Read Online To Chase the Storm: The Frontier Series 4 by Peter Watt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Peter Watt
Ads: Link
in?’ Patrick asked, his love for his youngest son hurting as much as the aching distance that had grown between he and Catherine.
‘No, Father. She has not come home yet,’ he replied with tears in his eyes. ‘She telephoned Grandmama this afternoon to say she would be home tonight though.’
‘And I don’t suppose she told your grandmother where she has been for the last few days,’ Patrick muttered angrily to himself before realising that he was unduly bringing his youngest son into a matter over which he had no control. ‘No matter,’ he added quickly to deflect any answer the boy might feel he should give. ‘I will no doubt see your mother tonight.’
Gazing at his father, Alex now knew his answer. He could see that his troubled question had been unnecessary. His father had fought in other wars, he knew from the stories, and had been very brave. He was only staying at home because he truly loved them. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing his brother was wrong.
As he guided his son to the door of his bedroom Patrick did something he had not done in a long time. He kissed Alex on top of the head and gave him a hug. Embarrassed, Alex quickly disengaged himself, and went into his room after bidding his father goodnight. Patrick closed the door and walked slowly back to the library. So there were those who questioned his physical courage . . .
Although he had been determined to remainawake in the library and await his wife’s arrival, the gentle ticking of the tall grandfather clock in the corner along with the steady beat of the rain on the roof and the effects of the ale consumed during the afternoon lulled him to sleep. It was a sleep the likes of which he had not known for many nights when he tossed alone in the bed that Catherine had all but abandoned.
Old habits die hard and when the rain ceased Patrick woke. He came awake with a start, shaken by the memories that had crept into his world of dreams. Memories of nights spent wandering alone in the Sudanese desert behind enemy lines, surviving with nothing more than animal cunning. The sticky wet feel of warm blood on his hands as he slit the throat of some unsuspecting desert nomad slumbering by his campfire had merged into erotic dreams of Catherine’s creamy, pale breasts which under his kisses turned into two hills. Hills thousands of miles apart and yet sacred places to the ancient peoples who had lived around them.
He sat up in the big leather chair, sweat covering his body. Peering at the face of the clock in the corner, the hands told him it was three in the morning. Except for the clock, the world was as silent as that distant desert of his past. With some effort he heaved himself to his feet. Catherine should be home by now, he thought. He would go to her.
When he opened the door to their bedroom he could vaguely make out her outline under the sheets. Her long red hair spilled across a pillow. She was deep in sleep. He padded across to the big bedand sat gently on the edge so that he might not disturb her. Watching her breathing softly, with her mouth slightly agape, Patrick felt a massive surge of love for the woman who had travelled across the sea from her home in Ireland to marry him a decade and a half earlier. Catherine, my beloved, what is happening? He gazed down upon her sleeping body. How could a love as strong as ours just fade away?
As Catherine turned on her side in her sleep Patrick could see the sensuous shape of her hip taut against the sheet as she nestled into her pillow. Memories of the wild and abandoned passion they had once known came back to him. Their passion seemed to have died over the last twelve months. His wife appeared to be at war with herself although he had not noticed until the last battle was fought in the past few weeks. Had it been that she had called out for his help and he had been so preoccupied with work that he had missed her call?
Catherine stirred in her sleep and rolled over onto her back.
‘No, Father. She has not come home yet,’ he replied with tears in his eyes. ‘She telephoned Grandmama this afternoon to say she would be home tonight though.’
‘And I don’t suppose she told your grandmother where she has been for the last few days,’ Patrick muttered angrily to himself before realising that he was unduly bringing his youngest son into a matter over which he had no control. ‘No matter,’ he added quickly to deflect any answer the boy might feel he should give. ‘I will no doubt see your mother tonight.’
Gazing at his father, Alex now knew his answer. He could see that his troubled question had been unnecessary. His father had fought in other wars, he knew from the stories, and had been very brave. He was only staying at home because he truly loved them. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing his brother was wrong.
As he guided his son to the door of his bedroom Patrick did something he had not done in a long time. He kissed Alex on top of the head and gave him a hug. Embarrassed, Alex quickly disengaged himself, and went into his room after bidding his father goodnight. Patrick closed the door and walked slowly back to the library. So there were those who questioned his physical courage . . .
Although he had been determined to remainawake in the library and await his wife’s arrival, the gentle ticking of the tall grandfather clock in the corner along with the steady beat of the rain on the roof and the effects of the ale consumed during the afternoon lulled him to sleep. It was a sleep the likes of which he had not known for many nights when he tossed alone in the bed that Catherine had all but abandoned.
Old habits die hard and when the rain ceased Patrick woke. He came awake with a start, shaken by the memories that had crept into his world of dreams. Memories of nights spent wandering alone in the Sudanese desert behind enemy lines, surviving with nothing more than animal cunning. The sticky wet feel of warm blood on his hands as he slit the throat of some unsuspecting desert nomad slumbering by his campfire had merged into erotic dreams of Catherine’s creamy, pale breasts which under his kisses turned into two hills. Hills thousands of miles apart and yet sacred places to the ancient peoples who had lived around them.
He sat up in the big leather chair, sweat covering his body. Peering at the face of the clock in the corner, the hands told him it was three in the morning. Except for the clock, the world was as silent as that distant desert of his past. With some effort he heaved himself to his feet. Catherine should be home by now, he thought. He would go to her.
When he opened the door to their bedroom he could vaguely make out her outline under the sheets. Her long red hair spilled across a pillow. She was deep in sleep. He padded across to the big bedand sat gently on the edge so that he might not disturb her. Watching her breathing softly, with her mouth slightly agape, Patrick felt a massive surge of love for the woman who had travelled across the sea from her home in Ireland to marry him a decade and a half earlier. Catherine, my beloved, what is happening? He gazed down upon her sleeping body. How could a love as strong as ours just fade away?
As Catherine turned on her side in her sleep Patrick could see the sensuous shape of her hip taut against the sheet as she nestled into her pillow. Memories of the wild and abandoned passion they had once known came back to him. Their passion seemed to have died over the last twelve months. His wife appeared to be at war with herself although he had not noticed until the last battle was fought in the past few weeks. Had it been that she had called out for his help and he had been so preoccupied with work that he had missed her call?
Catherine stirred in her sleep and rolled over onto her back.
Similar Books
