Her Master and Commander Read Online Free PDF Page B

Stevens. “I thought we were going to put a lock on that gate.”
    “It’s on me list, Cap’n.”
    Tristan sent the first mate a flat stare.
    “I mean t’say,” Stevens added hastily, “that I’ll see to it first thing this afternoon.”
    Tristan nodded. When he’d first bought the cottage on the cliff, he and his men had been the only occupants for miles. In fact, other than an abandoned house that was almost hidden by brambles just a half mile down the rim of the cliff, his house was the only structure in sight.
    Tristan had liked the solitude and it had been with a sense of foreboding that one day, while looking out over the sea, he’d noticed that someone had cleaned away the brambles from the front of the empty house. His paradise was about to be invaded. Three months ago, a heavily laden cart had pulled up to the cottage and two women and their servants had alighted. Tristan’s life had taken a decided turn for the worse. “I don’t know why she insists on coming here.”
    Stevens pursed his lips. “Perhaps she fancies ye.”
    “And has decided to attract me hither by stealing my sheep and then hurling accusations at my head? I scarcely think it.”
    “Ye’re probably right,” Stevens agreed, watching their visitor’s progression up the path with obvious interest. “’Tis said the young doctor is wishin’ to sail into that port.”
    Stevens lifted up on his toes as their visitor tramped up the path and out of sight a moment behind a large yew bush. “They say the doctor is smitten and wishes to marry the widow—the younger widow, not her mother, that is.”
    Tristan flicked a hard glance at Stevens. “You have an uncanny ability to ferret out inane gossip. It’s a pity we were never sent to spy on the French. I’m certain the war would have been shorter simply by your efforts.”
    “’Tis one of me many good qualities,” Stevens said serenely. “Ah, here she is. Full sail over the hillock, right on course.”
    Stevens shook his head. “Gor’ help ye, Cap’n, but looks as if a bee has gotten up Mrs. Thistlewaite’s bonnet all the way to the foremast. Must be that blasted sheep again.”
    Tristan looked back over his shoulder at the woman now struggling against the wind as she climbed the last leg of the path. For all her forceful movements, she appeared rather waiflike, with a heart-shaped face beneath a tightly pulled bun of brown hair that still managed to spring forth with a curious curl or two at the brow.
    Of her shape he knew nothing, for he’d never seen her without her voluminous cloak, though he suspected from the delicate lines of her face and throat and the slender shape of her hands that she was as trim a ship to ever sail the seas.
    Not that he cared, of course. He was perfectly happy alone, slacking his lust with an occasional trip to the small town located at the base of the cliff. The inn there sported two exuberant maids, either or both for the taking, had one enough coin.
    Besides, he recognized the cut of this woman’s jib. She was a stern, strict sort, the type of woman one might marry if one prized well-beaten carpets and hot food all for the mere price of listening to an endless line of chatter over the dinner table. Tristan liked eating his dinners in silence. As for his carpets, they were underfoot, so who cared of their cleanliness?
    She reached the end of the path and planted herself before him. Every line of her body, every nuance of her expression bespoke acute irritation.
    Stevens nodded merrily, his sharp blue eyes watering a little in the blustery wind. “Ahoy there, Mrs. Thistlewaite! And what brings ye forth on such a day?”
    “I came to speak with the captain.”
    Tristan looked at Stevens. “You may handle this.”
    “No, he may not!” Their visitor crossed her arms, her gloved hands gripping her elbows. “Captain Llevanth, I came to speak to you and no one else.”
    “I was afraid of that.”
    Her gaze narrowed, and despite his irritation,