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“Christian?” He was gone. Sunlight spilled into the room, leaking past every crack in the closed curtains.
Downstairs, pintura.
When the knocking sounded again, she frowned, touching his side of the bed and finding it cool. What time was it?
“Good morning, Sister Abigail.” Christian’s voice carried from downstairs, and Delilah’s attention jerked to the door. Who the hell was Sister Abigail? And why was she visiting Christian at the butt crack of dawn?
“Good morning, Brother Christian. My father sent me to deliver the notes from the meeting you missed. He assumed you’d want them.”
“Thank you.”
“I also have some fresh bread for you.”
This was the bread source. Recalling how pretty the woman was from Christian’s memories, Delilah scrambled out of bed.
“That’s very kind of you. You look well.”
“I am well, indeed, thank you.”
Delilah rifled through the drawers. Shirt, shirt, shirt, shirt. She was fresh out of dresses.
Snapping the drawer shut, she shoved her legs into a pair of Christian’s pants, hiking them all the way past her boobs so she wouldn’t trip. She rushed out of the room to see the woman Christian thought looked so well.
“I hope it’s not too forward of me to say congratulations on your goddeslieb.”
“Not at all.”
The woman’s voice softened and Delilah detected an edge of disappointment. “I’m happy for you. You’ve waited a long time for your pare to come.”
“Your time will come as well, Abby.”
Now it was Abby?
A burst of reassurance hit Delilah, but rather than comfort her it annoyed her, like a light spritzing rain that ruined hair with frizz. She imagined gathering up all his reassurance and flinging it back at him on a medieval catapult.
“You’ll be busier now,” sweet little Abby said.
“I’ll always make time for your visits.”
Visits? Delilah’s claws dug into the wood of the banister.
“I hope so. Well, I had better be returning home before Abraham loses patience.”
“Stop by again soon.”
“I will. Enjoy the bread.”
The door, now repaired, shut. Before fully facing her, Christian greeted her. “Good morning, pintura.” When his gaze found her on the landing, he chuckled. “What are you wearing?”
“How often does she visit you?”
“Sister Abigail? Wechentlich.”
“English please.”
“Weekly.”
“Why so often?”
“We play cards together to pass the time, and she brings me bread on occasion. Is there an issue?”
She wasn’t allowed to talk to other men but he was hosting game night with Abigail? “She single?”
“Yes.”
I don’t like it. She couldn’t block the thought before Christian overheard it.
He smiled. “Abigail is a friend. Nothing more, pintura.” He lifted a basket from the bench in the hall. “Sister Larissa dropped this off for you. It’s your dresses and a few other items.”
Larissa was there? “What time do you people get up?”
He glanced at the clock by the door. “It’s nearly noon.”
“Oh.” It had been a draining week, and she had a restless night.
He carried the basket to her. “These should fit you better than my pants.”
Once back in the bedroom, she sifted through the gowns, paying each item much more respect than she initially had shown days ago. Now that she saw the work that went into making them, she felt spoiled by such generosity. “How can I thank them for all of this?”
“They’re happy to help. No thanks is necessary.”
“I can’t accept all this without doing something to show my gratitude.”
He studied her for a long moment. “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’m sure a simple thank you will suffice.”
“In person?”
“We can pay them a visit.”
She fanned out a gown, admiring the fine work. “So, this Abby chick, why didn’t you introduce me?”
“You sound jealous.”
“You mean curious.”
“Of course.” He chuckled. “I like the blue one. And Sister Abigail is a friend—to both of us. Her father is an elder on The Council. He lost his mate on the journey over and never recovered. He’s very protective of his daughter. She’s rarely permitted out of his sight, but he trusts her to come here on occasion because he knows me to be an honorable male.”
“Sounds…creepy. How old is she?”
“About my age.”
She scoffed, shaking the wrinkles out of the blue dress. “Why doesn’t she tell her dad to fuck off?” Her head snapped up and she froze. “Sorry. It was a slip.”
He sighed and crossed the room, taking the dress out of her hands and walking her to the dresser. “Because that’s not how it works here. Daughters heed their father’s rules and do as they’re told. This includes respecting elders and following the rules. Abigail is a good daughter who obeys her elders.” He turned her to face the dresser. “Place your hands there.”
“But she’s an adult now.”
“He’s still her father. Until she has a mate or a husband, his rules are final.” He tugged the pants loose and they fell to her ankles.
“What are you—Ouch! Christian!” She spun to face him. “Are you nuts?”
“That’s one. You have nine more.”
“It was eight last night!”
