Bayou Bishops Box Set: Books 1-12

CHAPTER 6

Maggie tried to only watch Spook when he wasn’t looking. He seemed to rarely look which gave her a lot of watching time. She never wanted to leave the little place he’d brought her to. Was like a paradise hidden in nature. She was still in awe of Spook. The awe grew every time they interacted. Everything about him was new and different and curious. He reminded her of Graham in looks but that’s all. The rest was the curious stuff. The kind she had to discover. A treasure she’d been looking for and there it was in the most unexpected place. She knew when he’d whistled and she’d hummed the tune there was something, a connection. He felt the connection the same as she did, that’s why he continued the song to the end. He knew.

And the curious stuff had her at the edge of her seat in wonder. How he’d acted when seeing her naked. So angry. It had made her angry that he was angry because she didn’t know why he was. She’d never thought a thing about being naked until that.

And he was celibate which was also very curious because she understood that as a man who didn’t want to be married to a woman. She never wondered about the meaning of it until him. Nobody was celibate that she’d ever known. Her heart raced at remembering how he’d held her down and cut her and even bit her on the inside of her leg. Why did he bite her there? He’d said an eye for an eye, and she understood that. So, why didn’t he bite her on the shoulder? And he wasn’t even sorry. The moment he’d told her he wasn’t, she knew he was much different from Graham. Graham would be sorry for upsetting her, but Spook was the opposite. And she really liked that and was more curious than ever about him. He was like the best book she’d ever read and couldn’t wait to turn the page and see what he”d do next.

When he’d hurt that man who tried to kiss her, she was happy even though she’d never kissed like that before and wanted to. So many strange things happening with him. She went over them as often as she could for the joy of reliving them. Like when he said mean words to the man at the round table. He was protecting her, and it made her want to always be close to him.

But out of all the curious things about him, his anger…it was something special. It had a power over her. Especially the anger he had when he helped her with the chemical chore. And yet…he wasn’t angry. His words were angry, and his tone was so…angry but…somehow, he wasn’t. And then he’d said all those things to her, and her body surprised her with the most amazing reaction. So much pleasure. Why hadn’t she had that before? Was she doing something wrong? And it came so fast! She was used to taking at least an hour to reach the end and that end was very different, it didn’t feel anything like that. What kind of power did he have? His words, his tone. All of it seemed to reach deep inside her and…make her. “You will use words with me.” To her brain, he’d unlocked something. He used the same words poor Uncle Wigs had so many times. But not talking to Uncle Wigs was a game she’d played for so long, she didn’t know how not to play it. Spook wasn’t part of any of her games she played at home. And when he told her she’d use words with him, the power over her had been spectacular. She could always use words and did often when alone, but with him, she wanted to always use them as he wanted her to. But only with him. And for him. That was her new game. Because they shared a secret and she wondered still what that secret was. She’d couldn’t wait to learn it.

She’d be careful not to let anybody see how much she liked Spook, or they’d make him leave too. Or make her leave and take that medicine she hated. She had to keep it a secret if she didn’t want it to end. She never wanted it to end. But…she wanted Spook to know that she liked him. They were there for five days. Alone. Maybe she could find a way to tell him. Just a little.

Everything was perfect. Well, almost. She still had to find a way to get rid of the Bishop man. Sahvrin. He was always there, stealing Lizzy from her. Uncle Wigs said she was going to live with her but that’s not what she saw happening. The Bishop was always taking her here and there and never wanting her to go. She saw it in his eyes. He only wanted to be with Lizzy, but they couldn’t both have her and she’d gone a long time not having her. It was her turn. And the Bishop thought she’d use words if he learned sign language. She wouldn’t. Not ever.

“Maggie.”

She almost fell off the little swinging bed as she sat up. “Yes?” she answered, remembering her new game to always use words. She didn’t make them with a big voice yet. She wanted to practice first.

“You hungry?” he asked.

She realized there was a fire behind him, and she had to fall out of the swinging bed to escape it before hurrying over to see. “You’re…cooking?” she said, almost above a whisper.

“Yes. Sit.”

She eyed the strange looking chair he pointed to made of big sticks. Carefully she made her way into it, smiling when she was settled all the way in. “Comfortable.” She looked at him as he sat on the ground next to her wanting to ask if he made it.

She noticed he had a knife and stick in his hand. What was he doing? Before she could figure it out, she got distracted with the muscles in his arms and the white skin covering them. Like he always took care to hide from the sun. He was very beautiful that color.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said, not looking at her, making her heart skip ten beats.

