Free The Dark Knight by Tori Phillips Page B

thong that would stop up a victim’s windpipe and bring a quick death. He thought of the angry red marks the cord would leave on Tonia’s smooth white skin.
    “I am no murderer,” he assured Black Sara, as if the saint hovered in the air over his head. “How can I do this cruel thing?”
    In his mind’s eye he saw his uncle, ill in his bed, jeering Sandor’s lack of courage. He could almost hear Uncle Gheorghe tell him that he had the heart of a chicken. He saw Aunt Mindra squatting by the fire, keening for her son, the boy whose life depended upon Sandor. From the cradle, Sandor had been taught the importance of loyalty to his clan. The wide world was a harsh place for the Rom; his family must cleave together for protection and survival. To disregard the kris, the fundamental code of all Rom, would condemn him to a fate worse than the one decreed for Tonia. Sandor would be exiled from his people, cast out alone into a world that despised him.
    Sandor gripped the garrote. Just down the corridor was the beginning and the end of this worst trial of his life. Do it now. Make it quick. Do not look into her eyes. Just take her life and do not look back.
    Sandor pushed himself up from the bench. On silent feet, he moved down the stone corridor. He reached her door in too short a time. Pausing, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. The knots in the thong bit deep into his palm, just as they would bite into her neck—in just a few moments’ time.
    Make itquick. Do not look into her eyes. May God forgive me for what I am about to do. He turned the key in the lock.

Chapter Six
    T he lady knelt beside her stool, head bowed and hands clasped in prayer. A single ray of sunlight shone through the high arrow loop bathing her in its golden light—as if the heavens reached out to bless her. Sandor stopped in his tracks, his breath taken away by Tonia’s unworldly beauty. He had come to kill an angel.
    Do it now.Take her from behind and dispatch her quickly. Holding the garrote between his hands, he started toward her.
    Just then she looked up and saw him. The dark lashes that shadowed her cheeks flew up. A soft gasp escaped her. Gathering her skirts, she rose, then immediately dropped a deep curtsy to Sandor as she had done at their first meeting.
    He felt hot under his neckerchief. Tonia was a gentle-born lady, he a Gypsy outcast from the mainstream of common folk. She shouldn’t render him such an honor, especially not now. The silence between them stretched more taut than the cord he gripped in his hands.
    FinallyTonia cleared her throat. “I was praying to God just now.”
    “So was I.”
    “And I was asking Him why I had to die,” she continued in a whisper.
    Sandor looked down at his hands. They shook. “I asked Him the same question.”
    She stepped a little closer, her gaze fastened on his face. “Did God give you an answer?”
    He shook his head. “Nay.”
    She crept even closer. “Nor I. It seems that we are left to muddle out this problem on our own.” Her lips fluttered. Reaching up, Tonia touched his cheek—his bare cheek. “You have misplaced your mask,” she murmured.
    Cursing himself for his stupidity, especially at this dire moment, Sandor turned away from her. “My mind was…was on other matters.”
    “I am glad to see your face, at last,” she replied, circling around him so that she could look at him again. “By my troth, Gypsy, you are very easy on the eyes. Methinks I have seen you often in my dreams.”
    Sandor groaned inwardly. His mask had helped to distance himself from her; now all his defenses were down. Her admiring expression melted his murderous resolve. “Then you have dreamed of Beng, the devil.”
    Tonia shook her head. “In faith, you are no devil—nor do you look much like an executioner.”
    “I am not an executioner, Tonia. That is my uncle’s calling. He was ill, so he sent me in his stead.”
    Her finger tapped her chin. “I am right glad that he