Read Online Hunter's Season: Elder Races, Book 4 by Thea Harrison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thea Harrison
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a shoulder harness hung on a simple hook beside the doorway that stood open to the sunny morning.
All of the furniture was made of plain, solid oak that had been polished to a warm golden color. The armchairs had seat cushions that looked worn and comfortable. As with many Dark Fae country cottages, the large fireplace was the heart of the house, a true cooking fireplace with walk-in room and a swiveling iron bar from which hung a cooking pot.
Beside the fireplace was a shadowed alcove with a curtain pushed open. He could see the edge of a copper tub. There was also a simple pallet on the floor. He paused at that thoughtfully, looking back into ‘his’ room. There was only one bed in the cottage, and he was using it.
Xanthe was busy unpacking two more large canvas bags. She looked at each package, container or jar interestedly, muttering to herself as she set the items on the table, which was already piled high with fresh fruits and vegetables.
He opened his mouth to ask for her help but then hesitated. Instead, obeying again some nameless impulse, he tilted his head and watched her work. She had a quiet, peaceful demeanor, and she looked comfortable, at home with her own company. For the first time, he realized that she wasn’t dressed in a palace black uniform, but instead wore a soft looking, somewhat worn tunic and trousers. Her hair was braided, but not as tightly as usual, and the dark length shone with auburn highlights in the slice of sunlight that fell across her back and shoulders.
His gaze lingered on the gentle curve of her cheek then dropped to the swell of her breasts, where he had rested his head earlier. Her hips were slight and trim but definitely feminine. She was not as tall as he, but her legs were lean and long.
She looked up toward the doorway, saw that he was watching her, and a delicate tinge of color washed over her face. She glanced at his shirt that hung off one shoulder and set aside a wax wheel of cheese to walk over to him quickly.
“You should have said something,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just scold me?”
She jerked to a halt, the color in her cheeks deepening. “I—I’m sorry, my lord.”
She looked so flustered, he found himself smiling. He asked gently, “Xanthe, would you mind helping me slip into this blasted shirt?”
Her gaze flew up to his, to his bare shoulders and chest, and darted away. “Not at all,” she said. She sounded winded.
He could barely stand on his feet, and his body still throbbed with pain. But something else stirred, something that had been buried under grief and anger and had lain dormant for a long while.
She came closer to carefully ease him fully into the shirt, and his back muscles protested only a small bit as she supported the full weight of his arm.
He was taller than she was by half a head. He bent his head close to hers, inhaling her fresh, clean scent. “Thank you.”
She tilted her head slightly, so that they stood almost cheek to cheek. If she raised her head a little more, if he lowered his….
“You’re welcome,” she whispered.
This was too intimate. He straightened. “I see Tiago was not joking when he said they brought half the marketplace.”
She widened her gaze. “There are even biscuits and a pot of clotted cream. I haven’t reached the bottom of the bags yet. If I fish for supper occasionally and forage for sun potatoes and fresh greens, we have enough food for weeks.” She paused then asked hesitantly, “Would you like to sit at the table while I put things away?”
For a moment he was tempted but another wave of dizziness washed over him. He gritted his teeth, hating his own weakness. “Perhaps later,” he said. “Right now, I think I need to lie down again.”
“Of course.” She stepped close, put her arm around his waist and helped him back to the bed.
Darkness danced around the edge of his vision. He muttered, “I’ve taken your only bed and put you on the
All of the furniture was made of plain, solid oak that had been polished to a warm golden color. The armchairs had seat cushions that looked worn and comfortable. As with many Dark Fae country cottages, the large fireplace was the heart of the house, a true cooking fireplace with walk-in room and a swiveling iron bar from which hung a cooking pot.
Beside the fireplace was a shadowed alcove with a curtain pushed open. He could see the edge of a copper tub. There was also a simple pallet on the floor. He paused at that thoughtfully, looking back into ‘his’ room. There was only one bed in the cottage, and he was using it.
Xanthe was busy unpacking two more large canvas bags. She looked at each package, container or jar interestedly, muttering to herself as she set the items on the table, which was already piled high with fresh fruits and vegetables.
He opened his mouth to ask for her help but then hesitated. Instead, obeying again some nameless impulse, he tilted his head and watched her work. She had a quiet, peaceful demeanor, and she looked comfortable, at home with her own company. For the first time, he realized that she wasn’t dressed in a palace black uniform, but instead wore a soft looking, somewhat worn tunic and trousers. Her hair was braided, but not as tightly as usual, and the dark length shone with auburn highlights in the slice of sunlight that fell across her back and shoulders.
His gaze lingered on the gentle curve of her cheek then dropped to the swell of her breasts, where he had rested his head earlier. Her hips were slight and trim but definitely feminine. She was not as tall as he, but her legs were lean and long.
She looked up toward the doorway, saw that he was watching her, and a delicate tinge of color washed over her face. She glanced at his shirt that hung off one shoulder and set aside a wax wheel of cheese to walk over to him quickly.
“You should have said something,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just scold me?”
She jerked to a halt, the color in her cheeks deepening. “I—I’m sorry, my lord.”
She looked so flustered, he found himself smiling. He asked gently, “Xanthe, would you mind helping me slip into this blasted shirt?”
Her gaze flew up to his, to his bare shoulders and chest, and darted away. “Not at all,” she said. She sounded winded.
He could barely stand on his feet, and his body still throbbed with pain. But something else stirred, something that had been buried under grief and anger and had lain dormant for a long while.
She came closer to carefully ease him fully into the shirt, and his back muscles protested only a small bit as she supported the full weight of his arm.
He was taller than she was by half a head. He bent his head close to hers, inhaling her fresh, clean scent. “Thank you.”
She tilted her head slightly, so that they stood almost cheek to cheek. If she raised her head a little more, if he lowered his….
“You’re welcome,” she whispered.
This was too intimate. He straightened. “I see Tiago was not joking when he said they brought half the marketplace.”
She widened her gaze. “There are even biscuits and a pot of clotted cream. I haven’t reached the bottom of the bags yet. If I fish for supper occasionally and forage for sun potatoes and fresh greens, we have enough food for weeks.” She paused then asked hesitantly, “Would you like to sit at the table while I put things away?”
For a moment he was tempted but another wave of dizziness washed over him. He gritted his teeth, hating his own weakness. “Perhaps later,” he said. “Right now, I think I need to lie down again.”
“Of course.” She stepped close, put her arm around his waist and helped him back to the bed.
Darkness danced around the edge of his vision. He muttered, “I’ve taken your only bed and put you on the
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