Free Lenobia's Vow: A House of Night Novella by P. C. Cast, Kristin Cast

we walk a little?” Without waiting for a response, Marie Madeleine strode purposefully to the short stairwell that led to the deck, where she breathed deeply and encouraged the girls to “walk about—stretch your young legs.”
    As Lenobia passed the nun, she asked softly, “What could he possibly want with the Holy Mother?”
    “I have no idea,” Marie Madeleine said. “But it certainly cannot hurt the Blessed Virgin to take a turn above deck.” She paused, smiled at Lenobia, and added, “Just as it will not hurt the rest of us.”
    “For what you did tonight, Sister, merci beaucoup .”
    “You are quite welcome, Lenobia.”
    *   *   *
     
    The Bishop made his excuses and left the Commodore to his port. He retired to his small bedchamber, sat at the single desk, and lit one long, thin candlestick. As his fingers caressed the flame, he thought about the bastard girl.
    At first he had been enraged and shocked by her deception. But then as he watched her, his rage and surprise coalesced to form a much deeper emotion.
    Charles had forgotten the girl’s beauty, though the many weeks of forced celibacy aboard this accursed ship could have something to do with her effect upon him.
    “No,” he spoke to the flame. “It is more than my lack of a bedmate that makes her desirable.”
    She was even lovelier than he’d remembered, though she had lost weight. That was a shame, but easily remedied. He liked her softer, rounder, more succulent. He would make sure she ate—whether she wanted to or not.
    “No,” he repeated. “There is more to it.” It was those eyes. That hair. The eyes smoldered, like smoke. He could see that they called to him, even though she was trying to deny their pull.
    The hair was silver, like metal that had been tested and hardened by fire, and then pounded into something more than it had once been.
    “And she is not a true fille à la casquette . She will never be the bride of a French gentleman. She is, in fact, fortunate to have caught my attention. Being my mistress is more, much more than she has to hope for from her future.”
    Ridicule and disdain are less offensive than the Bishop’s attention. The memory of her words came to him, but he did not allow himself to become angry.
    “She will take convincing. No matter. I like it better if they have some spirit.”
    His fingers passed through the flame, over and over, absorbing heat but not burning.
    It would be good to make the girl his mistress before they reached New Orleans. Then those pompous Ursulines would have nothing about which to squawk. A virgin girl they might care about—a deflowered bastard who had become the mistress of a Bishop would be out of their care and beyond their reach.
    But first he must make her his own, and in order to do that he needed to silence that Virgin-be-damned nun.
    His free hand fisted around the ruby cross that hung in the middle of his chest and the flame flickered wildly.
    It was only the nun’s protection that was keeping the bastard from being his plaything for the rest of the journey and beyond—only the nun who could draw down the wrath of the church upon him. The other girls were inconsequential. They would not consider standing against him, much less speaking against him to any authority. The Commodore cared for nothing except a smooth voyage and his wine. As long as Charles did not rape her in front of the man, he would probably show only a mild interest, though possibly he might want to use the girl himself.
    The Bishop’s hand, the one that had been stroking the flame, closed in a fist. He did not share his possessions.
    “Yes, I will have to rid myself of the nun.” Charles smiled and relaxed his hand, allowing it to play through the flame again. “And I have already taken steps to hasten her untimely end. It is such a shame that the habit she wears is so voluminous and so highly flammable. I can sense a terrible accident might befall her…”



 
     
    CHAPTER SIX
     
    Dawn