In a moment she was on her horse again and riding into the rain. She
wanted nothing more to do with Sordello.
But the encounter had helped her in one way, and now she felt more
confident about talking to David about Simon. Rehearsing the lie with
Sordello had helped.
* * * * *
"He is leaving the Tartars behind? After I came so close to killing
them?"
"They will be closely guarded. I do not think you will be able to get at
them again."
There was a bitterness in the small smile that quirked David's thin
lips. "I do not intend to try until the Sienese arrive here. When I seek
their lives again, a whole army of guards will not be enough to stop
me."
What would David do, Sophia wondered, if he learned that the alliance he
had fought so hard to prevent would soon be sealed in France by Simon de
Gobignon?
She looked at David's eyes, the color of the thunderclouds outside. Her
hatred for herself struck her heart with hammer blows.
He stood by the window of his room, straight and broad-shouldered,
wearing a belted gown of black silk with a broad red stripe at the
bottom. His wound no longer required a poultice, and it was almost
healed. The strange Saracen treatment he had prescribed for himself had
worked.
She saw pain in his eyes, a pain of the heart. "No doubt you will miss
the count," he said in a low voice. He turned to look out the window.
He had pulled the leaded pane of glass slightly inward on its hinge,
letting into the room the cold breeze stirred up by the storm. Locks of
his blond hair fluttered around his forehead. She studied his profile,
the nose long and straight, the chin sharp, the brows seeming to frown
even when relaxed.
"You wanted me to make love to him," she said softly.