Read Online The Taker by Alma Katsu - Free Book Online Page B

regular church service—lively singing? Dancing? The concept was heretical. After a moment’s hesitation, several people got to their feet and began clapping their hands, and before long, had started singing a tune that resembled more a shanty than a hymn.
    I nudged my brother. “Take me home, Nevin.”
    “Heard enough, have you?” he said, clambering to his feet. “Me, too. I’m tired of listening to that man’s nonsense. Wait while I trouble the Dales for a light; the road is sure to be dark.”
    I stood conspicuously by the door, wishing Nevin would hurry. Still, the preacher’s words thrummed in my ears. I saw the looks of the women in the crowd when he turned his powerful gaze on them, the smiles that lit their faces. They were imagining themselves with him, or perhaps another man in town with whom they felt a spiritual bond … and could only wish that such desires could be acted upon. The preacher had professed the most alien concept imaginable, moral turpitude—and yet, he was a man of the Bible, a preacher. He’d spoken in some of the most august churches in the coastal area, from the gossip that had arrived in town before him. Surely that gave him some sort of authority?
    I felt alit under my clothes with heat and shame, for if truth be told, I, too, would like the freedom to share my affection with any man I desired. Of course, at that moment, the only man I desired was Jonathan, but who was to say another wouldn’t cross my path one day? Someone perhaps as charming and attractive as, say, the preacher himself? I could see how a woman would find him intriguing; how many spiritual wives had the itinerant preacher known? I wondered.
    As I stood by the door lost in my thoughts, watching my neighbors dance a reel (was it my imagination or were some desirous glances being exchanged between men and women as they spun past each other on the dance floor?), I became aware of the preacher’s sudden presence before me. With his piercing eyes and sharp features, he was beguiling and seemed aware of this advantage, and grinned so that I could see his incisors, sharp and white.
    “I thank you for joining me and your neighbors this evening,” he said, bowing his head. “I take it you are a spiritual seeker, looking for greater enlightenment, Miss …?”
    “McIlvrae,” I said, edging back a half step. “Lanore.”
    “Reverend Judah Van der Meer.” He reached for my hand and gave my fingertips a squeeze. “What did you think of my sermon, Miss McIlvrae? I trust you weren’t too shocked”—here his eyes danced again, as though he was teasing me for his enjoyment—“by the frankness with which I present my beliefs?”
    “Shocked?” I could barely choke out the word. “By what, sir?”
    “By the idea of spiritual wifery. I’m sure a young woman like yourself can sympathize with the principle behind it, the idea of being true to one’s passions—for if I’m not mistaken, you seem a woman of great, deep passion.”
    He picked up vehemence as he spoke, his eyes—and I do not believe I imagined this—running over my body as surely as if he’d used his own hands. “And tell me, Miss Lanore, you look a marriageable age. Has your family already bonded you in the slavery of betrothal? It would be a pity for a fine young woman such as yourself to spend the rest of her life in a marriage bed with a man for whom she feels no attraction. What shame to go through one’s entire life without feeling true physical passion”—here his eyes glinted again, as though he were about to pounce—“which is a gift from God to his children!”
    My heart was near to bursting from my chest and I was like a rabbit drawn up in the wolf’s sights. But then he laughed, placed a hand on my arm, sending a tingle straight to my head, and drew close to me, close enough for me to feel his breath on my face and for an errant lock of his hair to brush my cheek.
    “Why, you look as though you are about to faint! I think you need