Elspeth controlled her instinctive snarl. “My marriage has been most sudden, sire,” she said in a low voice not devoid of reproach.
“But not unwelcome, I trust.” The golden beauty turned to her father, and there was no lessening of the amity on his handsome face. “You might wish to break your fast before you continue on your way, Sir Hugh. The sheriff has laid on a meal for you, so your delay will be brief.”
Sir Hugh’s ruddy face darkened for a moment. “I’d planned to stay a few days. Make sure my daughter’s well settled…”
“There’s no need,” the man said smoothly. “My master will make her welcome.”
“Your master?” Elspeth said in a startled voice.
If the man knew what she’d been thinking, he didn’t betray it. “The sheriff of Huntingdon. Your husband, Lady Elspeth.”
She was good at hiding her feelings. She simply nodded her head. “And where is my husband?” she asked in a cool, controlled voice.
No answer was forthcoming, but she hadn’t really expected one. “He’s charged me with seeing you safely settled in your new quarters. I’m his second in command, Gilles De Lancey, and your comfort is my most important task. You’ll enjoy the rooms your husband chose for you. They have an excellent view of the countryside.”
She heard a snicker from somewhere behind her, but ignored it. At least they wouldn’t be putting her in a dungeon. “I’m sure I’ll find them most charming,” she said. She turned to her father, who was surveying their host with doubtful eyes. “You needn’t worry about me, Father. Since you saw fit to marry me to the sheriff I’m sure I’ll be well provided for. Don’t delay your trip on my account. My sisters await you, and Rowena will want her dress back.” Destroying the dress had been her one victory, and she took pleasure in it. Her sister’s vanity had been in full flower when Elspeth had left for the convent eight years before. It had probably reached unmanageable proportions by now.
She glanced at her father. She’d been taught forgiveness during her years in the convent, sweet acceptance of a stronger force. Her father was looking miserable, guilty, and eager to escape, leaving his daughter in 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 isn’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 good journey, Sir Hugh,” he said in a smooth voice.
Sir Hugh opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a sigh 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 man, accepting of most people. His dislike of De Lancey was both surprising and disturbing.
She didn’t have long to consider it. Before her father had left the castle she was being led into the interior of the keep, through dark, odorous corridors lit with greasy tallow candles. Two people accompanied them—a plump, sour-faced woman and an armed guard with a fierce scar across his face. Elspeth wasn’t sure which one was the more dangerous.
They climbed forever, up the winding steps of the tower. After the days in the carriage her legs were weak but not for anything would 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 evening chill, 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 already at the door, leaving the woman inside with her. “You won’t be sharing your husband’s bedchamber,” he said. “Alistair thought you’d be more comfortable up here.” He let his gaze drift around the unwelcoming room.
She refused to respond to his mockery. “I’m certain I’ll enjoy it here.”
De Lancey’s bright blue eyes narrowed for a moment. “Someone will bring you a meal. I don’t imagine your clothes will be of any use to you. That is, if they’re all like the ones you’re wearing.”
“I’ve been a holy sister for eight years.”
De Lancey’s smile was charming. “You’re in for a rude awakening.”
Elspeth stood very still as she heard the door close behind him. She heard the key turn in the lock. She could feel the woman’s eyes on her, but not for anything would she allow her sudden panic to show. She moved to a chair and sank gracefully into it.
“Your husband’s a madman,” the woman said.
Elspeth lifted her eyes. “Is he?” she said coolly.
The woman nodded, her mouth pursed grimly. “He’s the spawn of a witch and the devil himself, and he’s without mercy entirely. You’d be better off throwing yourself from yon window than enduring even a night of him.”
Elspeth leaned back. “That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” she murmured. “He’s got whatever dowry he wanted from my father, and he wouldn’t have me interfering with his pleasures.”
“You won’t be interfering with the sheriff. No one dares to. He’d have your throat cut as soon as look at you,” the woman said, her eyes small and dark and mean.
“Charming. I get the impression I’m not due for a long and happy marriage.”
Her mild irony was lost on the woman. “Don’t you care? Doesn’t it bother you that you’ve been married to a monster?”
“Since there’s nothing I can do about it, I don’t propose to waste my time beating my breast about it. If he’s not interested in having a wife, perhaps he’ll allow me to live a separate life.”
The woman shook her head. “You have no idea, do you?”
She could hear the noise of his approach already, the ring of nailed boots on the stone steps, the raucous sound of laughter, both male and female. She didn’t move, and she kept her hands folded in her lap to hide their trembling.
She knew his voice when she heard it. Clear and strong and arrogant, bordering on malicious. “Open the door, De Lancey. We want to view the lady of the keep.”
It took all Elspeth’s self-control not to move when the heavy wooden door was thrust open. All her self-control not to flinch, as the woman did, when the small group of people crowded into the room, staring at her.
