He only snorted. “You’re lucky I don’t push you out of this carriage and force you to walk.”
I turned away from their grunting, carnal sounds, and watched as we passed through the moor lands. In the distance I saw spires of smoke that must mean St. Mary’s Abbey and the surrounding village. As the carriage rumbled along, I noticed a very high, distinctive rock outcropping. If I could ever escape, I could use it as a landmark to know which way to go.
At Grayspires it had seemed as if we were the only people in this part of the world.
But we were not.
Ada’s moans increased as we jolted into the village, but I ignored her.
St. Mary’s Abbey itself was all high spires and points, a heavy dark-gray building sitting just outside a small, faded village, the thatched roofs spare and patchy. But the St. Mary’s buildings were beautiful, two large structures behind the church that I guessed must be the monastery and perhaps a brewery attached.
Gideon grunted. “Get off now.”
Well, apparently Ada didn’t make those strange, embarrassing noises I did, or had those strange convulsions. Perhaps that’s why he preferred her.
Such was my oppression of spirits that even the stained glass illustrations seemed to weigh heavily on me, full of somber scenes like Elisha calling down the bear and Job wailing for his lost children.
Church had always been a refuge at home. But this wasn’t home.
Gideon led us to a half-enclosed pew and I sat down, attempting to straighten my wrinkled gray skirt with his big boot prints at the bottom. If anyone at The Gables would have seen me, with my plain hair and plain dress, they would have stared in wonder!
If I dared, I would have closed my eyes against the gaze of the townspeople, but I focused on the tiny trickle of light that seemed to filter through the fount.
My body was tensed.
If I ran during the services, would he follow?
"Nowhelooks quite young," Ada said curiously, and I turned to see the new curate.
Brother Bartholomew was about my age or a few years older, very tall and surprisingly handsome, with russet brown hair and bright blue eyes.
I felt the weight of Gideon’s gaze on me, and his breath sent goosebumps bursting over my skin.
“I wonder if you’re thinking of running,” he hissed. “I wouldn’t. I really wouldn’t. I’ve been hearing stories about the moors since I was a boy. There are monsters out there that would hunt little sluts like you. They can smell wet cunnies. And they would love to sink their teeth into yours.”
Gritting my teeth I clutched my hands in my lap.
I wouldnotlet him see how he affected me. How even his cruel words made me clench my thighs together.
When Brother Bartholomew began to speak, I felt the tight ball of anxiety in my chest loosen for a few surprisingly blessed moments as he spoke about the animals going into the Ark, two by two and seven by seven.
The young man dwelled on the kindness of our Father, in making sure even the smallest pair of worms, the tiniest creatures, were saved.
If only I could get the same consideration as a worm!
I could feel the congregation shifting in their seats. This was not the usual sort of lesson, but I was compelled by the kindness in his voice.
He was the kind of man who would help me. But how on earth could I ever send a message that I was in distress?
What did I know about monks? I knew they were celibate, that they served the Church, that they prayed and did good deeds and helped the townspeople.
And that they often took vows of silence, even for days at a time, and had to find other ways to communicate. . .
Other ways very similar to how I had communicated with my deaf parlormaid Clothilde back at The Gables. . .
After the service was over, we filed out.
"You must come some time to dinner at Grayspires Manor," Gideon said coldly, his voice the opposite of hospitable and welcoming. “I am Gideon Nightshade, and this is my wife Deliverance and my sister Ada.”
