Samuel stood beside him, patiently waiting. It was late afternoon and a flock of rooks circled noisily overhead before settling in a black cloud onto the gaunt branches of a nearby copse. The sleet had stopped, but the darkening sky was still heavy with snow clouds and the wind raced achingly cold across the moor.

"A bit cheerless, this is," Samuel observed matter-of-factly. "We goin' to stand out 'ere till we turn to stone?"

"I'm sorry," Hugo said. He reached under the lintel and his fingers unerringly found the little slot. It was as if he'd been here yesterday. He pulled out the great brass key and fit it into the lock. The door yawned open onto the darkness and the smell came out and hit him. How was it that once that smell had excited him, had been redolent with the exultant sense of things unknown and forbidden? But only on that last occasion had he gone down into the crypt in full possession of his senses… in full awareness of the evil that the excitement had masked.

Samuel lit the lantern he carried, and together they went inside, Hugo pulling the door to behind them. It was unlikely there were any watchers, but it wasn't worth taking unnecessary risks. He closed his mind to the memories, concentrating only on what had to be done.

"Gawd 'elp us," Samuel muttered as they descended to the crypt. "What kind of an 'ell'ole is this?"

"You may well ask," Hugo said, welcoming Samuel's prosaic commentary. He stood in the vaulted central chamber, holding the lantern high. Everything was in readiness for the night's ceremonies; fresh altar candles planted in the holders around the bier, the torches newly filled with pitch in their sconces on the walls. The bier was spread with a white damask cloth, a thick pillow at its head. On the long, low table against the far wall stood the flagons of wine, the little pots of herbal magic, the clay pipes for the opium.

He stood very still and let it come back to him. He had to face it if he was to overcome it. He closed his eyes and the room filled with the whispering ghosts of ecstasy and laughter. Limbs twined before his internal vision and on his tongue lingered the bitter aftertaste of the little pellets that sent a man into a world of pleasure beyond imagining as he moved between the smooth white thighs Of his partner.

Did Jasper intend giving Chloe the drug before she took her place on the bier? Such an enhancement of pleasure for one normally so passionate would be beyond words…

"Over here." He spun on his heel and strode to a dark hole in the far wall. The lantern illuminated the smaller chamber beyond. Samuel followed him up a rough-hewn flight of steps carved into the wall. At die top they opened onto a narrow stone gallery overlooking the crypt. "I'll be up here," Hugo said quietly, looking down at the bier.

He took a pair of epees from Samuel and rested them carefully against the low rail of the gallery. On the ledge he placed a narrow box containing two dueling pistols. Silently, he checked the other pistol in his belt, ran his finger down the sharp blade of a cutlass before returning it to the sheath resting snug against his thigh.

"Quite a little armory ye've got," Samuel remarked with satisfaction. He knew Hugo's skill with both sword and pistol, just as he knew how cold and clear he was under fire. A one-man army, he would wait in ambush and spring his surprise attack with all the careful calculation of a tried campaigner.

'Take your place outside now," Hugo said, handing him the key. "You saw where to put this?"

"Aye." Samuel took the key and the lantern. "Powerful dark it'll be once I've gone."

"It doesn't matter," Hugo said. "You know what to do?"

"Aye," Samuel repeated as phlegmatically as before. "I'll be off, then."

Hugo sat on the stone floor, resting his back against the wall, watching as the flickering light of the lantern retreated. He heard the dull thud as the door closed behind Samuel and he was alone in the darkness. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind of all but the certainty of success.

"You may kiss the bride," old Elgar mumbled, heaving an audible sigh of relief at the knowledge that he'd somehow muddled successfully through the service.

Crispin slowly lifted Chloe's veil. His face came close to hers, and suddenly she could see him clearly, every feature sharply denned, just as his mouth came down on hers. A nameless terror chased away the warm languor of indifference, and with a dreadful rush of insight she understood what had happened. She pushed against Crispin, her eyes opening wide, her clear gaze fixed on the Reverend Ponsonby behind her husband.

Crispin drew back, aware of the change in her. Her heart thudded with fear and immediately she dropped her gaze and let her arms lie still at her sides.

"It's wearing off," he whispered urgently to his stepfather over Chloe's head.

Jasper took her arm and drew her away from the makeshift altar. Chloe was now aware that what she had perceived through the mists as a crowd was in fact only a small group of men.

"We must give her some more," Crispin was whispering as they moved to the side of the hall.

Jasper caught her chin and lifted it. He gazed fixedly at her face. Chloe fought the awareness from her eyes. It was easier than it might have been since she still seemed to have only a tenuous hold on reality. She only knew that she must prevent having that liquid poured down her throat again.

'Too much will defeat the object," Jasper said quietly. "We don't want her cataleptic. She's not eaten properly for two days and the mixture is much more potent on an empty belly."

Chloe let her eyes wander and a vague smile touched her lips.

Jasper released her face. "She's all right. I'll give her something else when we begin."

Chloe drifted over to a settle beside the massive ingle-nook fireplace and sat down. Her head was beginning to ache and she felt nauseated, but her senses were returning so fast now, they seemed to be tumbling over themselves as full awareness flooded her. She had been married to Crispin. She was Crispin's wife. Till death.

She kept her eyes down, her hands twisting idly in her silken lap. A spark of firelight caught the sinuous golden twists of the coiled serpent ring they'd put on her finger. Nothing mattered any longer in the face of the fact embodied in the perverted wedding ring. Except Hugo… Hugo was to walk into a trap when they took her to the crypt. He would be forced to watch the ceremony of her initiation and then Jasper would kill him. For herself, the crypt didn't matter. She was condemned to a life as Crispin's wife… his prisoner… what else happened to her mattered not a jot. But she must try to help Hugo. If they believed her still drugged, she might have a chance.

She let her head fall back against the settle and closed her eyes. Let them think she was dozing again.

Around her the buzz of noise increased in volume and she lost all sense of time, and then she heard Jasper's voice against her ear. "Come, little sister, it's time to prepare for your wedding night."

Samuel moved his cold-numbed limbs and took a swig of brandy from his flask. Then he heard the sound of voices. A wavering light fell across the path beyond his hiding place. Boots crunched on the icy ground.

Two men appeared. At the door of the crypt, one of them reached up. Then the door swung open and the two disappeared with their lantern.

Inside, Hugo came alert at the first sound of the key in the door above. He edged farther back against the wall, although he knew he wouldn't be visible from below. He listened as the two men lit the pitch torches and the altar candles and their light threw giant shadows up onto the vaulted ceiling.

One of the men was Denis DeLacy. He poured wine into a crystal flagon and drank deeply, his eyes roaming over the bier. He opened one of the little pots and shook a small pinch of herbs onto the palm of his hand. He put his tongue to it and licked, waiting for the crackle to start in his head.