He stood in the middle with a buxom redhead firmly attached to his side. Elspeth paid the woman scant heed, concentrating on her husband.
Black, she thought. Black from the top of his long hair to his deep velvet clothes. Like a raven, or a bird of prey. Or a sleek black wolf.
His mouth was wide and cynical, set in a face of narrow, suspicious elegance, and his bright eyes were a curious golden color. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as his henchman, nor as broadly built. He was lithe, lean, wickedly graceful, whereas De Lancey was stalwart and beautiful. But next to the sheriff, De Lancey’s blond good looks faded into insignificance.
She rose with all the dignity bred into her. Her white robes trailed on the filthy floor as she crossed to the mocking, cynical man who had married her. She took his hand and sank gracefully to her knees in front of him. His was a disturbingly beautiful hand, with long, deft fingers, a tensile strength. He wore no wedding ring, of course. In its place was a strange golden ring, one that looked
like a bird, with black stones for eyes. She pressed her lips against the back of his hand, then looked up at him.
“Husband,” she said.
For a moment the rest of the room faded into oblivion as they stared into each other’s eyes. His were dark, unreadable, yet there was no missing the fierce intelligence or the disturbing light as he looked down at her.
She knew what he would see. Pale, over-tall, too skinny, and utterly insignificant. With luck he’d send her back untouched.
He smiled then, a cool, mocking smile that nevertheless had the force of a blow. “My lady wife,” he murmured in return, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Welcome to Huntingdon Castle.”
And in the distance, Elspeth could hear De Lancey’s muffled snort of laughter.
2
All in all, Elspeth decided three days later, married life agreed with her. For one thing, since that initial confrontation, she had yet to see her husband again. Apparently he found his auburn-haired companion far more enlivening, for which Elspeth breathed a heartfelt, Thank God. Or at least, she thought she did. Her life with the Sisters of the Everlasting Martyr had been cozy and communal, with long stretches for meditation and daydreaming. Her life in the haunted tower of Huntingdon Keep was just as peaceful, if a little more lonely.
For one thing, Helva, her sour-faced maid, was not the most cheerful companion. She was a great believer in doom and destruction, and she spent the long afternoons enlivening Elspeth’s hours with tales of her new husband’s perfidy.
“His mother’s a witch, you know,” she said, her strong, rough hands busy working on the ugliest tapestry Elspeth had ever seen. She could only hope it wasn’t a present for her new mistress. Elspeth had a dislike of dead game, and Helva was using far too much blood red for her tastes.
“Is she?” Unlike most of the people she knew, Elspeth didn’t believe in witches. She was also wise enough not to mention that fact too often, since people usually assumed that those who denied the existence of witchcraft were intimately acquainted with its workings.
“Morgana,” Helva had said, chewing vigorously. “No one sees her nowadays, and a lucky thing that is. She’d put the evil eye on you, she would, and there’d be no saving you. I heard of a woman who ran into her in the forest by accident, and nine months later she gave birth to a monster.”
“I wouldn’t think she’d put a curse on her own grandchild,” Elspeth said calmly.
Helva lifted her head to stare at her new mistress. “You’ll not be saying you’re already carrying a child?” she demanded, aghast. “The sheriff hasn’t come near you in the last three days. I should know. I’ve slept at the foot of your bed.”
“And snored quite loudly,” Elspeth said.
“He hasn’t touched you. If you’re pregnant, he’ll strangle you with his own hands. And you a holy sister.”
“I’m not pregnant,” she said, leaning back. “Not unless there’s to be a second virgin birth.” She could see that she’d shocked poor Helva to the depths of her mean little soul. “Don’t worry, Helva. There’ll be no early children from this marriage.”
“Not until he has you,” she replied.
Elspeth’s fingers tightened into fists. She wasn’t afraid of much in this life. She often insisted that her fearlessness simply came from a lack of imagination, but in recent days her cool temperament was more an act than a reality. The thought of Alistair Darcourt putting those hard, beautiful hands on her was quite terrifying.
“Fortunately, he has yet to show much interest in me,” Elspeth murmured. “I imagine there’s no hurry. If I’m lucky, he’s forgotten my existence.”
“He’s not the type of man to forget a thing. Special powers, he has,” Helva said, nodding her head. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready. And God have mercy on your soul.”
“Helva, he’s only a man.”
“That’s not what some people think. His mother’s a witch that’s for certain, and we all know that witches cohabit with the devil. He’s the son of Lucifer himself, you mark my words.”
Elspeth was determined not to let Helva frighten her. “I don’t believe in devils. Or witches, for that matter.”
“You’re a foul blasphemer, for all that you were a holy nun,” Helva accused her. “If there’s no devil, what use is God? Mark my words, the sheriff will teach you to believe in the devil. You’ll wish you never doubted. He’ll have you killed in your sleep, that he will, if he finds you displease him. He’s done it before, and your position won’t save you. Have a care yourself, my lady.”
