Lenobia's Vow (House of Night Novellas #2)(15)

“You not come back here again, cherie.”

Lenobia looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you saying you do not want me to come back?”

“I could not speak that lie to you,” he said.

Lenobia breathed a long, trembling sigh of relief before saying, “Then if you are asking me, my answer is yes. I will come back here again. Tomorrow. At dawn. Nothing has changed.”

She continued walking out, and heard the echo of his voice following her, saying, “Everything has changed, ma cherie…”

Lenobia’s thoughts were in tumult. Had everything changed between them?

Yes. Martin said his heart heard my words. But what did that mean? She climbed the narrow stairwell and entered the hallway that ran from the cargo entrance past the crew’s quarters, the deck access way, and then ended at the female passengers’ quarters. She hurried past the crew doorway. It was later than she usually returned, and she heard hardly any sounds of crew members rustling about within, getting ready to begin the day. She should have known then that she needed to be more careful. She should have stopped and listened, but all Lenobia could hear was the sound of her thoughts answering her own question: What did it mean that Martin said his heart heard my words? It meant that he knows I love him.

I love him. I love Martin.

It was as she admitted that to herself that the Bishop, purple robes swirling around him, moved into the hallway not two steps behind her.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said.

Had Lenobia been less distracted, she would have immediately ducked her head, curtseyed, and scampered back to the safety of her quarters. Instead she made a terrible mistake. Lenobia looked up at him.

Their gazes met. “Ah, it is the little mademoiselle who has been so ill all voyage.” He paused and she saw confusion in his dark eyes. He even tilted his head and furrowed his brow as he studied her. “But I thought you were the Baron d’Auvergne’s…” His voice trailed off as his eyes widened in recognition and then understanding.

“Bonjour, Father.” She spoke quickly, ducked her head, curtseyed, and tried to retreat. But it was too late. The Bishop’s hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.

“I know your pretty face, and it is not that of Cecile Marson de La Tour d’Auvergne, daughter of the Baron d’Auvergne.”

“No, please. Let me go, Father.” Lenobia tried to pull away from him, but his hot grip felt stronger than iron.

“I know your pretty, pretty face,” he repeated. His surprise turned to a cruel smile. “You are a daughter of the Baron, but you are his fille de bas. Everyone near the Château de Navarre knows of the succulent little fruit that dropped from the wrong side of the Baron’s tree.”

His bastard daughter … succulent little fruit … wrong side … The words battered her, filling her with dread. Lenobia shook her head back and forth, back and forth. “No, I must return to my quarters. Sister Marie Madeleine will be missing me.”

“As indeed I have been.”

The Bishop and Lenobia were startled by the sound of Sister Marie Madeleine’s commanding voice—he enough that Lenobia was able to pull loose from him and stumble down the hall to the nun.

“What is this about, Father?” Sister Marie Madeleine asked. But before the Bishop could answer her, the nun touched Lenobia’s cheek and said, “Cecile, why are you trembling so? Have you been ill again?”

“You call her Cecile? Are you in on this unholy masquerade?” The Bishop seemed to fill the hallway as he loomed over the two women.

Clearly not intimidated, Sister Marie Madeleine stepped forward, putting herself between Lenobia and the priest. “I have no idea of what you speak, Father, but you are frightening this child.”

“This child is a bastard impostor!” the Bishop roared.

“Father! Have you gone quite mad?” the nun said, drawing back as if he’d struck her.

“Do you know? Is that why you have kept her hidden for the entire voyage?” The Bishop continued to rage. Lenobia could hear the sounds of doors opening behind her and she knew the other girls were coming into the hallway. She could not look at them—she would not look at them. “This is a travesty! I will excommunicate both of you. The Holy Father himself will hear of this!”

Lenobia could see the curious looks the crewmen were giving them as the Bishop’s tirade drew more and more attention. And then, far down the hallway behind the Bishop, Lenobia caught sight of Martin’s startled face and saw that he was coming toward her.

It was terrible enough that Sister Marie Madeleine was standing there, protecting and believing in her. She couldn’t bear it if Martin were somehow pulled into the mess she had made of her life as well.

“No!” Lenobia cried, moving around Sister Marie Madeleine. “I did this on my own. No one knew, no one! Especially not the good Sister.”

“What is it the child has done?” the Commodore asked as he stepped into the hallway, frowning from the Bishop to Lenobia.

The Bishop opened his mouth to shout her sin, but before he could speak, Lenobia confessed. “I am not Cecile Marson de La Tour d’Auvergne. Cecile died the morning the carriage came to take her to Le Havre. I am another daughter of the Baron d’Auvergne—his bastard daughter. I took Cecile’s place without anyone at the château knowing because I wanted a better life for myself.” Lenobia met the nun’s gaze steadily. “I am sorry I lied to you, Sister. Please forgive me.”