by Darcy Burke
As long as she remained within these protective walls, she was safe.
***
Simon entered the convent through a partially open window.
Stealthily, he made his way down long corridors, each identical with torchères that offered little light and less warmth. There was no sign of life in the dismal labyrinth.
Turning another corner, he heard a faint noise in the distance.
A voice? No. It’s singing. And it was incredibly beautiful. Compelling.
He moved toward it, then paused before a set of ornately carved wooden doors and listened. The singing had stopped.
He pulled open a door wide enough to spy a woman, standing all alone, her back to him, wearing the same gray garb as the moonlit angel he’d met outside.
Was it her?
The chapel was rich with mosaics adorning the walls and floor—a sharp contrast to the austere corridors outside. He slipped inside, finding himself in the shadows of the back corner.
Then it happened. A soft, haunting melody came from the woman, slowly rising, the crescendo building until it filled the chapel, her magnificent voice hitting him full measure with its power and enchantment. A performance unlike any he’d ever witnessed. For a moment, he was lost in it, all that had been weighing on his conscience and soul receding.
The chapel doors slammed open, startling him.
An older woman stood in the entrance, her expression grim. She marched toward the one whose voice had enthralled him.
His gaze shot back to the songbird. She’d turned to face the intruder.
Good Lord, it was her—the beauty in the moonlight. As breathtaking as he’d first thought her to be.
“Well, this is a surprise,” the old nun said, her tone caustic. “You are actually early for the Hours for once.”
“Indeed, I am, Madre.” The beauty’s silky voice rippled through him.
“I’m glad you heeded my words. I’ll not tolerate you dashing in at the last moment any longer. Now, go take your place. The others will be here shortly.”
“As you will,” she responded, her manner regardful.
“Wait.” The Mother Superior pulled a twig from the younger woman’s garment. “What is this on your clothes?”
The moonlight beauty looked down at her garb. Small leaves and twigs had adhered to its coarse material. Smudges of dirt griming the fabric.
“Where have you been? I demand the truth!”
“Madre,” his songbird responded calmly, in contrast to the near shrill of the other woman. “There was a matter that required my attention outside the convent, and I—”
“Outside the convent? At this hour? Against the rules?”
“Yes, it was a rather important, urgent, matter that—”
“How dare you sneak out! You may have been a favorite of the former Madre, but she is gone now. And I will curb your willful ways. You have your own disobedience to blame for this.” She raised her arm.
It was then that Simon noticed the old nun held a dark walking stick. His stomach dropped.
The beauty’s hand shot out. “Madre, allow me to explain—” she tried to reason.
But the words fell on deaf ears. The stick came down. He tore out of the shadows.
The beauty cried out when it slammed into her open palm, but somehow she managed to curl her fingers around it.
The Mother Superior gave a vicious yank on the cane, causing the beauty to lose her grip. And then her footing.
“Stop!” he yelled just as the next blow struck her with brutal force, knocking her to the floor. Hard.
Simon snatched the stick out of the nun’s meaty hand, ignoring the old woman’s gasp. He snapped the cane in two, then whipped the pieces across the room before turning his attention to the motionless beauty at his feet.
“Wh-Who are you?” the Mother Superior stammered, clearly astonished by his presence. “You…You are not permitted here!”
Sinking to his knee, Simon gently lifted the unconscious woman off the cold floor and rose. Her head lolled against his shoulder, giving him full view of her elegant profile.
Already an ugly welt was forming on her lovely cheek. Seeing the senseless injury ignited his ire. She felt warm and right in his arms. Dieu. Who was this woman whose face was as stunning as her voice?
“What are you doing?” the nun asked. “Put her down!”
Furious, he spun around to face the older woman. Fearful, she took a step back, then turned on her heels and ran from the chapel.
“Intruder!” she screamed. “Intruder! Ring the bells!”
This was bloody perfect. He’d never done a rash thing in his entire life. And now he was standing in a convent, holding an injured woman he didn’t know. What the hell was he going to do with her?
As Simon took a step toward the door, three women dressed in similar bland garb appeared in the doorway. Upon seeing him, they shrieked, turned, and fled. He held in the expletives that resonated in his head. Merde. Could this get any worse?
A fourth woman appeared in the doorway then. Only she didn’t run away. Instead, she raced straight to him. Her eyes were watery, and there were tear streaks on her cheeks, evidence that she’d been crying. Simon sensed that she’d somehow witnessed what had just transpired.
“She is injured. Where are you taking her, signore?” she asked.
The hell if he knew!
She grabbed his arm. “You must go,” she said. “The men from the town will be here shortly, once they hear the bells.”
The bells began to chime. Loudly.
Resonating.
Simon muttered a curse. He had no one to blame but himself and his prick for this outrageous disaster. His gaze returned to the beauty in his arms. He wanted to get her out of the convent, but to steal her away seemed as wrong as it seemed right.
“I will show you a quick way out,” the woman continued, “but you must take me with you too.”
“What? No!” He wasn’t about to leave this convent with two women.
