What if Selene had ventured out? She knew of one girl who had unlocked the front door and walked the length of three streets in her sleep.
Taking a few hesitant steps towards the stables, Anna heard the low neighs accompanied by the shuffling of hooves. Something had scared the horses. Perhaps she was wrong, and they had sensed an unusual force. Animals were known to be far more perceptive than people. However, in retrospect, she believed the mysterious figure must surely be a real person.
Had the smugglers seen them near the cave and followed them home? Was it their intention to frighten them to secure their silence?
No. Anna mentally shook her head. If they suspected someone knew of their criminal activities, surely their first thought would be to move the contraband. Without catching the smugglers in the act of transporting the goods they had no proof. Besides, why would smugglers waste their time lurking in the stables?
In her mind, that left only two options. Either, one of the servants was responsible or Victor's accomplice had discovered her whereabouts and had come looking for her.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.
She should run. She should race back into the monastery, bar the door and call Marcus. Indeed, she did turn and take a few steps towards the door. But stubbornness made her falter. By the time Marcus dressed and came down, the intruder would have scurried off into the night. She would be forever looking over her shoulder wondering when he would return. And she was tired of running and hiding. If someone lingered in the shadows, they could damn well show themselves.
With renewed determination she stormed into the stables. Lifting the lamp aloft once more, she scanned her surroundings. Nothing appeared unusual or out of place, and the horses seemed settled. Yet with a heightened sense of awareness and by the prickling feeling running down her spine, she knew she was not alone.
"You can come out now." Her tone conveyed an inner strength. It was not wise to show fear. Victor taught her that. "I saw you head in here."
The sound of someone tutting caused her to suppress a gasp. "Ah, Marie, night after night you keep me waiting. Why, when you knew I would come?"
Her heart shot up to her throat.
"Show yourself." Anna moved the lamp to the left and then the right but could see no one. The man must be hiding in one of the stalls, yet the horses were oddly calm.
"You enjoy playing your games with me." His thick French accent reminded her of the comte — a soft, friendly tone masking a stone-cold heart.
"Victor?" Even as the word left her lips, she knew it could not be true. She had seen him draw his last breath, had held the blood-stained knife in her hand. "Who … who are you? What do you want here?" Her frantic gaze scoured the shadows. "What do you want with me?"
"Tout le monde sait que vous êtes une putain. What do you think I want?"
In French, the vile words sounded venomous — everyone knows you're a whore. Fear struck at her heart. She had made a mistake leaving the safety of the monastery.
"Who are you?" she repeated shuffling back towards the door. As soon as he made a reply she would make a dash for it.
"What does it matter who—"
Anna did not wait to hear what he had to say.
As a man accustomed to sleeping lightly — when out in the field one could not take the risk of being set upon by brigands — Marcus heard Anna leave the room. Given the nature of her previous employment, one might make certain assumptions. Perhaps her girls were taught to make a distinction between bedding a man and sleeping with him. Had he been less confident in his ability to please or in the emotional connection they shared, he might have suspected an eagerness to return to her room.
Instinct told him something wasn't quite right.
Throwing on his breeches and shirt, he walked out into the corridor carrying his boots in his hand. Old habits had proved useful on numerous occasions; nothing hindered a man more than racing about barefooted in the dark.
"Miss Sinclair?" he whispered, rapping gently on her door. He did not bother to call out again and upon turning the handle and peering inside, realised the room stood empty.
Quickly expelling the slight hint of doubt that he may have mistaken the depth of her desire for him as a mere curiosity for frolicking, he thrust his feet into his boots and headed downstairs. Perhaps their rather exhaustive coupling had left her famished; he'd need to eat a whole pig to stop his grumbling stomach. The corners of his mouth curled up into a smile as his mind replayed various lascivious images.
God, he'd been desperate to bed her.
But the undeniably satisfying experience had left him craving her all the more. He had seriously underestimated the lure of an innocent. Indeed, he could not shake the feeling that she belonged with him now.
Bloody hell!
Tristan would be roaring with laughter if he were party to Marcus' thoughts.
Peering through the door into the refectory, he was certain Anna had not come in search of food. Then it occurred to him she might be in the chapel. A pang of guilt stabbed at his chest. Good Lord, he had taken her virginity. But how could he have possibly known the nature of her situation? Who had ever heard of a madam of a bawdy house being as pure as driven snow? It beggared belief.
As he passed through the nave, he spotted the open door.