to her. “Then read your fate, if you so desire,” he said, wishing he had that learning.
Lady Gastonia pulled the lantern closer to her, then pored over the words. Warming his backside by the fire, Sandor watched her. He liked the way the lantern’s light caught the reddish highlights in her dark hair. Her lips moved as she read, and Sandor fantasized her whispering his name while they made love. He could almost taste the honey of her kisses. He yearned to feel the satin of her milky skin against his own swarthy one. His loins began to throb.
Sandor shifted his position, in part to hide his growing arousal. Though the laws of the kris forbade it, he had made love to gadje women in his reckless youth, and they had moaned with pleasure at his touch. He looked down at his hands. He brushed the knotted thong of the garrote hitched in his belt.
She has bewitched me. Turning his back to her, he stared into the crackling flames. For a moment he had forgotten his pledge to his uncle and his responsibilities toward the family who had reared him after the death of his parents. His little cousin languished in the depths of the Tower at the King’s pleasure until Sandor could bring proof of this lady’s sudden demise. The sooner he did his job, the sooner Demeo would be free. He glanced over his shoulder at Lady Gastonia.
I can take her now, while she has her back to me. She would feel very little pain. It would be a quick death. I could be riding back to London before noon tomorrow. He pulled the garrote from his belt and looped it around his fingers.
Chapter Two
Sandor turned to face his victim. The knotted cord of the leather garrote bit into the flesh of his palms, just as it would bite deeply into the creamy skin of the lady’s swanlike neck. He swallowed. A burst of sweat dampened his mask. He took a step toward her. Lady Gastonia shifted on her stool and the wooden crucifix that hung from her neck thumped against her tight bodice. Sandor stared at the tiny, outstretched figure on the cross—the same cross that had damned the Rom to wander the earth forever, or so the storytellers swore.
Sandor loosened his grip on the garrote. Even though she was a gadji, he knew that Lady Gastonia was a holy woman. Her plain garb and absence of jewelry proclaimed her piety. He could not kill her without allowing her the chance to make her amends to God, though he could not imagine what sin she could possibly have committed. He did not want to have her unshriven spirit haunt him the remaining years of his life.
Just then, the lady looked up at him. The expression in the depths of her azure eyes melted away his murderous intent. Forgive me, lady.
Then she laughed, though there was no mirth in the sound. “Did you know that my good judges have decreed that none of my blood shall be shed?”
Sandor suspected that they did not want her death to defile them any more than they already were. When he did not reply, she continued.
“When my father learns of my execution, the King and his minions can truthfully say that they did not spill my blood, yet I will be stone dead all the same.” She shook her head. “Oh, the clever wit of the lawyerly mind! They split their words thinner than a cook can slice an onion. Aye, and weep the same tears without sorrow while doing it.”
Behind his back, Sandor gripped the garrote. He said nothing since there was nothing he could tell her that would refute her clear-eyed deduction. He cleared his throat. Best to warn her to make herself ready to meet death. His hands shook.
She sipped more water from the cup then asked, “How will you do it? Kill me, that is?”
Sandor winced inwardly yet marveled at the candor of her question. He held up the knotted garrote. “With this, my lady.”
Her mouth trembled just a little before she bit her lower lip. Then she asked, “Will it hurt much?”
I have no idea. Aloud, he spoke in the same voice he used to soothe a skittish colt. “They say ’tis quick.”
She gave him a taut smile. “Who are ‘they,’ I wonder? And how do these wise men know such a thing? Has anyone come back from the dead to tell them?”
Sandor knelt before her so that they were eye-to-eye. He longed to take her hand in his. He hated the idea that she feared him. “I could wait until you sleep, then cover your face with my cloak.”
She touched the furred edge of his cape. “How could I fall asleep knowing that I would never wake again in this world?”
He tore his gaze from hers. “I have no answer to that, my lady. I only know what I must do. I pray that you forgive me.”
She touched the back of his hand. “Gentle Lord of Death, I have already forgiven you.”
Sandor’s skin burned under the light pressure of her fingers. A nerve throbbed at his temple. Do the deed now and be gone for the sake of your soul! He rose, towering over her. “Then, my lady, I must ask you to make your peace with God. I will give you a few moments alone.”
He turned on his heel, anxious to flee from her before she unmanned him completely. Quick as a cat, she fell to her knees and clutched the hem of his cloak.
“Then my first prayer will be to you, Monsieur de Mort.”
Sandor’s resolve shivered at the sight of the innocent beauty at his feet. He clenched his hands under the cover of his cape. “I am neither God nor the devil, my lady. Why pray to me?”
Tonia could not remember feeling so cold in her life. Her mouth had gone completely dry. Death was so close to her that she could smell the dark reaper’s breath of decay over her shoulder. Mustering the last shred of her courage, she stared up at the powerful man who stood over her. Avoiding the sight of his large, long-fingered hands, she wished she could read his expression on the face that was hidden by his black hood.
“I beg you for one boon—a small one—before you snuff out my life.”
He cleared his throat again. “What boon?”
She wet her lips. “I ask your generosity to allow me to live until dawn. I wish to admire the beauty of the sunrise one more time. ’Tis only a few more hours,” she added. She smiled for additional effect, though she had no idea if he was moved or not. “Besides, I do not think you intended to begin your journey back to London when the night hours are only half-spent.”
He said nothing, but looked over her head as if he sought some guidance from a ghost in the corner of her cell.
Grasping at this small hesitation, she added, “Methinks that my cold corpse would make poor company until the morning.”
Continuing to stare at the far wall in stiff silence, he clenched and unclenched his hands. Tonia found this action alarming. She tightened her grip on his cape.
He moistened his lips. “You think that I…” He paused then snapped, “Are you offering me your body for my pleasure in exchange for a few more hours of life?”
With a gasp, Tonia let go of his cloak and sat back on her heels. She hadn’t meant that at all. She shook her head, embarrassed to look at him and fearful that he might believe such a lewd thought. “I am a virgin, dedicated to our Lord. I do not know if you believe in God but…”
“I am no savage, Lady Gastonia,” he rumbled overhead. “And I do believe in the same God as you, though I worship in a different
