Read Online Season of Shadows by Yvonne Whittal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Yvonne Whittal
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stated harshly and emphatically, 'because
that's how it will be.'
'You're inhuman!' she accused in a choked voice.
'Not inhuman,' he corrected, releasing her abruptly. 'Just
practical.'
He strode from the room, leaving her alone and more afraid
than she had ever been before. There was no escape from this nightmare
she had plunged herself into, and she would just have to see it through
to the bitter end.
She collected the necessary linen from the cupboard in the
passage, but hysterical laughter threatened to engulf her while she was
making the bed. She felt like a condemned prisoner erecting her own
scaffold before the hanging was to take place, and there was abject
terror in her eyes when she eventually straightened from her task. She
stared down at the wide bed, saw it as the battleground where she would
suffer her most humiliating defeat, and wished suddenly that she were
dead.
She prepared a meal for them that evening in the small
kitchen, but found herself incapable of eating more than a mouthful,
and when Anton finally suggested a walk on the beach, she jumped at the
opportunity to delay the inevitable moment when she would be alone with
him in the bedroom they were to share.
She had changed into a cotton frock and low-heeled sandals
before dinner, but as they crossed the uneven sand Anton's hand was
beneath her elbow, his touch warm, firm, and disturbing.
Stars clustered like diamonds in the night sky, and the ocean lay like a
shimmering sheet of silver in the moonlight, but the beauty of it all
escaped her as she walked stiffly at Anton's side, listening distractedly
while he related to her a little of the history of Gordon's Bay. She heard
nothing, however, beyond the fact that a Colonel Gordon of the Dutch East
India Company had given his name to the bay when he had explored the
southern coastline of Africa in 1778.
Anton's mocking, 'I don't seem to be making much
impression as a tourist guide,' finally penetrated her panic-filled
thoughts, and she blessed the darkness for hiding her discomfiture.
'I'm sorry,' she murmured apologetically.
'Shall we return to the cottage?'
'No! Not yet!' she wanted to cry out, but, with a
submissiveness born of fear, she murmured, 'If you like.'
They strolled back to the cottage in silence, but it felt
to Laura as if every step brought her closer to her doom, and she
shivered uncontrollably when they finally entered the cottage and
closed the door behind them.
Anton snapped on the light, but when her wide, frightened
eyes looked up into his, he said harshly, 'I'll take another turn about
the place before locking up.'
The outer door closed behind him with a decisive 'click'
that made her flinch, but she felt a certain measure of relief as she
hurriedly collected her things from the bedroom before going along to
the bathroom at the end of the passage. She took her time bathing, but
her heart lurched uncomfortably when she returned to the room and found
Anton standing at the window with his back towards her. Her trembling
hand automatically sought the wide neck-opening of her gown when he
turned, but he merely stalked past her, removed his towelling robe off
the hook behind the door where she had placed it, and continued on down
the passage towards the bathroom.
She heard him in the shower while she removed the pins
from her hair to let it cascade down on to her shoulders and, picking
up her brush, she brushed her hair with long, firm strokes. The blessed
normality of this nightly ritual seemed to steady her nerves
temporarily, but, at the sound of the bathroom door opening, she
realised that she was still as tightly strung as a bow, and ready to
snap at the merest touch.
She lowered the brush on to the dresser as Anton entered
the room, and her throat felt choked and dry when she turned to face
him. His hair was damp from his shower, and as her stricken glance
swept down to his bare feet, she felt terrifyingly certain that his
muscular body was clad in nothing
that's how it will be.'
'You're inhuman!' she accused in a choked voice.
'Not inhuman,' he corrected, releasing her abruptly. 'Just
practical.'
He strode from the room, leaving her alone and more afraid
than she had ever been before. There was no escape from this nightmare
she had plunged herself into, and she would just have to see it through
to the bitter end.
She collected the necessary linen from the cupboard in the
passage, but hysterical laughter threatened to engulf her while she was
making the bed. She felt like a condemned prisoner erecting her own
scaffold before the hanging was to take place, and there was abject
terror in her eyes when she eventually straightened from her task. She
stared down at the wide bed, saw it as the battleground where she would
suffer her most humiliating defeat, and wished suddenly that she were
dead.
She prepared a meal for them that evening in the small
kitchen, but found herself incapable of eating more than a mouthful,
and when Anton finally suggested a walk on the beach, she jumped at the
opportunity to delay the inevitable moment when she would be alone with
him in the bedroom they were to share.
She had changed into a cotton frock and low-heeled sandals
before dinner, but as they crossed the uneven sand Anton's hand was
beneath her elbow, his touch warm, firm, and disturbing.
Stars clustered like diamonds in the night sky, and the ocean lay like a
shimmering sheet of silver in the moonlight, but the beauty of it all
escaped her as she walked stiffly at Anton's side, listening distractedly
while he related to her a little of the history of Gordon's Bay. She heard
nothing, however, beyond the fact that a Colonel Gordon of the Dutch East
India Company had given his name to the bay when he had explored the
southern coastline of Africa in 1778.
Anton's mocking, 'I don't seem to be making much
impression as a tourist guide,' finally penetrated her panic-filled
thoughts, and she blessed the darkness for hiding her discomfiture.
'I'm sorry,' she murmured apologetically.
'Shall we return to the cottage?'
'No! Not yet!' she wanted to cry out, but, with a
submissiveness born of fear, she murmured, 'If you like.'
They strolled back to the cottage in silence, but it felt
to Laura as if every step brought her closer to her doom, and she
shivered uncontrollably when they finally entered the cottage and
closed the door behind them.
Anton snapped on the light, but when her wide, frightened
eyes looked up into his, he said harshly, 'I'll take another turn about
the place before locking up.'
The outer door closed behind him with a decisive 'click'
that made her flinch, but she felt a certain measure of relief as she
hurriedly collected her things from the bedroom before going along to
the bathroom at the end of the passage. She took her time bathing, but
her heart lurched uncomfortably when she returned to the room and found
Anton standing at the window with his back towards her. Her trembling
hand automatically sought the wide neck-opening of her gown when he
turned, but he merely stalked past her, removed his towelling robe off
the hook behind the door where she had placed it, and continued on down
the passage towards the bathroom.
She heard him in the shower while she removed the pins
from her hair to let it cascade down on to her shoulders and, picking
up her brush, she brushed her hair with long, firm strokes. The blessed
normality of this nightly ritual seemed to steady her nerves
temporarily, but, at the sound of the bathroom door opening, she
realised that she was still as tightly strung as a bow, and ready to
snap at the merest touch.
She lowered the brush on to the dresser as Anton entered
the room, and her throat felt choked and dry when she turned to face
him. His hair was damp from his shower, and as her stricken glance
swept down to his bare feet, she felt terrifyingly certain that his
muscular body was clad in nothing
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