Lisbon by Valerie Sherwood Read Free Book Online Page B

her weight, barely holding her.
    “Steady!” called Tom’s strong voice. She could hear the slap of his shoe leather as he raced toward her down the path. A moment later she felt his hands seize her in a firm grip. He pulled her shuddering body back over the edge just as the sapling’s roots began to tear free, and whirled her about to face him.
    Overcome by terror—for she had been looking into death’s grinning face in that white water far below, where the linen square and the bucket of broth had long since  plummeted—Charlotte felt her breath leave her and she clung to Tom’s sturdy form like someone drowning.
    “There, there,’’ he said soothingly as he held her against his chest, letting her shiver there. “You’re not dead, but whatever made you turn about like that? Don’t you know this path is too narrow to turn where you did without the greatest care?’’
    Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to tell Tom why she had spun about, any more than she could control her shivering. She was suddenly aware that she was being comforted in the arms of a strong man and that his masculinity called out to her. It registered on her with a kind of dazed shock that she liked being held, that she would be content just to stay here in the circle of those long protective arms forever.
    Alarmed that such a thought could cross her mind, she tried to pull away from him.
    “Ho, there!’’ he cried. “You’re about to do it again—and this time you may tip us both over!”
    Charlotte subsided in shivering embarrassment, and when she could face him again, she looked up beseechingly. “I’m sorry,” she said faintly. “You saved my life,” she added on a note of wonder.
    “Aye, I believe I did,” he agreed in a casual tone. “And there’s little doubt you will take a lot of saving if you go about in this fashion!” His tone was jocular but he was surprised at the impact her wide pleading violet eyes were having on him, and the feeling that had abruptly swelled through him as he clasped her skinny female body to his breast. She was a child, he reminded himself sternly, and put her away from him—most carefully. “Come,” he said, taking her hand. “I will escort you where you are going— just to make sure you get there.”
    “There is no longer any point to my going,” she admitted a bit tremulously. “I was carrying a bucket of soup and some bread to old Mistress Meggs, who lives in the valley just beyond, and now”—she looked over the edge of the cliff with a shudder, down into the white cascading water far below—“the soup and the rolls are both flying away downstream.”
    “Then I will take you back the way you have come,” he said firmly.
    “Oh, there is no need. Really." She was all too conscious of a fluttering in her chest and of the warm steady pressure of his big hand enfolding her small one.
    “Nonetheless ..." His tone was crisp.
    He led her along the narrow path without speaking, pausing wherever there was a bad step to help her across, and Charlotte was embarrassed, because she had passed this way many times before—always without mishap.
    “I have been reading your book."
    Charlotte stumbled at this sudden announcement, and he steadied her with a curious look.
    “You . . . you have?" she asked faintly.
    “Yes. Books are hard for me to come by."
    He was poor, then. She had guessed it by the worn look of his russet coat, although it was of a decent cut and fabric. His boots, too, had seen better days. But he could  read.
    “How do you like it?" she ventured.
    “It is well enough," he told her restlessly. “I had rather there was more time spent on the hero s sailing ventures and less on toasting Lady Augusta s eyebrows."
    “She had very unusual eyebrows," defended Charlotte. “They were—"
    “I know. High and exalted." He sounded amused. He turned suddenly and peered down into her face with a grin. “Faith, who would have thought it? We