Page 167 of Immortal Bastard

He walked out of the kitchen without touching her. She bowed her head and swallowed back the urge to cry.

Voluntarily walking out the front door was one of the most difficult steps she’d ever taken in her life. Last week this house was a cage. But today it was her sanctuary, and she didn’t want to leave.

Wind whipped through the trees as rain pelted the carriage. Christian waited under an umbrella, leaving her to take that first step on her own.

Drawing in a galvanizing breath, she trudged into the mud and quickly climbed into the carriage. He followed, closing the umbrella and taking up the reins. His hand briefly touched her knee but then quickly disappeared.

The rattle of rain hitting the flat roof of the carriage muffled all other sound. The roads were slick and dark. Taper candles filled every window of the bishop’s house, making it shine brighter than all the rest.

“Wait here,” Christian said as he parked the carriage and walked the horse into the shelter of the stables. When he returned, she was shivering with fear. He held out his hand to her. “I’ll do the talking.”

Her hand slipped into his and he squeezed her fingers with added reassurance. Larissa opened the door, her daughter Moriah perched on her hip. “Brother Christian.”

“Good evening, Sister Larissa. We need to speak to the bishop.”

She glanced at Delilah and flinched, no doubt reading her mind and seeing her crimes first hand. No wonder they had to tell the truth. She was a liability in every sense of the word.

“Of course. Come in.”

The inside of the house looked completely different than it had at service that morning. The benches had all been removed and ordinary furniture filled the den. They stood in silence while Larissa went to get her husband. She was grateful Christian didn’t let go of her hand.

“Christian,” the bishop greeted without directly addressing her. “What brings you—”

That quickly he understood. Delilah bowed her head in shame, and Christian’s hand tightened around hers.

“Let’s go into my office.”

They followed the bishop to a small room off of a long wing annexed to the back of the house. Braided rugs and doilies didn’t adorn any of the furniture in this area. The benches were plain, and biblical verses written in German rotunda hung on every wall.

“What is this place?”

This is the Safe House. It’s where The Council conducts all its business.

He hadn’t answered out loud so she sensed he wanted her to hold all questions and comments until the end. When they entered the bishop’s office, he waved them toward two chairs facing the large desk.

“Please.”

She sat beside Christian, adrift and terrified the moment he let go of her hand. A gaping fireplace dominated one wall, but not a speck of ash filled the hearth. A small stain from a steady drip formed a puddle as water slowly trickled from the flue.

“How many mortal witnesses?” the bishop asked, cutting right to business.

“Four”

Her gaze cut to Christian’s, prepared to object but he sent her a mental command to keep quiet. He couldn’t mean to count the baby.

“That’s four hundred lashes.” It was clear that the bishop did not relish, but great authority came with great responsibility. As the lead magistrate, he was obligated to uphold their laws and discipline his flock as necessary.

“I will be her proxy.”

“I assumed as much.” The bishop looked at her for a long moment. “Do you understand the consequences of your actions? Has Christian explained this to you?”

Her jaw trembled.

“You have my permission to answer the bishop,” Christian said.

Her voice wasn’t easy to find. “I…didn’t mean…”

Just answer his question, pintura. No excuses.

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