“Please, I must go with you…” Fresh tears welled from her dark eyes. “She is the only family I have.”
The bells continued to toll. He couldn’t stand here and argue the matter.
“Quickly, lead the way,” he barked over the pealing bells. He’d allow her to come along for now and decide what to do with the two women later.
She turned and ran out of the chapel and into the corridor, with Simon on her heels.
“Bring her back here!” the Mother Superior screamed from the other end of the long hallway. “Gabriella! Stop! Do you hear me? By all that is holy, you will pay for what you are doing!”
The Mother Superior’s words only hastened Gabriella’s steps. She didn’t even offer a backward glance and led him down more darkened corridors before she stopped at one of the wooden doors and opened it for him. He preceded her into the room.
Gabriella darted across the room to a shelf and removed a ring of keys from behind a clay jar, then rushed to the other door in the drab chamber. Her hands were quaking, and Simon worried she was too discomposed to open the lock. But she managed to slip the iron key into the keyhole and unlock it.
The door swung open. The moon’s silver light flooded the room.
Wasting no time, they ran out the door.
The bells echoed in the darkened skies. Simon immediately spotted his carriage at the gate and headed straight for it. Paul hastened to open the carriage door at his approach.
Stepping into the carriage, Simon first laid the young woman gently across one of the seats. Then poked his head out and saw both Paul and Gabriella staring back at him. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he said to Paul.
The young man immediately jumped back up beside the driver.
Simon’s gaze locked onto Gabriella. As she stood before him in her drab gray garb, he couldn’t miss the silent plea in her eyes.
He sighed and extended a hand. “Get in.” He yanked her up.
The carriage was on its way, full
speed, Simon issuing orders out the window to his men.
The driver guided the carriage off the road, into the woods. Concealed by the foliage and trees, they waited. The men from the town would expect the intruder to be riding away from the convent in the opposite direction, yet Simon was headed straight for the town’s waterfront, where his ship was in dock.
The sound of men on horseback grew increasingly loud until they finally thundered past.
When he was confident they were out of harm’s way, Simon ordered the carriage to proceed, and then turned his attention to the moonlight beauty lying on the seat. Down on one knee, he moved his hands carefully over her.
“Wh-What are you doing, signore?” Gabriella asked, a little leery.
“I am checking for any bleeding or broken bones.” Her body was soft and warm beneath his touch. He did his best to concentrate on her injuries, laboring to ignore the appeal of her form, which despite the layers of her shapeless clothing, his experienced hands could easily discern.
Mentally he chastised himself. These were the very sorts of thoughts that had landed him in this mess in the first place.
Carefully, he turned her face and saw the bruise and swelling on her cheek. A fresh wave of fury crested over him. He pulled off her headdress and tossed it aside. Chestnut-colored tresses spilled out—a mass of long, soft curls. He was suddenly seized with the urge to play with the silky locks, to try to awaken her by lightly teasing her with those luscious curls against her ivory skin.
Dieu, enough.
Simon turned to the other female, who watched him warily. Her features were pleasing in their own right.
“Your name is Gabriella?” He kept his voice gentle, having noted she was the type of woman who could spout tears with little provocation.
“Yes… Gabriella Santino.” For all her previous heroics, her response was timid, and she spoke with eyes downcast.
“And this is your sister?”
“N-no, she is my dearest friend. No two sisters could love each other more.”
“I see. What is her name?”
“Angelica.”
“Angelica,” he repeated, her name caressing his tongue as he looked back at the woman who lay motionless on the seat.
“Signore, though Angelica and I have not taken our vows and are not nuns, we aren’t from distinguished families either. We…we haven’t any money to pay you.” Gabriella’s voice was sad and small, and Simon understood well that her simple sentences carried with them years of hardship. However, this was good news for him. Nobles were known to secure their daughters in convents for safekeeping until marriage. He could relax a little knowing he couldn’t be accused of abducting highborn ladies. He’d been incredibly foolish but fortunate this night.
“Is this sort of maltreatment commonplace in your convent?”
The young woman’s eyes filled with tears. “No. Madre Paola is very strict, and, well, unkind, but she has never done anything like this before. Angelica should never have disobeyed her… I heard she sneaked out for our convent’s apothecary, Sister Celeste, to help a child from the town, to deliver the purgatives he needed.”
“And for that she received this? Helping a child is not permitted?”
“Well, no, I mean yes, but… Madre Paola has imposed many rules. It was different when Madre Caterina was the Mother Superior, God rest her. We had more freedom then.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I-I’ve never seen Madre Paola so angry. If you had not been there…” She sobbed softly into her hands.
Sighing, Simon labored to maintain his patience, not wanting to vent his fatigue and frustration on the emotional woman. “If the convent is a terrible place, why didn’t you leave?”
Gabriella sniffled, wiping away her tears with a swipe of her hand. “We’ve nowhere else to go.”
The carriage came to a halt.
Simon got out and turned to assist Gabriella by holding out his hand.
