Lynn Viehl - [Darkyn 08 - Lords of the Darkyn 01] by Nightborn (mobi) Page B

saint?”
    “A goat,” she advised him gravely. “The sisters named them all after the apostles. Saint Paul is the largest and noisiest, and he hates everyone but Father Robere. I think that’s why he’s always the first one to stray. He’s forever trying to escape all these women around him.”
    Korvel watched her face as she described some of the wayward goat’s antics. Every nun he had ever encountered had been stern faced and thin lipped, but not Sister Simone. As she spoke her pretty features came alive, while her mouth curved and pouted and framed every word as if it were something delicious to be tasted. In her chamber she had not fought nor returned his kiss, but her lips had parted for him and surrendered her mouth to his. He imagined her atop him, her mouth caressing a path down his chest, her breath warming his flesh, her hair entwined in his hands as he guided her, gently but deliberately, until she opened those lovely, soft lips to taste the aching swell of his cock head—
    God in heaven, would he never stop thinking about having her?
    Simone seemed oblivious to his silent plight as she continued her story. “.…#x200B;and, of course, I had to lure them out of the vegetable garden. Luckily for me they like blackberries more than turnip tops. It wasn’t until I had the last of them penned that I noticed Saint Paul was still missing. I am boring you.”
    “No.” That came out too harshly, so he tried again. “Not at all. What happened next?”
    “I searched the fields, the barn, the drying sheds, and even the house, but there was no sign of him.” She sighed. “By noon I decided he had made good his escape, and went to start the laundry. There I discovered every basket chewed and trampled, and shreds of what had been the laundry scattered to the four corners. All of the aprons had vanished. Finally I found Saint Paul sleeping peacefully under the washbasin, his belly swollen, and an apron string still caught in his teeth.”
    “They will eat anything,” Korvel said. “What did you do with him?”
    “First we waited to see whether he would explode,” she admitted. “When he didn’t, Mother said the crime would also be the punishment. And it was, for Saint Paul soon learned that what goes in must also come out.”
    “How many aprons did he eat?”
    “After three days of bloating and belching, he finally slung out three in his cud, strings and all.” Her lips twisted. “Now all I have to do is flap my apron at him and he runs for the pen.”

Chapter 6
     
    S
    imone liked the sound of the Englishman’s laugh. It curled around her, silky and warm, like a cashmere shawl. Like his voice, it also had a rasping quality to it, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. As soon as it trailed away she wanted to hear it again, to feel its deep resonance before the coldness of her duty froze the last feeling from her heart.
    My duty. Her eyes stung, and her throat grew tight.
    For all the years she had lived at the convent, Simone had always known this would someday happen. She had carried the threat of it every day, like an invisible yoke. The weight of her duty, like the irrational guilt she felt over failing to be a true Derien, dragged at her. Not once in all the generations that preceded Simone had anyone refused to carry on the family’s obligations; her rebellion had put an abrupt end to seven hundred years of tradition held sacred by the Deriens. She carried so many unforgivable sins, but the bargain was the worst. She had tried to convince herself that it was the price of her freedom, but she had been its prisoner ever since making the promise to her father.
    Simone didn’t have to look at Korvel to know he was watching her again. He would also know how miserable she felt; Flavia had said the Kyn could smell emotions and lies. But he would assume that she was merely missing her home, and she could divert his attention as simply as he had hers. “What is it like being captain of the high