Read Online Love's First Light by Jamie Carie - Free Book Online Page B

what was wrong with him concerning women. They were a laughing, silly mystery to him. He always preferred the solitude of his experiments and laboratory work. But now, this woman . . . she had become light to him. She was all he saw in light and its refraction and the splitting of colored rays. She filled his mind almost as often as his calculations.
“Comment t’appelles-tu?”
    She pulled back a little and gazed at him with both fear and fascination. “Scarlett. My name is Scarlett.”
    A feeling of falling beset him. He shook his head. “Are you certain?”
    She laughed, a lilting sound that rang around the stones and brought warmth, true warmth, to his belly. “My mother says I was born with red lips. She wanted to name me Cerise.” She smiled, her hand held to her chest. “Cherry. Can you imagine such a name? I am most thankful that father said no, I should be called
Scarlett.”
    He didn’t say anything, could only try and still the dizzy rush that assailed him. He must have looked frightening as she looked up uncertainly and rushed out, “It’s a silly story.”
    “No. It is a perfect story.”
    He watched while she brought a basket forward. “Are you hungry?”
    He was always hungry, although he often didn’t notice it. “You don’t have to share it.” He’d sounded harsher than he meant. He tried to fix it. “I meant, you brought that for yourself.” He looked down at her round stomach.
    Scarlett laughed, low and quiet. “I must look as if I need it.” She placed a hand on her stomach. “I
am
eating more these days, but there is plenty for two. I fear my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” Then she laughed again, a little louder. “Well, not bigger, that would be frightening, wouldn’t it?”
    A rush of joy jolted through him and he hardly recognized the emotion. She was so light, so free, laughing at herself. He was truly going to be besotted if he spent another moment with her. If he had any sense, he would leave at once.
    “Well, in that case”—his voice was warmer than he remembered it being in a long time—“I’d be happy to share your repast.” He felt almost normal, the way he’d been before the ruin of his family.
    She handed him a hunk of bread and cheese, and some roast duck. He pulled out a water cask for them to wash down the food. They sat side by side, quietly eating and watching the sun rise above a castle that had withstood Constantinople’s army, impenetrable to all except time and God’s own elements—both of which had taken a toll.
    Then, slowly—as this woman who seemed a dream-gift, became more comfortable with him—Scarlett began to speak of everyday things. The old Cité and its crumbling ruin and history. The marketplace and how she and her mother and sister sold bread three days a week. The coming winter and how it was going to be hard to keep the town from starving.
    Christophé responded when necessary, but he was almost too happy to speak. He could barely get the food down his tight throat. It was as if his world was being righted, as if he was coming out of darkness back into the land of the living. He was afraid for her to leave.
    Then Scarlett paused. “Where do you live?”
    Christophé pointed toward the castle.
    “Not in the castle? It can’t be safe.”
    “I am a descendent of the Trencevals. The castle in Carcassonne was where my father directed I go . . . before he was guillotined.”
    Scarlett stared at him for a long moment. He found he couldn’t turn away from her tender gaze. “I am sorry. And the others? Your mother? Your siblings?”
    “All guillotined that day. Except for Émilie. My little sister.”
    Scarlett pressed her lips together, a look of profound sadness on her face. “What became of your sister?”
    He shook his head. He couldn’t speak of that, not even to her.
    Taking the last bite of duck he wiped his hands on the cloth she’d laid between them and stood. He held out a hand to her and helped her rise. She was so