Untamed Read Free

her wondering thoughts was she able to smooth the salve upon his cracked lips.
    She stayed at his side, renewing the cloth often. The stranger moaned occasionally, alternately shivering and throwing off the covers as if he found the blankets unbearably hot. Night seeped under the deep crimson of the coverlet. She rose from her cramped position on the edge of the bed. She ruffled Athena’s fur.
    “I must get our dinner,” Desarae whispered. She leaned over to receive the terrier’s thankful lick. “You stay here with the man,” she ordered firmly. Athena’s tongue lolled out of her mouth in reply.
    Desarae slipped under the brocade and out into the cool evening. She let the silken night air caress her dark tresses and twirled on one bare foot, revelling in the divine sunset glowing in the west. She came to a sudden remembrance of her purpose and ceased her homage to the dying day. Her long slender arms returned to her sides and her bare feet dashed up the moss steps propelling her toward the house. She came to an abrupt halt beside a sculpture. A handsome visage graced the naked form and upon his curled locks sat a laurel wreath.
    “Ah, Apollo,” Desarae whispered, letting her calloused finger run along a polished stone arm. “I have need of your healing powers, sir,” she murmured. “Lend them to me tonight,” she begged, then bobbed an awkward curtsy.
    Unerringly, Desarae skirted around the stone watchmen and found her way to the kitchen. She lit an oil lamp and set it on the stained table. The kitchen walls of whitewashed brick hung with various necessary implements and containers. From a basket sitting on a dresser she uncovered crusty rolls she had baked earlier that day. She broke up a roll into an earthenware bowl then softened it with goat’s milk. She dribbled honey over the bread. A sprinkle of cinnamon topped off the food.
    Desarae sped about the kitchen preparing food for Athena and doing necessary chores as quickly as possible. Artemis, the goat, butted her mistress imperiously the moment Desarae approached her in the small paddock behind the house. “I will have none of your nonsense tonight, madam,” Desarae snapped, swatting the goat on her rump. Artemis submitted regally to being milked then set about trying to tip the bucket when the task was completed. Desarae swatted her again and chained her inside the paddock. The goat protested loudly at this treatment.
    “I will not have you eating my uncle’s coverlet, Artemis,” Desarae explained with a firm shake of her head. She tucked her hair behind her ear once again as she carried the bucket into the dairy and placed it in a tub of water to cool.
    She took a tarnished silver platter from its shelf and loaded it with their dinner. She grasped the lantern handle in one hand and balanced the platter with the other.
    “Gentlemen,” she murmured politely as she crossed the terrace. “Pan, you behave yourself, do you hear me?” She admonished the grinning god who was posed in the act of bringing his reed pipes to his lips. The swaying lantern cast his face in an eerie grin as if in anticipation. “We want no nightmares tonight, if you please.”
    Desarae bit her lip as she contemplated the outside of the make-shift tent. She placed the lantern ever so carefully on the ground while she ducked under the coverlet. One of the dining room chairs became the depository for the tray so she could bring the lantern within the small space. Athena greeted her with a yip and eagerly consumed the bowl of scraps Desarae placed on the ground.
    Her mistress perched on the side of the bed, the bowl of softened bread balanced on her lap while she straightened the covers once again. She took the damp cloth from where it had fallen beside the pillow, wet it, rung it out, and replaced it on his hot forehead.
    “Sir,” she said in her husky voice, prodding his shoulder with her finger. “Sir, wake-up, please,” she requested. “Wake-up, sir.” She shook his