The Lightkeeper's Woman. Mary Burton

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      Alanna laughed at his outrageously dark humor. “I’ve never met a man who sold his soul. Tell me, would you like to attend a dinner party Father’s having on Friday? I’d be very interested to know how one goes about bargaining with the Dark Prince,” she’d teased.

      “I’d be delighted.” His extra emphasis on the last word made her more aware that with this man she was out of her depth. He possessed an earthy masculinity that, despite her best efforts, left her breathless and blushing.

      Alanna’s mind drifted in and out of consciousness and sleep. One moment she was on fire, pushing off her blankets, in the next, she froze, unable to get warm no matter how deeply she burrowed under the rough blankets.

      But at all times, she was aware of Caleb’s rough hands touching her damp forehead, brushing the curls from her head or applying a moist cloth. His deep voice was soft and soothing at times and at other times there were hints of anger. If she’d had the strength, she would have reminded him she was the one that should be angry.

      When Alanna finally could open her eyes, she forgot the recriminations. All she wanted was to see Caleb, to know that he wasn’t a dream. But through her fever, he remained a dark silhouette, his face shrouded by darkness. The only detail that struck her was that his hair was no longer cropped short. His thick hair, as black as ink, hung past his broad shoulders.

      So many things could have been said and all she could think to say was, “You’ve changed your hair.”

      He must have thought she’d still been asleep because the sound of her voice seemed to shock him. He drew back slightly. “It’s easier.”

      She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and closed her eyes. She was simply too tired to connect words into sentences. “That’s nice.”

      She heard the clink of porcelain against glass and the rush of water. The bed’s mattress sagged when he sat beside her.

      “Drink this.” His steady hand lifted her head. He tipped a cup to her dry lips.

      She touched his wrist, her hand unsteady. The bitter-tasting drink washed over her dry tongue. It trickled down the sides of her mouth and her neck. “It’s awful.”

      “It’s Yaupon tea. It’ll soothe your fever.”

      “If it doesn’t kill me first.”

      “If I wanted you dead, I’d have let the ocean take you.”

      “Of course.”

      He pressed the cup to her lips. “Sip slowly,” he cautioned. “There’s plenty.”

      “Great.” Alanna drank until the cup was empty, then relaxed back against the pillow.

      She was vaguely aware when he dipped a cloth into a basin. She heard the water trickle as he wrung the excess water from it.

      He pressed the cool rag against her hot cheeks and forehead. The cold felt good. When her skin warmed the rag, he dunked it again in the water. As he ran the cloth over her naked flesh, she realized that she wasn’t wearing anything. There was no shame, just gratitude that he was there. Methodically, he repeated the actions until her body had cooled. She slept.

      Alanna wasn’t sure what time it was when she awoke again, but the room was dark except for the firelight glowing in the hearth.

      She was aware of two things. Caleb was still in the room and her thick hair felt greasy and her teeth gritty. “I must look dreadful.”

      His laugh was bitter, sharp. Her eyes started to focus on him. “If you’re worried about your appearance, you’ll survive.”

      Panic exploded inside her at the thought of being alone. “Caleb, don’t leave me.”

      She sensed his gaze on her. “You need to rest.”

      “Promise me you won’t leave just yet. I don’t want to be alone.” She sounded weak and afraid and hated it, but there was no hiding it.

      A long silence stretched between them. “All right, I’ll stay.”

      Sighing, she relaxed into her pillow. Feeling more at ease than she had in months, she gave herself to sleep. “Thank you.”

      When Alanna awoke again, awareness of him cloaked the room. She wasn’t sure if she’d been sleeping for hours or days. She was only aware that the rain still pelted the windowpanes. A breeze drifted through the open doorway leading to a long dark hallway.

      Her head pounded, however, her skin no longer burned and her brain didn’t feel fuzzy. She was more like herself.

      On the bedside table was the box that had brought her here. Its lacquer coating glistened in the pale light.

      Alanna tried to sit up, but regretted the move instantly. Her chest, back and arm muscles ached, the pain a reminder of her struggles in the sound. With some effort, she rolled on her side to ease the discomfort in her back. Her body was stiff, as if she’d aged a hundred years in the last few days.

      Caleb. Where was he?

      He’d saved her life and cared for her. If not for Caleb, she’d have died.

      Few men would have gone into the storm to save her. Crowley had left her behind. Henry wouldn’t have had the strength to save her.

      When she’d started this journey she’d been filled with righteous anger. In her mind, Caleb had owed her an explanation. He’d owed her an apology. Now, nothing was as clear-cut as it had been. Suddenly, the speech she’d rehearsed and planned to recite seemed juvenile and self-righteous.

      Very aware that Caleb was close, Alanna grew restless. She tried to sit up again. Her movements were slower, more deliberate, yet she still winced as she worked her strained muscles and her head spun with another bout of dizziness. Her stomach churned, forcing her to cup her head in her hands.

      Slowly her body adjusted to its new position and the spinning calmed. She pushed a curtain of blond hair out of her eyes and surveyed the oversize, partially buttoned white shirt she wore. The shirt was cut wide to fit Caleb’s shoulders and, though clean, his scent still clung to the material. Underneath it, she was naked.

      Before when she’d been sick, her state of dress hadn’t mattered. Now she was very aware of it.

      Heat rose in her cheeks as she smoothed her hand over the cotton sleeves that hung a good six inches past her hands.

      “You’re finally up.” Caleb’s rough voice came from a darkened corner.

      Alanna started, searching the shadows for him. “Yes.”

      His face was shadowed and she couldn’t make out his features. His long, lean hands rested on the arms of his chair and his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.

      On the floor in front of his chair lay a dog. The dog was part shepherd, part mutt with brown-and-black bristly fur. Toby. He was older, more muscular, than Alanna remembered, but the crimped right ear was unmistakable. Caleb had found the dog when it was a half-starved puppy living СКАЧАТЬ