y
at
the door,
l
ea
v
i
n
g
the
woman inside with her.
“You won’t
be
sharing
your
husband’s
bedchamber,”
he
said.
“Alistair
t
h
o
u
g
h
t
y
o
u
’
d
be more comfortable up
h
e
r
e
.”
He let his
g
a
z
e
drift around
the unwelcoming room.

She
refused
to
respond to his mockery. “I’m
certain
I’ll e
n
j
o
y
it
here.”

De Lancey’s
b
r
i
g
h
t
blue
eyes
narrowed for
a
moment. “Someone will
b
ri
n
g
you a
meal.
I
don’t
i
m
a
g
i
n
e
your clothes will
be
of any use to
you.
That
i
s
,
if they’re all like the
ones you’re wearing.”