She looked at the fire, feeling the expectation of words. “I always stare,” she said, not wanting to disappoint him.

“I know you do,” he muttered, like they talked every day all day.

She considered that idea and was able to imagine it. He was easy to talk to. “You do? Know?”

He angled those dark blue eyes at her. They were different from Graham’s. A lot of stuff hid in his and it made her want to stare into them and see what she could find. He turned back to his stick, and she suddenly wanted to know what he looked like under his beard. If he’d let her touch, she could know that. She hated his no touching rule. It was required when she drew, and she’d wanted to draw him from the moment she’d met him.

So he knew she stared. But he’d never said anything. Why did he say something now? “Why… is it rude?” she said, wondering how she sounded to him.

He didn’t stop cutting on his stick, making her feel like she was doing okay so far. “Why do you think?”

She smiled, realizing they were having a real conversation and now it was her turn again. “I don’t… think it is,” she said. “But I… learned about it in school.”

“You don’t mind being stared at all the time?”

She struggled to focus on the words, still wondering how he thought she sounded. “I stare when… I think people aren’t looking. Because of the rule.”

“But you don’t think it’s rude?”

She considered that, wondering if she should. “I don’t think it’s rude,” she said quieter.

“What if I stared at you like that? What would you think?”

She wished he’d slow down and give her time to process. “I’d think…you found me interesting enough to watch.” God, her stomach was in knots, she realized.

“Is that what you’re doing? Finding me interesting?”

She eyed him, wondering why he was testing her. “Yes,” she said, wanting to be honest. Sometimes lying was better and even necessary, but she really didn’t want to with him. “You’re like a good story and… I want to know what happens next.”

His deep laugh made her heart beat faster. Did he think her answer stupid? “Why do you have the no touching rule?” she asked.

“Because I’m celibate,” he said, back to serious while focusing on his stick.

“And to you that means…you don’t want to be married?”

“Yes. Or touch a woman or have a woman touch me.”

This confused her and she realized she’d switched to a subject she knew very little about or understood. “So…women only touch men… they want to marry?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

She pulled her knees up and held them, staring at the pretty fire. “I want to touch you,” she said, looking at him. “Because I need to.”

“My God, this woman,” he said in French.

He thought she was a woman? She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“A man must want to marry a woman before he lets her touch him. And the same for the woman.”

She understood what he’d said but didn’t understand why he said it. “I don’t agree,” she said quietly. “You touch me and don’t…want to marry me.”

“I do and that’s not the same kind of touch.”

She eyed him, a little hopeful. “So there is some touching that is okay?”

“I touched you many times already and don’t plan to marry you.”

His words made it burn in her gut and chest.

“And there’s a difference between wanting something and deciding to have it.”

Hope returned as she eyed him. “Tell me.”

He lifted the small stick and blew the tip. “There are things I want but choose not to have because of my job.”

“So you don’t… want to be celibate?”

“I do want to be celibate. But that doesn’t mean there are times when I want to not be celibate.”

She stared at him. “When?”

“When what?” he mumbled, sliding his knife along the stick.

“When are the times you don’t want to be celibate?”

“Just because I choose to be celibate doesn’t mean I’m not a man with needs.”

“What…kind of needs? To be touched?”

“Right. And other things.”

“What other things?”

He shook his head. “Not a subject we need to talk about.”

“Why?” she wondered, annoyance rising up at the roadblock. “How will I learn and know?”

“You don’t need to learn or know that.”

“But…I want to know,” she said.

“Wow, you sure are talking.”

She stared at his profile, his tone making her want to never talk again. “You asked me to use words.”

“I did.”

“Am I doing it wrong?”

“Oh, no, you’re doing it very right.”

He stood and she watched him push the logs with his boot. “Then why does it feel like you’re saying it’s wrong?”

“I’m just saying you’re talking a lot about things I don’t want to.”

“So… you meant to say you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yes. I meant to say I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Why don’t you?”

He let out a breath as he looked up at the sky.

“You don’t want me to touch you because touching means wanting to be married and you want to touch but also don’t want to be married? That’s very confusing. It makes my brain burn.” Then he wanted her to talk and now she was talking too much? That idea brought more words bubbling up and wanting out. “You give puzzles and then hold back pieces so I can’t solve it.”

“And you have to solve all the puzzles?” he wondered.

