"I am sorry, my Lord" the man at arms said. "I debated telling you, but I did not think that your own sister would have found you by now."<br/><br/>The Bishop grew anxious, occasionally meeting the eyes of Manuela, but then turning away as if wondering. Finally he spoke to her. "I'm not sure what to do. I do not wish to embarrass you; you know my life here consists of prayer and ruling people. Could we really get along? And yet, if you are my family, I feel drawn to learn more about you. Sir John? He is an enigma. We found him as a beggar on the streets; made quite a name for himself and found himself here. But he still doesn't seem satisfied in life; you should be counted lucky you did not find yourself alone with him. I mean, only because you would have been confused out of your mind."<br/><br/>Lord Navarez had a rose in his hands; he promptly and courteously gave it to Manuela, a single yellow rose. "Here's hoping we see more of you, but I know now to leave you two alone. Do not worry about Sir John; I can keep him in check, but he hasn't ever had a sister or female friend before. Not that you should try, he is bad when it comes to friendships. I must go and take my place at the bridge."<br/><br/>Leaving the two alone, the Bishop looked into the sky of his kingdom. He looked in the distance and saw the clouds forming hearts, forming birds, forming castles, forming a Bishop's staff, forming ducks, forming whatever his mind would conjure up. He looked at himself; he thought himself ridiculous. He wore the Bishop's cassock as if he were holy. He said it aloud, "I am supposed to be a holy man, but I don't always feel holy. And I'm not sure cassocks flatter my figure" he said with a smile.<br/><br/>"Tell me, Manuela. Could you imagine hearing this news this day? Do you think we are siblings? Before today did you ever wonder about me as I've wondered about you?" He nervously awaited her answer, still with papers in his hands that were the "proof" of their supposedly being related.<br/><br/>************************************<br/><br/>Sir John's picture of Manuela was perfect. Well, as perfect as he could make it. He would have brought her to Rome himself and had even  more of a chance to look at her and get the imperfections of his drawing corrected.<br/><br/>He did not know why he drew a picture of her except he wanted to see her again and again. Maybe it was an obsession, and infatuation. Why couldn't he be a normal man.<br/><br/>He gently continued on the highlights of her hair.