A Stranger's Touch by Anne Herries Read Free Book Online

recognised. His memory might be missing, but his instincts were intact. He wanted to lie with her. He wanted to know her body, to touch that soft white flesh and kiss those full lips. Whether she knew it or not she had a pure, clear sensuality that called to a man of his nature, arousing the hunting instinct. He wanted her and knew he would stay until she sent him away. Perhaps he might persuade her to go with him. She obviously did not have much of a life here.
    She was a fool to let the stranger get beneath the guard she normally kept on her senses. Morwenna frowned as she chopped roots and onions to add to the stewpot. It had been simmering for two days now, fresh meat and vegetables added each day so that the gravy was very thick and the flavour intense. Morwenna had cooked oatcakes, fresh bread that was flat and hard on the outside, soft within. She had butter, pickles, cheese and cold ham as well as a dish of neeps and a large piggy pie that Bess had made to an old Cornish recipe.
    It was a hearty meal, the kind her brothers relished, but the stranger was to join them at table that night and she wondered if he would think it plain fare. Neither of her brothers had a sweet tooth and though she liked curds and custards herself, she scarcely ever bothered to make them. Michael called them pap and turned his nose up at such trifles. Yet if the stranger were an aristocrat, as she suspected, he would be used to finer dishes.
    After his return from the beach she’d asked if he would join them in the kitchen for supper. He’d hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head. Something told her that he was not used to eating in a kitchen with the servants, but she had no time to set out the huge table in the large hall. It was seldom used these days and her brother Jacques would have thought she’d gone mad had she done so. Her father and mother had held dinners and feasts there for special occasions, but Michael did not bother. Often enough the brothers ate at different times, coming in to the kitchen to snatch what they could find before disappearing again. She hoped that Jacques would sit down with them that night, but there was no telling what time he would return from his fishing trip.
    * * *
    As the church bell tolled the hour of six down in the village, her brother entered the kitchen. She was pleased to see that Jacques had made an effort to dress as befitted a gentleman’s son instead of his usual jerkin and breeches.
    However, she frowned at him as he snatched at one of the freshly baked rolls and began to eat.
    ‘You might wait for our guest,’ she reprimanded.
    ‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,’ Jacques said with a grin. ‘Your guest will have to take us as we are, dear heart. It’s too late to change us now.’
    ‘Mother would turn in her grave if she could see you …’ Morwenna began, the words dying on her lips as the kitchen door opened and the stranger entered. He was wearing the clothes she’d given him, but somehow he made Jacques look disreputable. He wore his pride like a velvet cloak, so obviously a gentleman that she felt a moment of shame for the way her brothers usually behaved at table.
    ‘Forgive me for being late to table,’ he said. ‘The food smells good, Mistress Morgan. I believe I am hungry.’
    ‘You spent a long time walking on the cliffs and in the village today,’ Jacques said. ‘What were you looking for?’
    ‘I was admiring the scenery,’ he replied. ‘It appeals to my senses. I think I may be an artist, for my fingers wished for some charcoal that I might sketch what I saw.’
    ‘An artist, are you?’
    ‘If you would permit, I could try my hand after supper. I might sketch Morwenna—or any of you if you care for it. At least we would know if I have any talent.’
    ‘A bang on the head often renders the mind hazy for a while,’ Jacques observed. ‘If you feel you can draw a person’s likeness, your memory may be returning.’
    ‘Yes,