The girl pulled a green apple from her pocket. She glanced over her shoulder, through the door she’d neglected to close. “Brother Jake told me I should bring you an apple because you didn’t have time to take lunch today.”
“Thank you.” Sorrel wiped the apple on her robe, saliva building in her mouth. “I am hungry.” Damning Brother Rick, she bit into the apple, the small act of rebellion making her bite down with relish. The tart juices sprang onto her taste buds, the crunch of the crisp flesh bringing satisfaction. No doubt she’d pay for this, but it was worth it.
She ate the apple in quick bites and tossed the core into her bin. She set a large pot over the heat and started on a batch of soap. With the others helping, she’d have time to make a new batch of her cream.
“I’m back,” Jake said. “What should I do?”
“I have a bucket of ripe mangos. I thought I’d make more face masks. I need you to peel the fruit and take the flesh off the stones. It’s such a nice day I’ve set up the table outside.”
Jake gave a quick nod and handed her a piece of homemade bread. She glanced at Sister Bernadette but the girl was busy at her task. With a tremulous smile, Sorrel accepted the bread and thrust it in her pocket.
“Thanks,” she mouthed. “Do you want me to show you how to stone the mangos?”
“I think you’d better,” he said. Once they were outside, he said in a low voice, “Thanks for putting me out here. It will give me a chance to watch everyone, see the comings and goings from the compound.”
“That’s what I thought.” She demonstrated what she wanted him to do and left him to it.
“What are you making there?” Sister Bernadette asked.
“It’s a special hand cream that’s good for those who suffer from arthritis.” She lied smoothly, having used this excuse in the past.
Sister Bernadette leaned closer and sniffed. “It smells nice. What’s the scent?”
“Ylang-ylang, ginger and sandalwood, mainly.” And a few other secret ingredients.
“Can I try some?”
“Of course, although it’s not for everyone, because some people experience a bad reaction. It causes tingling, a bit like pins and needles, in some people when they use it.” Sorrel wondered if she should worry about the smoothness of her lies, although like all the best liars, hers held a smidgeon of truth. The cream had started out as a cure for arthritis. It was her mother who’d had the brainwave about two years ago.
“Why do you make it then?”
“Because arthritis is extremely painful and the cream works for some people.”
“Like Brother James?”
“Yes.” Sorrel scraped the side of her pot and blew on the spoon. A quick spot test on the back of her hand told her the cream was at room temperature. “Give me your hand.” She rubbed a little of the cream on the fleshy part below Sister Bernadette’s thumb.
After a few seconds, the girl jerked her hand away, her eyes widening. “It’s tingling.”
“If it’s too painful—wash it off.”
“That’s weird,” Sister Bernadette said. “Brother James uses this on his hands?”
“Yes.”
“Poor man,” Sister Bernadette said. “I’m going to help him with his meals when I see him struggling.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” Sorrel turned off the heat and set her spoon aside. “Let me show you how to make some potpourri sachets.”
By the time the dinner bell went she was quietly satisfied with the items they’d produced. There was too much for the two handcarts, which meant she could start stockpiling. She’d worried about how she’d manage to make more of her cream, but she’d be able to work on another batch during the evening. No one would think anything of her working long into the night since she had done it often in the past.
“Can I go now, Sister Bitter?”
“Of course. Would you like to help me for the rest of the week?”
“Yes, please.” Pleasure suffused Sister Bernadette’s pixie face, making Sorrel want to sigh. She was so beautiful. The moment she reached the legal age, the men would pounce. She’d be pregnant and trapped before she could blink.
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow after the lunch hour. Oh, wait. You’ve worked so hard. Let me give you a sachet as a thank you.”
“Thank you.” With a wave Sister Bernadette skipped from the workshop. She heard the girl stop to chat with Jake then silence fell.
“Do you want me to pack away the table?”
“Please, then you can go to dinner.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll go and wash up while the ablution block is quiet.”
“You’ll miss out on dinner.”
She shrugged, not bothering to tell him that she missed out on a lot of meals. She’d had an apple and some bread. It was more than she ate most days.
“I’ll save you something if it looks as if you’ll miss out.”
“Don’t bother,” Sorrel said, imagining Brother Rick’s irritation. “If I miss out it will be my fault. At the moment all I want is a hot shower and to wash my hair.”
“Perhaps I’ll come with you.”
Alarm flared in her. She preferred to bathe at this time of the day if she could manage it because there were fewer prying eyes around. “No.”
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll meet you back here after dinner, if I don’t see you in the dining hall.”
She gave a clipped nod and only relaxed once he’d departed. Jake might be here to spy on their group, but it didn’t mean he needed to learn her secrets too.
Chapter Four
The woman was up to something. Even if he hadn’t seen the guilt rush into her face, he’d have known because of his gut instincts screeching at him. Just as they were telling him Brother Rick was up to no good.
He’d have to risk leaving Sorrel alone later tonight to prowl the compound, but there was no way in hell he’d fail her in the same way he’d let down Greg. As he entered the dining hall, he scanned for Brother Rick and his particular friends—the ones who’d left the compound with him the day before.
