Page 79 of Wedded to the Sinful Duke

The innkeeper nodded, sensing his urgency. “Right away, sir. You look like you’ve been through quite a ride. Will you be needing supper as well?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Just the room. And some water for my horse.”

The innkeeper handed him a key and directed him to a room upstairs.

As Jonathan stood at the bar, accepting a tankard of water from the innkeeper, a figure approached him. Her dress was low-cut, and she moved with a seductive grace that drew the attention of many in the room.

“Good evening,” she purred, sidling up to him. “You look like you’ve had a long journey. Perhaps I could offer you some… company to warm your bed?”

Jonathan glanced at her, her beauty undeniable, but his mind was elsewhere. The thought of Ciara, alone and frightened, filled his thoughts.

He shook his head, offering her a polite but firm smile. “Thank you, but no. I’m just here to rest.”

The woman arched an eyebrow, clearly unaccustomed to such a refusal. “Are you sure? A man like you shouldn’t be alone on a night like this.”

“I’m sure,” Jonathan replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I have someone waiting for me. Someone I need to find.”

The woman’s expression softened slightly, and she nodded, stepping back. For a moment, he thought he could see sympathy in her eyes and even a desire to have someone like that for herself, someone who would refuse all other women and have eyes for just that one.

She smiled a little wistfully as she spoke. “Very well. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Jonathan nodded and made his way to his room. He didn’t want anyone else in his bed or in his arms other than Ciara. He couldn’t stop thinking about her laughter, her kindness, and the fire in her eyes. He had to find her. Reaching his room, he locked the door behind him and lay down, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.

Tomorrow, he would continue his journey. He would find Ciara and bring her home. With that thought, he finally felt a sense of peace, his eyes growing heavy as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

CHAPTER 38

Suddenly, with a sharp gasp, Ciara awoke. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe as remnants of a nightmare clung to her like cobwebs, and she couldn’t shake them no matter how hard she tried.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet touching the chilly wooden floor.

With great effort, she stood and made her way to the door, her every step more frail than the next. She reached for the handle, hoping against hope that it would open, but found it locked as always.

With a heavy sigh, she returned to bed. She had no idea when or even how she fell asleep. All she knew was that at one point, she suddenly heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock.

Her eyes fluttered open heavily as she watched the door creak open with a frightening groan, admitting the austere figure of Mother Superior.

“You’re awake then,” Mother Superior said.

Ciara could see a modest portion of stale bread and a pitcher of water, in quantities that offered little comfort to her ravenous state.

Mother Superior shut the door behind her with an authoritative finality. She placed the meager provisions on the small table next to the bed, her movements precise and devoid of any sympathy or sentiment. Then again, Ciara knew better than to expect that of her.

Ciara struggled to sit up, her spirit frail and her body weary. She had no idea what she had done to deserve such harsh treatment.

“Have you no mercy in you?” she asked, her eyes searching the stern countenance before her.

Mother Superior looked at her as if Ciara were unworthy of a longer gaze and as if all of this were nothing but a hassle for her.

“Mercy is not given freely, child. Rather, it is earned through true penitence and piety. From what I’ve seen so far, you have shown me neither.”

A shiver of fear passed through Ciara. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling with anguish, “do not take me back to St. Catherine’s. It will be the end of me.”

Mother Superior stepped closer, her shadow falling heavily over Ciara’s form. “St. Catherine’s is a place of redemption,” she declared with a sternness that brooked no argument. “There, you will find the salvation you seek.”

Ciara looked down, completely beaten. Even her eyes, once sparkling with hope, were now sunken and glassy, showing that she was on the verge of giving up. “Redemption through suffering is not salvation,” she countered, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It is but a form of torture.”

Mother Superior’s patience, though formidable, was not infinite. Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing into a steely resolve. “Enough of your protestations,” she said, her tone leaving no room for further debate. She tossed the bread onto the bed with a dismissive flick of her wrist, the stale crust landing with a soft thud beside Ciara.

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