Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

“If only you could have seen your face,” Kate said, shaking with laughter herself.

“The . . . wh. . . whiskers . . . were the first shock,” Duncan stammered between gales of merriment. “But it was the g . . .garlic that nearly . . . did me in.”

“Daisy is rather fond of garlic,” Kate admitted in gasps. “She . . . claims it has medicinal value. Perhaps that is what brought you back . . . from near death.”

“Nearly . . . killed me, is more like it,” Duncan said, putting a hand on his aching side. “I vow, a minute more, and it would have been the end of me.”

“It was as much as you deserved,” Kate pointed out, finally catching her breath. “You had me truly frightened, you know. Luckily, Daisy saw through your cozening tactics.”

“Aye, just my luck,” Duncan said wryly. She had been frightened for him? It was a novel occurrence, to have someone other than Fred who might be genuinely concerned on his behalf. “Instead of comfort in my pain, I am nearly asphyxiated by onions and garlic and almost scratched to death by stubble that would put a guardsman to shame.”

“I would have you know that Daisy was considered a rather handsome woman. She was quite the object of courtship in our army days.”

“A regular femme fatale,” Duncan said rubbing his lips meaningfully.

At this, Kate fell into another fit of giggling. “For shame, Duncan,” She finally choked out. “With such outright deception, what did you expect?”

“‘Expect’ is too definite a word. ‘Hope’ is more the like of it and what I was hoping for was you,” Duncan admitted with a crooked smile. “You see, I merely wished to ascertain if my memory was damaged by the fall. Surely, no lips could feel as soft as yours, Kate. And I knew of a certainty that no woman could possibly taste of heather and sunshine. But alas, I had no opportunity to compare reality to memory.”

“Is blarney the same in the Scottish dialect of Gaelic as it is in the Irish?” she asked, trying to dismiss the unbidden recollections of that first night. Memories of fear and forbidden longing had melded in that fraction of a moment when she had lost herself in his kiss.

Did passion have a taste? Was there a flavor to yearning? Or was it just the potent mingling of strong emotion, darkness and imagination that lingered on her tongue, evoking those few seconds when her every sense had been roused? “You are a complete hand, Duncan,” Kate said, trying to cover her confusion. She wanted to look away, but there was a spell in that one-eyed gaze of his, holding her ensorcelled.

“Not a complete hand,” Duncan reasoned, taking a step closer. “Else I would now be savoring heather on my lips instead of garlic.” The laughter was gone from her face, replaced by a beguiling bewilderment and innocence. But although those moments of humorous sharing had passed, the bond created seemed to linger. It was a strange sweet intimacy, rivalling anything that he had ever experienced with a woman, more powerful, in some ways, than the ultimate union that two could share. He was loath to spoil it, yet the temptation to move closer was beyond resisting. “Ah, Kate,” he asked softly, “do you really taste of heather or was it just a foolish fancy?”

They were barely a hand span apart, attracted like two poles of an unexplained magnetic force. But the bemused look in her eyes was not consent to break the pledge that he had made, regardless of the depth of his desire. Yet, for all its intensity, this need was surprisingly simple, not a burning, but a gentle warming flicker. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to be held by her, to feel the soft texture of her hair against his shoulder, to breathe in her scent and savor her lips. Then, as if moved by the intensity of his will, her hand rose. Slowly, her fingers moved tentatively towards him, almost like the limb of a marionette manipulated by invisible strings. Duncan held his breath, unmoving, unwilling to break this bewitched moment.

He had changed somehow and Kate suddenly realized that she had never heard his laughter before, never seen him smile without that twist of the lip that was closer to a sneer than a grin. For once, his expression was unguarded, an open path to the very depths of his emotions. The longing, the loneliness that she had sensed were there for her to see, like words on a printed page. A silent plea. Let me comfort you. I know you are in pain, so am I. I am drowning inside myself, the silver eye told her. I need you. I want you. I am afraid. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to step into the circle of those arms, to accept the terms of mutual surrender.

But once that temporary truce came to its end, she knew that she was bound to be a casualty, a victim of her own emotions. Still, the temptation was strong. But it was Duncan’s fear that held her in check; his air of vulnerability frightened her almost as much as the sudden force of her own feelings. Rake though he might be, Kate could not believe a face could lie so convincingly. If there was any truth in that gaze, the passion that he promised was a blade with two edges. Inevitably, they would both be wounded when she left here, left him.

The clip-clop of steel-shod hooves sounded against stone, its hollow echo cutting through the silence. Potent imprecations in multiple languages slipped through Duncan’s mind as Kate blinked, then backed away, eyes wakening in realization of what had nearly occurred. Those slender fingers flew to her mouth in horror, whether at him or at herself, he could not determine. Her cheeks were aflame. There was no