They weren’t present. Possibly they were late, but they didn’t arrive while Jake moved up the meal line. Roast lamb tonight. His image of cults as full of hippy vegetarians had done an abrupt U-turn since his arrival.
The question was where they obtained their meat.
When he reached Sister Andrea at the head of the line, he asked, “Is it possible to save something for Sorrel, a meal I can take back to the workshop? She needs to work through the dinner hour.”
The woman gave him a cursory glance then shifted her gaze to someone behind him. Her mouth pulled to a prune-like purse when the man let out a raucous laugh. Brother Rick was in the building. She turned her attention back to Jake and gave a decisive nod. “Heard the gossip,” she said. “About time someone started looking after the girl. Come to the kitchen door before you go back to Bitter—Sorrel’s workshop. You need to go out of the dining hall and turn right, taking the passage to the first door. Ask for me when you get there, but don’t tell anyone what you want.”
Jake nodded at her terse instructions and moved on before the next person in the line reached Sister Andrea. Maybe he’d do a little subtle probing about the meat when he went to pick up Sorrel’s meal.
With his dinner in hand, he glanced around for a spare seat. The tables with men were all full, so he took possession of one of the chairs with a group of women. At his arrival they fell silent. Their expressions ranged from astonishment to outright glares.
“Am I not allowed to sit here?” Jake forced a smile, one of his most charming. “I promise I don’t bite.”
One of the younger girls recovered her powers of speech first. She batted her eyelashes in his direction. “Maybe we like men who bite.”
“Sister Lisa,” one of the older women admonished.
It did no good, since the rest of the women giggled. The flirtation spread from Sister Lisa to the rest
of the younger girls, and Jake belatedly realized he should’ve kept the charm zipped. He didn’t want to attract so much attention he wasn’t able to skulk around the compound unnoticed.
“Is the gossip true?” Sister Lisa leaned over allowing the bodice of her robe to gape. “Did Brother Rick walk in on you and Sister Bitter kissing?”
Bloody hell. Jake picked up his knife and fork, holding his anger close. If any of the women bothered to check his hands they’d notice the bloodless knuckles. None of the men or women called Sorrel by her name. It was always Bitter. No wonder Sorrel craved freedom.
“I knew it couldn’t be true,” Sister Lisa said. “She is very plain.”
“She has a good heart.” Jake fumed while eating his dinner. He wanted to say a lot of things. He said none. Instead he pondered the questions he needed answering. “I’m interested in learning about the farming side of Children of Nature,” he said. “Tell me about the animals you have here.”
The women basked under his attention. Their fawning made him feel uneasy, slightly unclean. Their roving gazes didn’t help. Maybe he’d take a shower after dinner to cleanse off some of the drool.
“We have sheep and pigs. We keep chooks and sell eggs at the market,” one of the sisters said.
“What about cattle?”
“No,” Sister Lisa said. “We don’t have enough land to support larger stock. We don’t have cattle or horses. I sure wish we could get some alpacas. They’re so much cuter.”
“Maybe we should suggest alpacas at the next community meeting. The fleeces make beautiful clothes,” one of the women said.
Jake let the talk drift over him. He’d learned the cult didn’t have their own cattle, which begged several questions. Where had the beef they’d eaten for dinner the previous evening come from? Had they paid for it?
The cult prided themselves on self-sufficiency. Of course they might trade.
“What’s for pudding tonight?”one of the women asked.
“I heard it was sticky date pudding and custard. I’m off to see if the rumor is true,” another said. The rolls of fat beneath her robe rippled when she waddled past.
Jake eyed her for a few seconds longer, wondering how come she got to eat when Brother Rick wouldn’t let Sorrel eat three meals a day.
He finished his meal and took his dirty plate to the collection point. Deciding to pass on dessert, he left the dining room. The door to the kitchen stood open, a blast of steamy heat slapping him in the face when he stepped inside.
“Here you go, Brother Jake,” Sister Andrea said when she saw him. She handed over a square box.
“Thanks. Do we grow all the produce and meat here at the compound?”
“Yes, we’re totally self-sufficient. We do a little bartering with the local farmers. That’s where Brother Rick obtained the beef we had for dinner last night.”
“And very delicious it was too.” Bah, lies. Beef was expensive, especially the finer cuts. Besides, what could the cult exchange that was equal value? His mind drifted to bliss cakes and drugs. He could hardly imagine the farmers Luke had described dealing in drugs, although stranger things had happened. “Thanks again for this.” With a wave, he turned away, making sure to limp.
Back at the workshop, Sorrel was making another batch of soap. Her hair was damp and she’d tied it back in a high ponytail instead of her normal braid. She’d changed robes since this one didn’t bear the same splatters he’d noted before he left for dinner. There was a strange smell, sort of metallic and verging toward unpleasant. After shutting the door, he moved closer, no longer limping since he was out of sight of everyone else.
“Sister Andrea packed a dinner for you,” he said, thrusting the box at her. “I’ll stir the soap while you eat.”
