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The High Sheriff of Huntingdon

Smashwords Edition

The Prophecy

White and black they shall combine

Pure as snow, as blood-red wine

Flame and fire destroy them both

Death and rebirth, blood their troth

In thunder, rain, brought right again

And all shall be as God’s design


“Where is my bride?” Alistair Darcourt, the high sheriff of Huntingdon, bellowed, his voice thundering through the great hall, all conversation stopping mid-spate.

His second in command, Gilles De Lancey, glanced up idly, his beautiful blue eyes bright with malice. “Why should you care, cousin? It’s not as if you’ve even seen the woman. Have you suddenly developed a lifelong passion for the wench?”

Alistair leaned forward and shoved the crockery from the table with a loud crash. The jug of ale upended on Gilles, who leapt to his feet with a curse.

“Don’t try my patience,” Alistair snarled. “I’m not a patient man. I’ve been a bridegroom for more than a week now, and I’ve yet to see my bride.”

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