Read Online Mystic Memories by Gillian Doyle, Susan Leslie Liepitz - Free Book Online
Authors: Gillian Doyle, Susan Leslie Liepitz
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would find the spacious captain’s quarters to be more than suitable accommodations. Mullioned windows allowed an abundance of natural light and a picturesque view of seascape from port to starboard.
Blake opened the door to his private sanctuary and stepped back to allow Mrs. Edwards to enter first, then ordered Bud to stay outside. The dog gave him a doleful look and dropped to the wood planks with a bone-jarring thump.
After closing the door, Blake retrieved a set of clean trousers and shirt for himself and his guest. “You will have to make do with my own wardrobe, though I imagine you will be swimming in my clothes.”
Now that she was his guest aboard the Valiant , it was too late for him to be feeling uneasy with his decision. Yet something was amiss. He could feel it in his bones. Despite the softness in her eyes, he wondered whether he could trust her. The mysterious woman had claimed to be at his mercy.
Perhaps she had misled him.
Perhaps it was best to keep an eye on her. A close eye.
Cara stared for a long moment at the clothing he held out to her. His masculine hands gripped the material with a tension that permeated the close space between them. Her gaze moved from his long fingers to the back of his hand, from the wide cuff of his sleeve to the collar of his soiled shirt. Dark whiskers shadowed his neck and lower face. His unkempt appearance gave him an aura of an uncivilized pirate rather than a respectable sea captain. In his deep-aquamarine eyes, she saw distrust.
Could she blame him?
He had a right to be suspicious of her, even though he could not possibly know about her second sight or her life in the future. It was enough that she was a woman on a ship of superstitious sailors.
The floor of the cabin tilted beneath her, gently rolling with a low wave. She shifted her weight to balance herself, unaccustomed to the constant movement, unaccustomed to anything about this time or place.
Confusing thoughts and speculation muddled her mind. She mentally shook off the discomfort and accepted the clothing from the captain. “Thank you . . . for everything.”
He acknowledged her appreciation with a silent nod. “Now if you will allow me a moment to gather a few personal articles to take with me—”
“I don’t expect you to give up your room.”
“Cabin,” corrected Blake. “And I do not mind doing so for a few nights.”
“I can sleep somewhere else. It’s no problem. Really! Surely there’s another cabin for me to use.”
“Not one that is nearly as comfortable as this one.”
“A bunk is all I need.”
She glanced around the clean cabin paneled in rich, dark teak with a row of small windows at eye level wrapping around the back wall. In the center of the floor stood a polished table and four captain’s chairs. Beneath the multipane windows, a wide berth beckoned her with thick bedding to cushion her sore, aching muscles. Though tempted to curl up under the blankets, she forced herself to say, “There is nothing here I can’t live without.”
“Privacy, perhaps? A lady should not be expected to do without certain necessities.”
“I don’t need—”
“Mrs. Edwards,” argued the captain in a firm, low voice. “You are going to stay here in my cabin. There is no bathtub, I’m sorry to say. But I will have my steward bring a basin of fresh water and soap. He can wash out your clothes as well, if you would like.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Her nautical costume had been made in a modem era with who-knew-what subtle differences that might rouse the suspicion of someone laundering it.
He moved past her to a bureau built into the wall and opened a drawer. With his back to her, he continued, “I will have some food sent down to you in an hour, unless you prefer it sooner.”
“You won’t be joining me at your own table?” she asked, recalling the parade of platters that had been marched to the captain’s quarters aboard the Mystic of the distant future.
“I
Blake opened the door to his private sanctuary and stepped back to allow Mrs. Edwards to enter first, then ordered Bud to stay outside. The dog gave him a doleful look and dropped to the wood planks with a bone-jarring thump.
After closing the door, Blake retrieved a set of clean trousers and shirt for himself and his guest. “You will have to make do with my own wardrobe, though I imagine you will be swimming in my clothes.”
Now that she was his guest aboard the Valiant , it was too late for him to be feeling uneasy with his decision. Yet something was amiss. He could feel it in his bones. Despite the softness in her eyes, he wondered whether he could trust her. The mysterious woman had claimed to be at his mercy.
Perhaps she had misled him.
Perhaps it was best to keep an eye on her. A close eye.
Cara stared for a long moment at the clothing he held out to her. His masculine hands gripped the material with a tension that permeated the close space between them. Her gaze moved from his long fingers to the back of his hand, from the wide cuff of his sleeve to the collar of his soiled shirt. Dark whiskers shadowed his neck and lower face. His unkempt appearance gave him an aura of an uncivilized pirate rather than a respectable sea captain. In his deep-aquamarine eyes, she saw distrust.
Could she blame him?
He had a right to be suspicious of her, even though he could not possibly know about her second sight or her life in the future. It was enough that she was a woman on a ship of superstitious sailors.
The floor of the cabin tilted beneath her, gently rolling with a low wave. She shifted her weight to balance herself, unaccustomed to the constant movement, unaccustomed to anything about this time or place.
Confusing thoughts and speculation muddled her mind. She mentally shook off the discomfort and accepted the clothing from the captain. “Thank you . . . for everything.”
He acknowledged her appreciation with a silent nod. “Now if you will allow me a moment to gather a few personal articles to take with me—”
“I don’t expect you to give up your room.”
“Cabin,” corrected Blake. “And I do not mind doing so for a few nights.”
“I can sleep somewhere else. It’s no problem. Really! Surely there’s another cabin for me to use.”
“Not one that is nearly as comfortable as this one.”
“A bunk is all I need.”
She glanced around the clean cabin paneled in rich, dark teak with a row of small windows at eye level wrapping around the back wall. In the center of the floor stood a polished table and four captain’s chairs. Beneath the multipane windows, a wide berth beckoned her with thick bedding to cushion her sore, aching muscles. Though tempted to curl up under the blankets, she forced herself to say, “There is nothing here I can’t live without.”
“Privacy, perhaps? A lady should not be expected to do without certain necessities.”
“I don’t need—”
“Mrs. Edwards,” argued the captain in a firm, low voice. “You are going to stay here in my cabin. There is no bathtub, I’m sorry to say. But I will have my steward bring a basin of fresh water and soap. He can wash out your clothes as well, if you would like.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Her nautical costume had been made in a modem era with who-knew-what subtle differences that might rouse the suspicion of someone laundering it.
He moved past her to a bureau built into the wall and opened a drawer. With his back to her, he continued, “I will have some food sent down to you in an hour, unless you prefer it sooner.”
“You won’t be joining me at your own table?” she asked, recalling the parade of platters that had been marched to the captain’s quarters aboard the Mystic of the distant future.
“I
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