“He did not brand her, but he did worse. He went to her room at night and murdered her in bed. Why? Because—”
I put out my hand in a gesture of appeal. She left the sentence unfinished and began anew.
“Can you not see, friend Michael, why I twist this knife of recollection till it galls you to the quick? Le Bourse, did you love your sister?”
“What of that?” I answered hoarsely, wondering why she asked me such a question.
“Do you think that you will be able to keep your life in your body for a week now that you have given such offense to the leader of the Red Band? You hesitate. Nay, answer me honestly. Unless you skulk like a coward and hide yourself inside my house, how long will you escape their vengeance?”
I shook my head. Indeed there was no limit of time too brief to suit the truth.
“Did you love your sister?”
“Why do you ask that question as if you doubted it?” I answered petulantly. “Do you not know that—”
“Tut, tut, I do not doubt you, but I wonder whether you will stand the test. This is no common enemy you have to deal with. He is a wily man and wields much power. By your own reckoning your life is not worth that.” She snapped her fingers. “You must take the game into your own hands. If you should die, who would avenge Ruth?”
“Or Sir Evelin?” I responded.