Shanna (13 page)

“Aye,” Shanna assured him heartily. “And they're sharp. Take heed lest they prick you.”

“It bemuses me, madam, why you are ever at odds with me. Do I but attend your father's bidding?”

She scoffed caustically. “Only too well.”

“Then madam, where is the wrong in that?” His hawkish eyes fixed on her.

“The wrong is what you do in the course of keeping my father's commands,” she flung sharply. “If you had any degree of decency—”

Ralston's dark brow raised mockingly. “Like your late husband, madam?”

Shanna's first instinct was to slap his leering face. She was filled with almost uncontrollable loathing for the man, and no mere words could do justice to the way she felt. With jaw set she cast a glare behind her to the guard who stood decidedly less menacing, his gangling arms hanging to his sides. The bondsman was scarcely to be seen, having crowded himself in the midst of his fellow companions, out of harm's way.

A shout from the ship echoed through the misty haze, bringing Shanna's attention to Captain DUprey who leaped down the gangway and rushed to join them.

“Mon Dieu! What iz this?” he insisted.

He saw the bondsmen standing silently and assayed the situation quickly.

“You zere!” He almost danced as he waved his arm at the guards. “Get zese men aboard and take zhem below. Ze mate will direct you. Go now!”

Captain Duprey's swarthy face beamed in a wide smile as he faced Shanna. He swept his plumed tricorn flamboyantly before his stocky frame as be bowed from the waist.

“Madame Beauchamp, you should not be here on the dock,” he very tenderly admonished. “And certainment not so near zese filthy wretches.”

Shanna coyly implored him with both speech and eye. “Captain Duprey, I cannot tolerate chains, and I would see these poor men treated more reasonably.” She delayed a moment in her plea until the last bondslave had passed onto the ship, then entreated, “They're on your ship now, captain. I beg of you, have the chains struck and treat them well.”

“Madame!” The thin black mustache twitched upward as he grinned, and his black eyes flashed with warm lights. “I cannot refuse. I shall zee to eet immediatement.”

“Sir!” The sharp bark from Ralston halted him. “I warn you! They are my charges, and I will give the order—”

Captain Duprey held up a hand to stop him as he gazed again into those soft, pleading blue-green eyes. “Madame Beauchamp iz right!” he defended gallantly. “No man should be bound in iron chains. With ze salt, zey rot ze skin and it takes weeks to heal.”

Seizing Shanna's small hand impulsively, the Frenchman pressed a kiss to it fervently. “I go at your bidding, madame,” he murmured and dashed away like one on a dire errand.

Ralston snorted his disgust but knew he had lost He spun on his heels and stalked away.

Content with her victory, Shanna watched him go, a self-satisfied smile curving her lovely lips. But realizing she now stood alone on the dock, she lifted her skirts and began to hurry toward the ship. Heavy footsteps followed her and, pausing with pounding heart, she found Pitney close behind her. There was, after all, no cause to
fear, but it was the slow, amused grin spreading across the man's lips as he stared after Ralston that gave her cause to puzzle.

Well before dawn Shanna was awakened by the chant of voices from the main deck. Still drowsy with slumber, she raised her head from the pillow but could see no light of morning through the thick, small windows in the cabin. More shouts from above told her the ship was being winched out on her anchor chain into the main stream of the Thames. With a slight rocking motion, the vessel rode free and then steadied as the sails were spread to catch the early offshore breezes. With the gentle swaying of the ship, Shanna was soon snuggled deep within the downy folds of sleep.

The first night underway Madam Beauchamp was formally invited to share the captain's table with several of his officers and Ralston. Through the following weeks it became the routine and most often the high spot of the day. It broke the monotony of the voyage whenever the group gathered to partake of the evening's repast, share a glass of wine or two from the fine and varied stock, and engage in light repartee. The French cook was a man of considerable talent, and the meals were provided with a pleasant note of decorum, for a young cabin boy, garbed in spotless white, served the table. Having been acquainted with the captain and his officers for several years, Shanna enjoyed the hour and displayed her most gay and charming wit beneath their chivalrous attentions. Ralston, however, was inclined to join these affairs with reluctance. He might not have at all, but his only other options were to dine with the crew or alone on the deck. Sourly he grumbled at the richness of the fare and had the brashness to comment after a full seven courses had been served of especially delectable cuisine, and just when they were enjoying the “issue de la table” of crystallized fruit and sugared almonds, that he would have much preferred a good Welsh kidney stew. His remark was met with carefully blank stares from table mates.

