Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Wyndsheer Read Online Free PDF Page A

lowered her head to the pillow.
    She licked her lips and tried to follow his progress across the room but her vision was blurred, wavering in the low light. The smell of burning wood, the rich aroma of a salty broth simmering attracted her senses to make her stomach growl with hunger. She plucked at the sheet beneath her hands, struggling to keep her eyes open, hoping he would come back to the bed and lean over her once more so she could get a glimpse of his face.
    The creaking of a chair drew her attention back the other way and in the steady glow of a fire leaping in a wide stone hearth, she saw him sitting there, his head pressed against the tall back of a rocker, his face in profile to the flames. There was something so tired, so sad about the way he slumped in the chair with his long legs thrust out in front of him. Though she could not see all that clearly, she had an impression that in his left hand was a large mug. Idly she wondered if it were coffee or tea or the delicious smelling broth he drank.
    Once more she licked her lips and tried to speak but it felt as though all her energy had been drained away, her ability to move more than just her hands sapped from her. She was bone-tired and her head throbbed miserably, her entire body one massive ache. Sighing, she closed her eyes for the effort to keep them open took too much of what little vigor she had left.
    She must have slept for when she opened her eyes again, her guardian angel was easing the wet cloth over her face once more and the wetness of it felt so good she moaned. As he bathed her--his hands running firmly over her body--the gentleness of his touch was so comforting she never wanted it to end. She longed to have him drag the cloth between her legs but he avoided that area, coming close to it but never delving into the ache that dwelt there.
    All through what must have been a long, tiring night, he would leave the chair and hover over her, bathing the sweat from her body, giving her small sips of water to drink, running his hand over her brow to push aside her damp hair. Each time he came to her, his touch was never hurried, never hurtful, and always soothing.
    Each time he returned to the chair, she felt the loss of his presence keenly and groaned inwardly. She longed to have him lie down beside her and draw her into his arms, hold her against him, chase away the teeth-chattering chills that struck now and again. But when those times came, he would get up and pile more covers on her, speak softly to her until she returned to a restless slumber. When she woke, she would lay there watching him trying to get comfortable in the chair, see him shift his tall length, and wish she had the strength to speak to him, to bid him come to bed with her.
    Some time later, she woke to find the covers weighing her down, the heat around her too high so she tossed the covers aside, reveling in the cool wash of air flowing over her body.
    “No,” she heard him say and he was leaning over her, tucking the covers snugly around her again.
    “Hot,” she complained, looking up at the underside of his unshaven jaw.
    “No,” he pronounced.
    “Hot,” she repeated and tried to push the covers off away but he would not allow it.
    “Behave,” he said firmly then put a hand beneath her neck to bring her head up. “Drink.”
    The water was so cooling and delightful as it trickled down her throat. She gulped greedily--expecting him to pull the glass from her lips before she’d had her fill but he didn’t. He held her head cupped in his strong hand until she had taken all she could.
    “Enough?” he questioned.
    She managed to nod.
    Sliding his hand from her neck, he straightened and turned from the bed, reaching behind him to knead a muscle at his side. Her gaze softened for she knew he must be stiff from passing the night in the constricting confines of the rocker.
    When he turned back around, she got her first clear look at his face and she drew in a quick breath. He