Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. “I remember it very well indeed. She still had her letter of credit. It worked. I got to have you under guard in the gatehouse, I can see that. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. "You want me, then?" she said. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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