It was the evening of the third Sunday out, after a fine sunny day. The brig heeled slightly alee, a steady breeze filling her sails, and showed a fine beam to the windward. Shanna but it was the slow, amused grin spreading across the man's lips as he stared after Ralston that gave her cause to puzzle.

Well before dawn Shanna was awakened by the chant of voices from the main deck. Still drowsy with slumber, she raised her head from the pillow but could see no light of morning through the thick, small windows in the cabin. More shouts from above told her the ship was being winched out on her anchor chain into the main stream of the Thames. With a slight rocking motion, the vessel rode free and then steadied as the sails were spread to catch the early offshore breezes. With the gentle swaying of the ship, Shanna was soon snuggled deep within the downy folds of sleep.

The first night underway Madam Beauchamp was formally invited to share the captain's table with several of his officers and Ralston. Through the following weeks it became the routine and most often the high spot of the day. It broke the monotony of the voyage whenever the group gathered to partake of the evening's repast, share a glass of wine or two from the fine and varied stock, and engage in light repartee. The French cook was a man of considerable talent, and the meals were provided with a pleasant note of decorum, for a young cabin boy, garbed in spotless white, served the table. Having been acquainted with the captain and his officers for several years, Shanna enjoyed the hour and displayed her most gay and charming wit beneath their chivalrous attentions. Ralston, however, was inclined to join these affairs with reluctance. He might not have at all, but his only other options were to dine with the crew or alone on the deck. Sourly he grumbled at the richness of the fare and had the brashness to comment after a full seven courses had been served of especially delectable cuisine, and just when they were enjoying the “issue de la table” of crystallized fruit and sugared almonds, that he would have much preferred a good Welsh kidney stew. His remark was met with carefully blank stares from table mates.

It was the evening of the third Sunday out, after a fine sunny day. The brig heeled slightly alee, a steady breeze filling her sails, and showed a fine beam to the windward.
Shanna was light of heart as she made her way to the captain's cabin for the customary evening dinner. With the little vessel pressing ever closer to her home, she tasted a growing anticipation. The sun was gone but had been replaced by a bright new moon as December was well upon them. The night air was balmy and warm, for they were near the southern climes.

From somewhere below deck a voice could be heard singing in a rich baritone. The tune was timed to mark the slow, gentle roll of the
Marguerite
as she skimmed along, treading the miles beneath her keel. The breezes would have snatched the words away, scattering them to the sea, but the haunting strains eluded the airy rushes of wind and drifted stirringly across the deck to Shanna. Wistfully she gazed toward the starlit sky as the melody invaded her mood, and she could almost imagine her own heart's love, faceless and nameless, calling to her as he came over the waters. Some strange quality in the voice held her enthralled with its magic, and she was bound in its spell as the words were crooned:

Vair me o' rovan o

Vair me o' rovan ee

Vair me a-ruo-ho

Sad am I without thee.

When I'm lonely, dear white heart

Black the night or wild the sea

By love's light my foot finds

The old pathway to thee.

Warm phantom arms crept about her, and Shanna closed her eyes with the ecstasy of it A hoarse whisper flitted through her mind, “Yield to me. Yield to me,” and her senses reeled in giddy delight. The vision stirred and broadened and became piercing amber eyes and a snarling sneer upon a handsome face. “Damn you deceiving little bitch!”

The illusion scattered, and Shanna's eyes flew open. With a gritted oath, she whirled and entered the passageway to the captain's cabin. At her sharp rap on the door,
it was quickly opened, and the swarthy man bowed a flamboyant greeting.

“Ahhh, Madame Beauchamp! You are too radiant for mere words,” Captain Duprey exclaimed. “I am your humble servant, madame, now and evermore. Come in. Come in.”

Forcing a smile, Shanna swept in. She paused in sharp surprise as she realized they were alone in the cabin but for the young boy who waited patiently to serve them.

“Is there no one else this evening?” she questioned in dismay.

Jean Duprey's eyes gleamed warmly as he fingered his dark mustache. “My officers have found duties to take zem elsewhere, Madame Beauchamp.”

“And Mister Ralston?” Shanna raised a quizzical brow in annoyance, wondering what errand the captain could send him on.

“Ah—he—” Jean Duprey chuckled and shrugged. “He found ze crew was taking salt beef and beans and convinced ze cook to have a plate of it sent to him. Thus it is, madame—ah—” He seemed to stumble over her name then continued cajolingly as he tried to take her hand. “May I address you by your given name—Shanna?”