She remained seated. “I cannot thank you enough for helping her, signore…” She paused and added, “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Simon de Villette.” The lie—the noble-sounding name—rolled off his tongue and soured his insides. Yet maintaining anonymity outside of France was necessary for his survival. Better that she think him a noble and a naval officer, for there were those who made little distinction between privateer and pirate. The last thing he wanted was to have her in hysterics believing that she was in the presence of outlaws. “That is my ship, and we are ready to set sail.” He gestured toward the sea vessel.
Wide-eyed, Gabriella stared past him at his docked ship. “You are going to help my friend, aren’t you? Wh-What are you going to do with us, signore?”
Leave them and walk away. But his conscience balked. He couldn’t bring himself to simply abandon them, vulnerable and alone. And in the middle of the night. Especially with one of the women injured.
“If you wish, you may return with us to France. I will obtain medical attention for your friend, and I will assist you both whatever way I can. You have my word.” He held out his hand again and waited while Gabriella contemplated his offer. “I must insist on a speedy decision. I have no desire to confront any irate townspeople.”
It was bad enough he was returning to France tonight without adding to it the complication of having two women in tow, one of whom stirred in him, with inexplicable intensity, a carnal hunger that he was forced to suppress. She was most definitely an innocent. Not the sort of woman he bedded. He wasn’t going to add defiling virgins to his long list of sins.
With but a slight hesitation, Gabriella entrusted her hand to his, murmured her acceptance and renewed gratitude. He helped her down.
Given the hour, the dock area was deserted, yet there was much activity on deck. Simon ignored the curious looks from his crew as he carried an unconscious woman onto his ship, while another woman followed behind.
Both in religious clothing.
How ludicrous was this situation? He definitely needed sleep. He was not himself at all.
He wasn’t going to allow the women to become a problem. He had enough problems already. He’d see that they were reunited with some long-forgotten cousin or friend, offer them some funds to aid them. And be done with it.
Besides, a beautiful woman had never caused him grief in the past. Or problems.
Why should this one be any different?
Chapter Two
Angelica moaned softly. A terrible ache pounded inside her skull.
Little by little, the darkness dissolved until she could detect rays of light. Objects took on recognizable shapes, yet nothing looked familiar. No resemblance to any room she’d ever seen at the convent. The chamber she was in was decorated with colors of light green and gold. A costly green velvet chair sat before the hearth across from the foot of the bed. The furnishings were too fine. Too ornate.
Where am I?
She moved her gaze to the right. Sunlight cascaded from the window. With a groan, she shut her eyes tightly and turned away from the assailing light. The sudden movement sent a stabbing pain directly to her temples.
She remained still, eyes closed, until the pain subsided. Thoughts came to her slowly, scrambled, as she attempted to recall her last memories. The chapel. Madre. The horrible incident with the stick…
Without moving her head, she opened her eyes once more.
A woman sat near the bed, chin down and fast asleep. A woman she didn’t recognize. A woman not in gray, the required dress at the convent. The silver-haired woman’s modest clothing was a distinct contrast to the richness of the room.
Unease seeped into her system; her pulse quickened.
The woman beside her stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked straight at Angelica and came to her feet.
“Dieu, you’re awake!” she exclaimed and rushed from the room.
Angelica’s heart jumped to her throat.
Had the woman just spoken French? Though she hadn’t spoken the language in years, sh
e’d understood every word.
Dear God. Where was she!
***
Exhausted, Simon strode toward the dining hall of the Château Arles.
Located by the sea, the isolated château belonged to the recently retired Commodore of the King’s Navy—Robert d’Arles. Simon had spent much of his youth here with Robert, when they weren’t at sea, at war.
It was an ideal place for Simon to rendezvous with his ships.
Robert had returned from Paris during Simon’s brief trip to the Republic of Genoa and was waiting to break fast with him. Normally, Simon would be delighted to spend time with the man who’d saved his life, had raised him as his own and taught him everything he knew about ships and battle.
But not today.
Today there was something he needed to say to Robert. It was a conversation he never thought he’d have. The words he had to voice to his mentor weighed heavily on him.
Dieu, everything was in shambles. Even his good judgment was askew. Last night’s events further emphasized that. Never had he pursued a beautiful woman without first giving cautious consideration beforehand to any possible reprisals. He’d always prided himself on his self-control, on his acumen. Yet, last eve he’d done something completely impetuous and chased a pretty face into a convent.
Thank God, the two women weren’t from noble families.
Having sailed the short distance back to France, his ship had arrived well before dawn. He’d carried the beauty, still trapped in slumber, to one of the second-floor bedchambers and managed to coax her friend to retire to a separate chamber for rest.
He could still feel the heated effects of having Angelica’s soft, sweet form against him, desire still humming in his veins. In fact, each time he gazed upon the captivating face that had provoked his uncharacteristic behavior, raw lust licked up his spine. His physical reactions to her were confounding in the extreme.
Anxious to speak to the moonlight angel, he’d given orders to inform him the moment she awoke. No doubt she’d be pleased to be out of that convent. For good.
Yet he forced himself to stop short of imagining the various ways she might demonstrate her appreciation.