She was feeling a little dizzy and the light breakfast she had consumed back at home was reminding her of its presence by rising to the back of her th...oat. As she lay on the swinging cot Isabella tried to focus her mind on things other than her rising gorge and spinning head. The priest for instance. What did Bertrand call him? Father Thomas. Odd name. Not a name usually taken by Italian, or even French or Spanish priests, as far as Isabella knew. English? Perhaps German? Surely Mama would have. Jason almost shocked himself when he realized what he was thinking, and he quickly excused himself and went to bed. Fucking his aunt was wrong on so many levels. He knew that, and accepted it, but when he realized that he was thinking about his own mother that way, it twisted his stomach into knots. What the hell was wrong with him? "I'm worried about him," Nichole told Rachel after Jason went to bed. "I wouldn't," Rachel shrugged. "He's a good kid. He's smart, and he's sweet. What's to worry. More

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