Untamed Read Online Free Page B

firmly onto the banister with the other.
    “I’m coming,” he assured. “I feel as weak as a puppy.”
    “My uncle’s room is just there,” she replied, pointing to a paneled door that stood ajar at the top of the stairs. “You may use his room until you recover enough to return to your ship.”
     
    “Thank you. The Lady May and her crew could be at the bottom of the ocean.” Trystan heaved a sigh and started after her. At the top of the stairs she turned suddenly and embraced him in a quick comforting hug. It was innocently given and cheered him out of all proportion to the act.
    “They may yet live. Do not despair,” Desarae ordered softly. “Come.”
    Trystan followed her into a large bedchamber decorated in wine velvet and silk damask. An elaborately designed gold Persian carpet covered most of the floorboards. A four-poster bed sat against one wall opposite a cast iron fireplace. Two sash windows brought in light and a spectacular view of the sea far below the rocky cliffs that surrounded the north side of the small isle. Desarae threw open the doors of a massive pine wardrobe, revealing her uncle’s clothes.
    “Please, help yourself. Once you have chosen, come down to the kitchen where I will have hot water ready for you to shave and wash your hair.” She blushed fiercely but had no apology in her appealing voice when she added, “I have already washed the salt from your body.”
    “Very well,” Trystan replied weakly, images rising unbidden to tease him. He could not stop his gaze from following the sway of her hips as she left him. He knew why he responded so strongly to this wild woman—she reminded him of his beloved sea—untamed, voluptuous, and mystifying. Athena wriggled to be let free. He placed her on the floor and she scampered after her mistress.
    * * *
    Desarae filled a second large kettle with spring water before she swung it over the fireplace coals. She cut some bread, buttered it and plopped some cold fried bacon on it. This she placed on the table for Captain Trystan, along with a tankard of apple cider.
    She did not know what strange and magnificent force had taken hold of her. Would she be feeling this way about any man of suitable age and appearance? Her imperfect experience did not permit a satisfactory answer. Because of the fear that her grandfather would take her away, Desarae had never been over to the mainland. Even when her uncle had been alive, visitors rarely came to see him. Consequently, her attraction to Captain Trystan might be nothing more than she’d feel for any comely man. Somehow, though, that assumption did not lessen his appeal.
    After waiting long enough to consider reheating the water, Desarae climbed the stairs. She discovered the door to her uncle’s bedchamber ajar and peeped inside. There she found the captain sprawled upon the blankets, his head resting on a pillow, fast asleep. He’d managed to pull a pair of trousers on under the nightshirt before succumbing to rest’s allure. She shook her head at him, considered the propriety of removing the trousers so he could be more comfortable and decided that she no longer had the right to look at his nude body without his permission. A shame, that. Instead, she collected an extra quilt from her own room and covered him with it. A slight stir caused her to freeze hopefully. He settled more deeply and did not open his eyes.
    She returned to the kitchen, sat at the table and ate his sandwich. Occasionally throughout the day she paused at the foot of the stairs and listened for him. He did not waken. How odd it seemed to her to be concerned about someone else again. Unless Jim became ill, which he rarely did, she never worried about him. He was as strong as an ox, as the saying went. She remembered well those weeks when Uncle’s health had given out and the anxiety she and his servant had shared. Here she was again, worrying about a stranger and the emotion sat contentedly with her.
    Perhaps this is a