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.”
She watched him leave as she pulled the loose dress up over her shoulders again. She didn’t trust him, n e v e r had. But he was her only hope against her husband’s sudden decree, and she was willing t o use anything and anyone to keep from being dismissed like so much un wanted baggage. She wouldn’t be sent away from h i m , back to the living death of the convent. She wouldn’t leave him, and s h e ’ d accept help from the devil himself to accomplish that.
Gilles De Lancey was a l m o s t angelic in h i s beauty. She was mad not to trust him. Mad not to want to e s c a pe with his help when she had the chance.
The chapel was a thatched wooden structure outside the keep, u npleasantly adjacent to the pigsties and the kitchens. Most castles the size of Huntingdon Keep had a chapel i n s i d e , b ut Alistair had turned it into a gaming room, relegating w h a t e v e r religious observances he tolerated to the older church building.
Elspeth half-expected someone to stop her as she made her way across the littered courtyard less t h a n an h ou r later, but if anyone watched her, they did so covertly.
No o n e had ever s h o w n up with a c h a n g e of clothes for her and Elspeth had grown tired of waiting. If worse came t o worst and she returned to the Sisters of the Everlasting Martyr in the blood-red dress of a witch, it wouldn’t be her fault. She wouldn’t even care if Reverend Mother refused her admittance.
The chapel was d e se rte d when she s t e pp e d inside, cl osing the door behind her. Dust motes floated in the air, and the smell of i n c en s e almost overpowered the smell from the kitchen pits. Almost. Elspeth glanced around her, but there was no sign of Friar Parkin, no sign of anyone a t all. She knelt at the ornately carved altar, crossing herself, trying to concentrate on prayer. But all she could think of was her husband.
“There y o u are.” De Lancey’s voice s e e m e d to come from directly above her, and it took all Elspeth’s self control not to jump. She forced
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.”
She watched him leave as she pulled the loose dress up over her shoulders again. She didn’t trust him, n e v e r had. But he was her only hope against her husband’s sudden decree, and she was willing t o use anything and anyone to keep from being dismissed like so much un wanted baggage. She wouldn’t be sent away from h i m , back to the living death of the convent. She wouldn’t leave him, and s h e ’ d accept help from the devil himself to accomplish that.
Gilles De Lancey was a l m o s t angelic in h i s beauty. She was mad not to trust him. Mad not to want to e s c a pe with his help when she had the chance.
The chapel was a thatched wooden structure outside the keep, u npleasantly adjacent to the pigsties and the kitchens. Most castles the size of Huntingdon Keep had a chapel i n s i d e , b ut Alistair had turned it into a gaming room, relegating w h a t e v e r religious observances he tolerated to the older church building.
Elspeth half-expected someone to stop her as she made her way across the littered courtyard less t h a n an h ou r later, but if anyone watched her, they did so covertly.
No o n e had ever s h o w n up with a c h a n g e of clothes for her and Elspeth had grown tired of waiting. If worse came t o worst and she returned to the Sisters of the Everlasting Martyr in the blood-red dress of a witch, it wouldn’t be her fault. She wouldn’t even care if Reverend Mother refused her admittance.
The chapel was d e se rte d when she s t e pp e d inside, cl osing the door behind her. Dust motes floated in the air, and the smell of i n c en s e almost overpowered the smell from the kitchen pits. Almost. Elspeth glanced around her, but there was no sign of Friar Parkin, no sign of anyone a t all. She knelt at the ornately carved altar, crossing herself, trying to concentrate on prayer. But all she could think of was her husband.
“There y o u are.” De Lancey’s voice s e e m e d to come from directly above her, and it took all Elspeth’s self control not to jump. She forced
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