Page 10 of Eternal Craving

Dusty earth sprayed up around the horse.

“Do you want that jacket?” he asked.

Miguel had subdued the horse in record time.

I’d read in one of Señor Machon’s books that an artist of extraordinary talent, who resided in Italy, had found favor with the Roman Catholic Church.

“Daumia?” Roelle’s voice seemed far away.

If the artist, Giovanni Bellini, agreed to hire me as his assistant, he might take me with him to the Vatican, and there I could receive an audience with the Pope and my sins would be absolved. My mother would have found solace in that.

Roelle sighed.

Miguel caressed the horse’s muzzle, lulling him.

Roelle brushed past me and sat on the bed. “The good news is that you won’t be alone anymore. Your sister’s joining us.”

I turned to look at him.

She was alive.

“I’ve accepted her as one of my housemaids,” he said.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“I’m sure we’ll find many things for her to do.” He smiled at me.

Before me sat the man whose authority had been the benchmark by which I’d measured all things. His morality had shaped my own. Roelle had allowed me in and provided full access, and such was my advantage.

Until this moment.

Bringing my sister here would erase any hope I had of leaving – unless I could persuade her to go with me.

Chapter Six

Entranced, holding the map over a candle flame, I watched it burn, sending a greyish spiral of smoke toward the open window.

If this was ever found it would end me.

I wondered if I’d recognize Alicia. I felt ready to forgive her, though for what I wasn’t sure. She’d never come looking for me. Never come to take me home.

Miguel had expected me in the barn hours ago.

I crept downstairs into the basement, avoiding that terrible cell, the dark dwelling where I’d been held captive. I continued into the fully stocked wine cellar. Using my teeth, I uncorked one of the better vintages. The first fruity gulps delighted my tastebuds, and the cold liquid quenched the thirst I didn’t know I had, and then it came…that exquisite flush, that rush of warmth.

I didn’t finish it but shoved the half-empty bottle into the corner where the others had been stacked. Strolling back along the corridor, I considered peering intothecell. I didn’t do it, though.

Feeling giddy from the liquor, with one foot on the stairs leading up to my room, I paused and then turned to look at Roelle’s office door.

Inside, I settled in comfortably behind his writing desk and rummaged through his papers. Within moments, I’d located his will, embossed with the Bastillion family crest. I found a perfect match to the paper that his legal document had been scribed on. With Roelle’s feathered fountain pen dipped in fresh ink, I wrote in his handwriting. Within an hour, the Bastillion legacy had become my own, the house and all its contents bequeathed to me. I admired my handiwork.

Felipe had witnessed the original will. His signature took longer. I pressed the official Bastillion stamp into the thick red, liquefied wax and sealed the document. I destroyed the original.

This boy had truly proven himself to be Roelle’s protégé. I placed the dispatch, addressed to Roelle’s legal counsel, in the master’s mail tray and headed back up the stairs, taking two at a time. When I reached the landing, my pulse began racing so fast, I feared my voice would fail me.

Roelle had returned earlier than expected. A slender woman stood facing him. Straight raven locks fell down her back.

Alicia?