A little frisson of horror swept along Elspeth’s backbone. “What do you mean, he’s done it before?”
“Not so’s anyone would talk about it. But there’ve been women, women who’ve shared his bed and angered him. Men who’ve disagreed with him. Some were never seen again. Some of them were found like poor little Jenna just yesterday morning. Her throat was cut from ear to ear. That’s how he gets his power. Anyone opposes him, they die.”
“You mean he creeps around in the dark and murders people? I find that hard to believe,” Elspeth said firmly, wishing she weren’t so gullible.
“He doesn’t need to soil his own hands. There are people, there are powers that do his bidding,” Helva said darkly.
“He’s not about to kill me. He could have just left me in the convent.”
“That’s as may be. If I were you, my lady, I wouldn’t be wasting my time locked up here. I’d be planning my escape.”
“What would your omniscient master say to that? Aren’t you worried about waking one morning with your throat cut?”
“I’d hate to see a poor innocent like you at the mercy of a depraved creature like the sheriff,” Helva announced with righteous indignation.
Elspeth didn’t believe her for a moment. In the past three days Helva hadn’t shown the least bit of concern for her new mistress. “I hardly think escape is possible. I can’t imagine who would take me in. The convent let me go quite willingly, my father would scarcely provide me shelter, and it sounds as if the sheriff has everyone too terrified to risk offending him. If I try to run, I’ll be signing my own death warrant. I think it would be a much better idea to see whether I could advance my marriage. Whether I like it or not, I’m wed in the eyes of God and the Holy Roman Father, and if it’s till death do us part then I’d like to do what I can to put off that eventuality. Could you send word to my husband that I’d like to see him?”
Helva’s horrified intake of air was the only answer she needed. “You’re as mad as he is,” she wheezed.
“No,” said Elspeth, “just practical.”
“He’ll be the death of you, sooner or later.”
“I’m not a great one for patience. It was ever my failing. If he’s going to murder me, I’d just as soon he’d hurry up and do it. Maybe if I’m killed before he exerts his conjugal rights I could end up a martyr.”
Helva’s heavy brows beetled in confusion as she considered whether Elspeth was serious or not. Since Elspeth herself wasn’t quite sure, it was an amusing sight.
She’d gone through the last three days in a kind of limbo, waiting for her husband, hearing nothing but nightmare stories about his evil excesses, stories that would have terrified a braver soul than she. Stories of such magnitude that some kind of numbness had set in. She wasn’t about to believe the ghost stories Helva tried to frighten her with, either about the headless lady who wandered the north tower, or about her husband, purportedly a monster in the guise of a dark angel. She didn’t believe in ghosts, devils, or witches. But she did believe in evil.
She was going to find out for herself whether her husband was truly as wicked as everyone insisted.
Not only did Helva snore quite loudly, she slept more solidly than anyone Elspeth had ever met, with the possible exception of Sister Mary Frances or Sir Hugh after his fourth bottle. It was a simple enough matter for Elspeth to extract the heavy key from the braided gold rope around her ample girth; simple enough
to unlock the door and start down the winding stairs, following the noise of revelry and abandon.
It was a warm, clear night, with the moon shining through the slotted window, enabling Elspeth to find her way slowly downwards. “It’s a good thing I have eyes like a cat,” she announced aloud, pleased by the companionship of her voice in the dark, lonely tower. “Otherwise I might end up with a broken neck at the bottom of the stairs, and my esteemed husband would have no need to murder me.”
There was no answer, of course. The headless ghost, if she even existed, was of course silent, her head and her mouth long gone. Elspeth was still dressed in her habit, the rough white material tight around her slender throat, though she’d dispensed with the uncomfortable sandals and was now going barefoot. She wished she could make a suitable covering for her hair. It hung down her back in a fall of silver white, giving her her own ghostly appearance, and she half-hoped she had the slightest ability to frighten Alistair Darcourt as much as he terrified her.
She could only guess that she was drawing nearer the great hall. The noise and the smell were overpowering, Roasted mutton, spilled ale, and fresh bread made a medley of scents that teased her nostrils, reminding her of the thin, tasteless gruel that had been delivered to the tower room for the last three days. Her stomach rumbled almost loudly enough to be heard over the shouts of encouragement, the shrill feminine laughter.
She could imagine what kind of debauchery was going on in the great hall, and for a moment she contemplated running away, back to the dubious safety of her tower room. And then it was too late. A crowd of people spilled into the corridor, and in the light of the torches high on the walls she could see the raven dark figure of the sheriff himself.
Two women clung to him this time, neither of them the buxom redhead. One of them was scarcely dressed; the other looked both dazed and slatternly. Darcourt seemed totally engrossed in the fairly obvious charms of both women, and Elspeth considered whether she might be able to fade into the darkness, letting them pass by without seeing her.