“The ones put in front of me. I do.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?” she demanded, breathless.

“Because I’m a lot like that too.”

She stared at him, curiosity mixing with her anger. “You have to solve puzzles?”

“Always.”

She was back to fully curious. “What do you do when you don’t have the pieces?”

“I get them if I can.”

“Me too.”

He nodded a lot. “I’m seeing that.”

Her anger returned at his tone. “Then don’t give me puzzles if you don’t like it. And I still don’t get how you’re going to touch me and train me while not marrying me. Do you think doctors should marry their patients before they touch them?”

“This angers you, I see. And when you’re angry, you talk very well. This is good. But I said there are differences in touching.” He used a tool and lifted the lid from the pot.

“Why don’t you just tell me you want to touch me and not marry me.”

“Fuuuck, really,” he mumbled, looking at her. “Drop it. I don’t want to answer your question.”

She eyed him, her anger only growing. “Well, I don’t want a lot of things.”

“Like what?” he said, facing her, challenging her.

She stared at him then at the fire, not liking where he was taking it. “Nothing.”

“You just have to say the word and I’ll bring you back to the Birdhouse and you’ll never be bothered with me again.”

“So I do what you say, or you take everything away from me. I know this kind of life.”

He turned and put the lid back on the pot and returned, sitting next to her. “I was asked to do a job, Maggie and I agreed. And here I am, doing the job.”

This was news to her. “What job were you asked to do? My Uncle asked you?”

“My Eveque asked me.”

“Your Eveque. The Bishop.”

“Yes.”

“Why? What job did he ask you to do?”

“To keep an eye on you. Make sure you were okay.”

She considered what that meant. “And training me to survive is doing that?”

He was back to cutting on his stick. “It is. Because I won’t always be watching you and you need to know how to watch yourself when that happens.”

She turned her attention to the fire, her anger almost as hot as the flames. “I didn’t know I was a child to everybody. Am I a danger to myself too? To others?”

“You did attack me,” he reminded softly.

“And you retaliated.”

“I did.” He eyed her. “It’s still an eye for an eye,” he reminded, clearly letting her know he’d do it again.

She went back to staring at the fire. “I was sorry.” She’d wanted to tell him that since she’d done it. “I don’t…hit anymore. You…were different. I mean…I wasn’t used to…I’d never met…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want you touching me,” she informed. “Not even in training. Because I like you touching me and even want to marry you and since I can’t have that, touching is very unacceptable.”

“This woman is going to kill me,” he muttered in French.

“I know French,” she reminded.

“I know you do. Which is fascinating. What else do you know that I should know?”

“I don’t know how to kiss. Thanks to you, I may never know.”

“If you’re talking about the kiss I saved you from, you’re welcome.”

“Why did you stop him?”

“Because he had no business kissing you. He surely didn’t want to marry you.”

“How would you know?”

“Because he’s a man-slut.”

She tried to remember what that word meant. “What is that?” she asked, annoyed that she had to.

He pressed the sharp point of his stick into his palm. “Means he’s fucked half the women in the swamp and hasn’t married a single one of them.”

Fucked. Her stomach flipped at that term. He’d used it when directing her and now that he used it here, it confused her. As much as she hated to ask, she had to know. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“What you said that he’s done to half the women in the swamp.”

“Means he’s done things to women only their husbands should do.”

“So he does husband things with a lot of women?” He looked at her and she didn’t like what she saw in his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You learned nothing about this kind of thing? Marriage, adultery, fornication?”

“I learned about men and women and sexual reproduction. I know about marriage and that it has a… contract.”

“There you go,” he said.

“But if you don’t sign a contract…”

“That’s fornication.”

“To…do married things without signing a contract?”

“Yes.”

She returned to the fuck term, wondering how it related to what she was doing. “Why did you use that word?”

“Which one?”

“The one I don’t want to say and yet don’t know why I don’t want to say it.”

“Probably because you know it’s wrong.”

“Then why did you use it when…”

“Because he’s a slut. Somebody who fucks just to fuck and doesn’t care about anything but the pleasure he can get from it.”

Oh God, was he saying…that’s what her exercises were? Fucking? Was that why he was mad? “So I’m…a slut?” she barely whispered.

“What?”

“What I do…is the same thing.”

“Who told you that?”

“You just did! You said fucking just to fuck is wrong.”

“You do that just to do it?”

“No, I…have imbalances.”

“So you do it for a medical reason. Therefore it’s not the same.”

