Chase the Dawn by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page B

the scars of rough handling and much use. Made of leather-bound cedar-wood, it was of the kind that Bryony’s selective memory identified as a sea chest. She knelt to open it. The sweet fragrance of cedar filled the air and had impregnated the stack of linen. There were shirts of holland, fustian, and kersey, but beneath these working garments was a pile of the finest lawn, sleeves edged with Mechlin and Brussels lace—the shirts of a gentleman, and a wealthy one at that. Not the shirts of a man who bore the indelible marks of the whip upon his back.
    “Is there not a nightshirt in there, at the bottom somewhere?” Benedict spoke from behind her, and she started guiltily as if caught prying. “I have no use for them, so you may as well have it.” Bending over the chest, he flicked carelessly through the contents as if there were nothing at all extraordinary in the contrasts there revealed. “Yes, this should do.” He shook out the folds of a white linen garment as soft as silk, with voluminous sleeves and a high, lace-edged collar. “You will drown in it,” he said, chuckling, handing it to her. “You can use a cravat as a sash.” This the chest also supplied. Then, whistling cheerfully, he swung up the jar of cider and took it outside.
    Bryony dropped the luxurious, cedar-fragrant folds over her head. She was of more than middle height, but the nightshirt did, indeed, drown her. She rolled the sleeves to her elbows, where the folds billowed over her forearms, and caught the skirts up at the waist, confining them with the linen cravat. It was a strange costume, but infinitely preferable to the blanket, and the body beneath felt wonderfully cool and clean. She combed her drying hair with her fingers, shaking her head vigorously so that her hair swirled around her face to settle in a shining blue-black cloud over her shoulders. Then, her makeshift toilet completed, she set about the task of gathering up the required articles for supper.
    “Shall I set the table inside?” She popped her head round the door. Benedict looked up, and could not hide his astonishment. Gone was the waif, tattered and bruised in her blanket; in her place stood this radiant young woman. He had known she was beautiful, but dirt and distress had done much to conceal the reality. She was also older than he had thought.
    “How old are you?”
    “Twenty,” she replied instantly then gasped. “I remembered.”
    “So you did.” He smiled. “Can you remember your birth date?”
    Bryony shook her head. “That still escapes me.”
    “It will come,” he said with confidence. “Where do you wish to eat?”
    “Outside. I have spent long enough confined.”
    He nodded easily and turned back to the fish. If only her memory returned soon, he could be rid of her before this damnable mess became even messier. And it would, he thought glumly. Never one to avoid the truth, Benedict was well aware that he would not be able to resist her if she decided to be irresistible.
    A contented silence fell between them for the next half hour, until Bryony sighed with repletion. “That was wonderful.” She scraped the last morsel of fish from the wooden trencher with the tip of her knife and sucked it off. “I don’t think I have ever eaten anything so delicious.”
    Benedict laughed. “I am sure you have. But food in the open air always tastes better. Now, since I both caught and cooked our supper, you may take responsibility for clearing it away.”
    Bryony gathered up the trenchers, knives, and pitch-lined leather tankards. She looked uncertainly at the pile of fish bones. “What do I do with these?”
    “Throw them back in the creek before you rinse off the platters,” he told her.
    “But I just bathed in the creek!” Bryony exclaimed. “I don’t wish to bathe in water full of old fish bones and grease.”
    “Nature will look after it, lass.” He shook his head. “The water is changing constantly with the river tide. Obviously, your