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William cracked first, slamming his pen down and skewering me with his gaze. “What was your last vision? You never said.”

I folded my hands neatly in my lap and met his gaze. “I dreamed about a girl.”

He frowned, dark brows drawing together. “What girl?”

“I don’t know her name. The visions don’t work like that.”

“Describe her.”

I gave a perfect description of Madeleine, right down to the mole on her neck.

“Madeleine,” William supplied. “She was tested last week. She failed. The Lord took her.”

I nodded. I’d already suspected she wasn’t here, but confirmation helped. Bad luck for her. Good luck for me. “The Lord told me she wasn’t worthy, that her heart would have only grown more corrupted as the years went by.” I heaved out a pained breath. “I saw her last moments, the transformation that overtook her.”

“She was to be my next wife.”

“She wasn’t worthy of joining your ranks.”

William nodded solemnly. “I must accept the Lord’s verdict. My wives must be pure.”

“Indeed,” I agreed.

He glanced at the door as if checking for intruders, then leaned closer. “I have been speaking to the Lord. I have had questions to ask of Him.”

“Questions.” My tone was calm. Inside, I was rejoicing. Go on, you bastard. Tell me what you really want.

“I asked him why I do not have a wife who is blessed.”

“Have you looked for one?”

“I have. To no avail.”

I nodded. I’d seen most of William’s wives, and his question shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He was like a bigamous Noah, only instead of having an ark, he had a castle, and instead of collecting animals, he collected women. As such, they all embodied unique traits. Tall, short. Black, white. Blonde, brunette, redhead. Full bosom, flat chest. Of course, he’d want to add someone immune. Not possessing one would sting. “Now, you’ve asked me, the Lord will send His answer.”

“When?”

“When he chooses.”

A flash of irritation crossed his face. “Make it soon.”

I bowed my head. “I will do my best, Beloved Father. Although I’m sure you understand that someone as inconsequential as me cannot hurry the Lord.”

Three more days passed before I staged my performance, timing it for when William wasn’t alone. My so-called epiphany about myself apparently hadn’t dulled my need for drama. I could have waited until I’d set the bowl on the table. Instead, halfway there, I staggered. The bowl slipped from my fingers, stew splattering across the stone floor.

My knees slammed down hard, nearly wringing a grunt from me. Almost. Warm stew seeped through my robe as I bent forward, clutching my head. Hopefully, they’d give me a new robe. Maybe I should have put the bowl down first. Oh well, too late now.

“Gray.” William’s voice. His use of my name was interesting, when he usually addressed me the same way he did everyone as “my child,” like we were a dysfunctional family who gossiped about religion and left our daughters tied up on the beach every second Tuesday. I ignored him, squeezing my eyes shut and pretending to be lost in the vision.

I’d never seen anyone have a vision. Mostly because there was no such thing. But I gambled no one else had either, which gave me artistic license to do whatever I wanted.

“Grab his arm. Get him on a chair.”

William again. His voice held no concern, only pleasure that his pet dog was finally performing its trick. Hands gripped my arms, hauling me backwards. At least I was out of the stew. I let myself dangle like a deadweight until a chair caught me.

I swayed, threatening to topple back onto the floor. Fingers dug into my arm to steady me. “What’s wrong with him?” a voice I recognized as Polly, one of William’s wives, asked.

“He’s having a vision,” William announced with obvious satisfaction. “It’s why the Lord sent him to us. The Lord has things he wants me to know.”