“But I don’t do it for the right reasons.”

“But it’s different.”

“It’s not,” she cried, feeling disgusted. “I do it to feel good only it never really does.”

He stopped cutting on his stick, appearing shocked with the air before him. “It doesn’t?”

“It did that one time.”

He stared at the fire now. “You’re telling me that…you’ve never done that?”

“I don’t…know what that you mean. I have orgasms but not like that one, no. It’s different, from a different place. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Don’t try, please.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, not liking his tone or that she still didn’t understand why he called it that. “You said that word to me, why? Why would you tell me to do something you know is wrong?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

She let out a gasp, staring at the fire. They’d told her there was nothing to be ashamed of, but he’d just said she was doing what a slut did, only caring about the pleasure. “I don’t even care about the pleasure,” she said, sure that made it worse. “I care about saying it’s done, the stupid chore is done. I’d rather take medicine for the problem, I told Uncle Wigs that, I hated the exercises.”

She suddenly ran into Spook, barely realizing she’d gotten up and started pacing. He held her shoulders and she moved his hands off her. “No touching,” she barely muttered.

“It’s not the same,” he said.

How was he so positive? “How?” she whispered, not understanding.

“What you do is medical. You would never have done it had they not told you to. And the fact that you’d rather take medicine means you don’t want to use the pleasure for the wrong thing.”

“I don’t even care,” she argued. “I don’t care about the pleasure or the marriage or anything! And if I had felt what I felt last night, maybe I would care all about the pleasure, maybe the only reason I didn’t care about the pleasure was because there wasn’t really any to care about!” She gasped, realizing she’d yelled all of that and he was back to stroking her arms. “No touching!” she said, whacking his hands off. “You don’t want to marry me!”

He drew his hands back and up. “Sorry.”

She wanted to hit him again at his stupid apology. “You used that word. Why? What did it mean if it didn’t mean that? What did you mean by it?”

She stared at him, and he lowered his head. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

The tension in her stomach began to churn. “Why? What did it mean to you?”

“It meant that I wanted something when I shouldn’t have.”

She let out a gasp around the sudden pain. “You…you wanted to…just fuck?”

“No, I wanted a lot fucking more, I don’t just fuck.”

It suddenly hit her. He was using the word now. Fucking and fuck. He had different meanings for it. And when he’d said he wanted a lot fucking more it wasn’t about fucking at all it was about wanting more than fucking.

All her hope returned to her, and she swallowed down the joy of it while fighting to hide that she knew. She didn’t want him to know she knew, didn’t want him to take it away like Graham did.

“I think I understand.”

“Do you,” he muttered, sounding winded.

“You just want to help me and you’re doing what you can to do that without…violating your…beliefs.”

“Yes.”

His answer was relieved, and she closed her eyes. “I can respect that. I will respect it. I like…very much that you are helping me even when…it makes it hard. But I can manage now. With my…chemicals, I can do that alone. Maybe I don’t even need to,” she whispered, knowing that wasn’t true but he didn’t need to know. “Now that you showed me.”

“So what…what will you be training me in first?” she asked, wiping her face, and turning to him, needing to change the subject.

He stared at her, and she saw it in his handsome face. The hunger. He wanted her and so much fucking more. She’d never forget those words now. “I need to teach you how to hide. To escape. To live. And to kill.” His gaze roamed her face as he said it and she lowered her eyes, nodding, unable to see his hunger and not react to it.

“Sounds like… a great plan.

****

Fuck that was close. How he’d have explained what fuck your pussy meant to him wouldn’t have ended well in her head. He did mean it for the sheer pleasure of fucking. Because that’s what he thought she needed for her medical condition. It’s what the doctor ordered, and he was providing it. Had he done what he wanted, it would’ve been a hell of a lot different but fucking would’ve surely been at the forefront of it.

Aside from that, he was reeling from the full-blown, passionate conversation with her. It was almost like she didn’t notice. Surely, she’d talked before, she was way too good at it not to have. But he didn’t think she lied about it. She was honest to a fault if anything.

And that confession of how she felt about him would burn in his soul day and night now. He couldn’t think about the day he didn’t need to watch her anymore. Because he’d never stop watching her. And that meant he’d see another man do everything he wanted to with her.

But his loyalty would forever be to his Eveque. And there was no changing that. Not even having his heart and soul wrecked by a woman. But he sure needed to limit the damage somehow. And he surely needed to hide the mess she made in him. Nobody could see that, especially not her.