Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 Read Online Free PDF Page B

was engulfed with flames that licked
    at his flesh and peeled it away from his bones. His chest felt heavy, laden with weight, and every intake of
    over-heated air into his lungs took effort. The loud buzzing in his ears drowned out the comforting words
    washing over him; he couldn't make out what was being said.
    Not that it mattered: he knew he was imagining the voices just as he had imagined them time and again
    for the last five years. Just as he was imagining the gentle touches; the cool hands on his cheeks and
    foreheads; the trickle of clean, chilled water that seeped past his dry, cracked lips. Just as he imagined
    the lovely face floating above him, smiling down with tearful eyes as he wheezed and tried to cough up his
    very lungs.
    When the shivering became bone-wracking convulsions, he imagined he felt warm, hard flesh pressing
    against him on his right side, tender sweet flesh on his left. Slowly, he turned his head toward the
    wrenching smell of gardenias and inhaled. The action cost him dearly, for his chest was so laden with
    congestion, he started to choke on it.
    And the imagining continued as helpful hands lifted his head and held him as he coughed, spewing up
    dirty water and mucous. A warm cloth was applied to his mouth to wipe away the spittle; the cool rim of
    a cup was placed against his lips and that sweet, sweet voice bid him drink.
    Those imaginary hands laid him down again, smoothed the wet hair from his forehead, trailed down his
    cheek. He fantasized that he heard someone tell him to rest and he snuggled against a soft, smooth
    shoulder and buried his face in a neck that smelled wondrously of springtime flowers on the heath.
    But fantasies hurt and his heart had been broken long ago. There was no kindness in this world for him
    and he doubted there would be any in the world beyond. Each time he allowed himself to indulge in these
    imaginary ramblings and wishful thinking, another part of him died.
    But then again, perhaps that was just as well.
    * * * *
    “Does he appear cooler to you?” Gillian asked as she shifted her position.
    Nick ran a hand over the man's face. “Perhaps.” He tugged the covers up around them. “I wish that
    monster would move."
    Gillian lifted her head and looked at the dog which had stretched out over their feet. “I don't believe
    she's of a mind to, Nicky.” She laid her head down again and frowned. Her right arm was asleep yet she
    wouldn't move it. “I believe we have usurped her normal place beside her master."
    “You know,” Nick said, listening to his stomach growling, “Papa would pay a princely ransom to have a
    hunting dog like this one."
    Gillian smiled. She had been astounded when, upon answering the mutt's insistent scratching at the door,
    the dog had trotted inside with two rabbits clamped delicately between her fierce canines. Her mouth had
    sagged open as the dog had dropped the rabbits on the floor at her feet, then regally turned to leave
    again.
    “How about pheasant this time?” she'd called after the dog as it bolted into the whiteout beyond the
    kitchen door.
    And pheasants it had been. A brace of them. After delivering her gift, the big dog had cocked a massive
    head to one side, and Gillian would have sworn on her life, a bushy eyebrow had lifted in question.
    “Okay, then. One of these is for you my bonny girl,” Gillian had said, hunkering down to scratch the big
    mutt behind her golden-brown ears.
    “You think the stew's ready?” Nick asked, bringing Gillian back to the there and then.
    “Should be,” she answered. Gently, she eased her arm from beneath a damp, sweat-soaked head,
    feeling the chill of the air wash over her flesh as she got up.
    Nick turned his eyes to the pillow as his sister left the warmth of the bed he and she had shared with the
    man wedged between them.
    “When you've eaten, you really need to get more wood, Nick. The room is still cold.” Gillian threw an
    old cotton wrapper around her and belted it.