The Wild Child by Mary Jo Putney Read Free Book Online Page B

ears. Roxana was of no known breed, though he suspected some wolfhound because of her size. Her proportions were rather strange, but she seemed intelligent and good-natured. What more could one want in a dog?
    Turning back to the basket, Dominic pulled out plates, mugs, napkins, and forks. Then he removed a stone jug. “I have some cider here. Would you care for some?”
    He risked a glance up at the tree house. A small feminine silhouette was visible in the window. “There’s fresh hot gingerbread, too. Perhaps you can smell it.”
    After pouring himself cider, he put a piece of the savory pie on one of the two plates he’d brought. Not having eaten since breakfast, he was hungry himself. After the first forkful, he sighed with satisfaction. The Warfield cook’s crumbly pastry and well-flavored filling would not have disgraced the king’s own table. Abruptly a rope ladder rattled down from the tree house. The rungs were made of smooth wooden bars. They would make climbing easier than if the ladder was entirely rope, but Lady Meriel must still be more agile than the average female.
    The ladder began swaying. Not wanting to frighten his quarry, he refrained from looking up, but he watched the ladder from the corner of his eye until a slender bare foot, rather dirty, appeared. He learned that when a female descended a rope ladder, a delightful amount of shapely ankle was exposed. Controlling his expression, he calmly cut another piece of pie and placed it on the other plate. Then he turned toward her unhurriedly. Once more, he was struck by the power of her beauty. She seemed too fragile to have survived the savage loss of her parents and a barbaric captivity. But she hadn’t survived, not really. All the potentials of her mind and spirit had been destroyed, leaving only a shadow of what might have been.
    He leaned across the blanket and set the second plate on the edge nearest her, then poured another mug of cider. Lady Meriel had reached the ground and stood with one hand on the ladder as she looked in his direction without meeting his gaze. Her eyes were an extraordinary light, clear green. The eyes of a seer—or a madwoman.
    It was clear that if he made one wrong move, she’d be up the tree like a squirrel. “I will never hurt you, Lady Meriel,” he said softly. “You have my word on that.”
    Roxana got to her feet and pattered over to her mistress, tail wagging. Perhaps reassured by the dog’s acceptance of the stranger, Meriel released the ladder and slowly crossed the glade toward Dominic. She moved with the grace of a young doe, her steps so delicate that her feet scarcely seemed to bend the grass.
    He held his breath as she knelt by the blanket and lifted the plate. Her posture was poised and ready for flight, yet at the same time she was relaxed. Or perhaps the right word was tranquil. Despite her eccentric dress and bare feet, she seemed utterly at home. This garden was her kingdom. Balancing her plate with one hand, she ate as neatly as any lady at a formal dinner. He watched, entranced, as straight white teeth sank into the warm cheesy pie. There was something intimate about sharing this meal, just the two of them. Breaking bread together was one of humankind’s most ancient rituals.
    He looked away, reminding himself that his job was to be unthreatening, not intimate. After uncorking a wide-mouthed jar of pickled onions, he set the container within her reach. She lifted it, giving him a chance to observe her hands. They were not the well-tended, useless hands of a lady, but strong and practical, with calluses caused by gardening work. More beautiful than if she soaked them in ass’s milk every day.
    Despite her dusty bare feet, overall she was clean and well groomed. The thick braid shone like polished new ivory, containing almost no tint of color. Her brows and lashes were just dark enough to delicately define her features, rather than making her appear washed out. With her hair pulled back, he saw