Shock flashed across her face. She stared at him, her blue eyes wide and unsure before her gaze darted to the box. Slowly, she reached out to accept it, her stomach letting out a rumble of hunger. Her expression turned sheepish. “Thanks.”
The look of vulnerability flickering across her face tugged at him, made him angry and off-balance. He didn’t understand why everyone treated her like a dog turd when she worked hard to help to support the cult. There were individuals who didn’t think the same way in private, yet when they were in the company of other cult members they followed Brother Rick’s lead like well-trained sheep dogs.
He stirred the pot with the soap, dragging the spoon across the bottom as she’d shown him earlier. “This is almost melted. What do you want me to add?”
She swallowed a mouthful, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen cloth. “Measure out three cups of oatmeal and one tablespoon of the vanilla perfume oil.”
Jake followed her instructions, sniffing at the mixture in the pot. This wasn’t the smell. “This looks integrated. Should I pour it into the molds?”
“Please. Don’t fill the molds all the way to the top. Leave a few millimeters so that we can add some toasted oats for decoration.”
Jake took the pot off the heat and poured it into the square molds she’d already set out. His friends would die laughing if they could see him, but he kind of enjoyed the process of making things.
She finished eating, but didn’t jump up to take over. “Good. Now sprinkle enough of the oat mix on top to cover the soap. Yes, like that. Perfect.”
Once he’d finished, he set the pot aside in the industrial size sink, ready for washing. He cleaned the workspace as she’d shown him and put the tubs of raw ingredients back on the shelf. “What else are you going to do tonight?”
“The bath salts seem to be going well. I’ll make a quick batch of chocolate bath salts and call it a night.”
When she stood and moved past him, he caught a whiff of the same metallic stench. “Why do you color your hair?” The minute he uttered the words, things started to click—the turn of lock when a puzzle slotted together in the right way. A rush of success, of intrigue and curiosity simmered in him, and he hesitated in light of the knowledge although he suspected the reasons for her subterfuge. “Come here.”
Sorrel stared at him, shock striking her as she acknowledged the order, yet didn’t act on it. He knew. He’d guessed her secret.
Panic bloomed then, and the hard, rapid knock of her heart trying to claw out of her chest. She took half a step toward the door.
“Sorrel.”
“What?”Alarm yanked her from her normal subservient manner. He knew. The question was what did he intend to do with the knowledge.
“Come here.”
An order, and she found herself taking a step before her brain processed the instruction and issued an alternative. She came to an abrupt stop.
“No problem,” he said, this time his voice silky, a little menacing.
Oh stars. He couldn’t turn on her. He couldn’t impart his knowledge to Brother Rick. He couldn’t. But she knew human nature, knew him for a soldier. Would he offer up the information in order to get closer to completing his undercover assignment?
He stalked the distance separating them, and terror multiplied inside her like a virulent strain of bacteria. She certainly felt ill, the dinner she’d eaten churning in the pit of her stomach. Self-preservation roared to life. She took a rapid step back to find herself trapped against one of her workbenches. He was on her in seconds, his large frame blocking her departure, his arms caging her in place.
“Wh-what do you think you’re doing? I need to go to the restrooms.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He leaned over, reducing the space between them. Her pulse raced, but she couldn’t avert her gaze, trapped as she was by his dark gaze. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her like he had before. She listened, but couldn’t hear the approach of footsteps, couldn’t hear the arrival of rescue.
Jake continued to stare, his chest pressed against her breasts. She could feel him, even through her robe—the heat of his bigger frame, the hard muscles. Although the man was on the thin side, he was strong. Already with re
gular meals, the healthy air and exercise had made a difference.
Stars, not helping. “This isn’t funny, Jake. Let me go.”
“Ah, sweetheart. You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His head dipped again. Her eyes fluttered closed and she tilted her head up a fraction. She shouldn’t want him to kiss her. It was wrong yet she craved his lips on hers again, had thought about him during her shower. The urge for physical contact ate at her, the desire to feel normal like one of the couples she saw during her trips to the town, like Alice and her husband James.
Time passed and still his lips didn’t touch hers. She swallowed and opened her eyes enough to peek through her lashes. She discovered him studying her intently. His grin widened, and he sniffed her hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and while she gaped at him, he kissed her lips. Unlike their first kiss, this one contained no preliminaries. A hot, hard masculine mouth feasted on hers, his tongue slipping between her lips and taking the contact deeper into sensual territory. His taste roared through her. His touch as he pressed her against him, locking his hands against her hips. She moaned, gasping for breath yet not wanting him to stop.
When he lifted her head, his eyes glittered. “What color is your hair?”
“Huh?”
“You’re covered in padding beneath your robe. Your face is blotchy in a different place than it was earlier and your hair smells of some sort of dye. You’re deliberately making yourself look ugly. I presume it’s to keep under of radar of the men here in the compound.”
“You have no idea what it’s like living here.”
“You could have left.”
“I’m trying to leave. I have to get it right the first time, because I’ll never get a second opportunity.”
“So you put up with everyone treating you like shit. You put up with missing meals because Brother Rick wants to punish you for whatever reason. All that so you get your precious freedom.”
Biding His Thyme: 4 Page 6