With something of a pained smile, Shanna firmly withdrew from him. She was somewhat curious as to what Madame Duprey thought of her husband's amorous bent and his apparent impartial fondness for women. Inclined to leave the harsh discipline at that woman's door instead of causing an embarrassing scene, Shanna was lenient with the man and spoke with quiet grace.

“Captain Duprey, I knew my husband for only a short time, and he was taken from me not a month ago. I find the use of that familiarity too painful. Pray forgive me. I came here to seek the companionship of many and thus mask my sorrow. I beg you indulge my mourning. His was a stirring manner, and you have awakened memories of fond moments we shared, brief though they were. If you'll excuse me this evening, sir, I must seek solace somewhere else.”

Jean made as if to follow, but Shanna put up a soft, white hand to halt him.

“Nay, captain. There is a time even for loneliness.” Her voice quivered sadly while the aroma in the room reminded her of her hunger. “But there is one thing—”

Captain Duprey nodded eagerly, anxious to please her. “Could you send a small plate of whatever fare there is to my cabin later? I will no doubt be able to endure the sight of food by then.”

She swept into a delightful curtsy, and when she straightened, the corners of her lovely lips smiled upward mischievously.

“Remember me to your wife when we reach Los Camellos, captain.”

Before he could gather his wits, Shanna fled and slammed the door behind her. The sound of her hurrying footsteps echoed in the stillness of the passageway, but she breathed a sign of relief only when she was again on deck and could see Pitney. He was partaking of a goodly portion of salt beef, sea biscuits and beans. As she came from the companionway, he glanced up from his plate, studied her for a moment, then nodded, needing no explanation to realize her reason for fleeing the captain's cabin. Jean Duprey's infatuation with women was hardly a secret among the men on Los Camellos.

Thoughtfully Shanna strolled across the deck to the leeward side of the vessel. The white clouds took on dark shadows with silver edges as they passed between the high moon and the gently rolling sea. The light breezes touched Shanna. The night was still but for the gurgle of water passing beneath the hull and the creak of rigging and masts. The ship seemed to play a song of its own, a rhythmic whisper of sound that matched the gentle rise and fall of the hull as it took the sea beneath its heels.

Venting a long sigh, Shanna turned away from the rail. For all of her earlier jubilance, she felt pensive and lonely now, as if the night had lost its savor. The voice, wandering up from below decks, had snatched her happiness, and she could only wonder what it would have been like to share a marriage bed for a full, long night.

I
T WAS AS IF
a tall, billowing cloud had given birth to a spot of emerald green. Several low hills crowded close upon a buff strand of beach which separated the living green from the tumbling surf that licked the naked shore with white-crested tongues of foam. The deep blue of the open sea gave way in the shallows near the island to a brilliant iridescent green that matched the shade of Shanna's eyes.

The
Marguerite
came from beneath her own cloud, and her sun-bleached sails gleamed white in the brightness of the day. A puff of smoke drifted from the peak of the tallest hill on Los Camellos, and some moments later the dull boom of the signal gun reached them. The brig moved closer to her goal. Long verdant arms could be seen encircling a spacious cove, in the nape of which lay the sparkling whitewashed buildings of the village, Georgiana. A darker hue in the waters marked the open channel of approach straight between those arms to the harbor the hamlet served.

There were few on the island who did not drop whatever they were doing at the sound of the cannon and rush to the dock to greet the new arrival. There would be trinkets to exchange, special favors long awaited and, more importantly, the latest news and gossip from the world at large. Orlan Trahern himself was still much the merchant rather than planter, and it was a dire chore indeed that could stay the squire from mounting to his carriage and coming down to see how fortune favored him. If it was a strange vessel, there would be dickering and bargaining which he welcomed for the challenge and played as if it were a game.

Impatiently Shanna waited as the sails were dropped and the
Marguerite
coasted to an easy berth at the pier.
Several other ships in the harbor were withdrawn from the dock and anchored aside. Through the winter months the larger ones would be careened and repaired, while smaller ones would ply the islands south and west, trading the goods of the Continent for the raw material of the Caribbean.

The gangplank thudded down as the hawses were winched snug. Shanna's heart nearly soared as high as the sea gulls cavorting overhead, and eagerly her eyes searched the crowd gathering below for the familiar face of her father.

Pitney appeared at her side, two of her lesser trunks tucked beneath his arms, and trailed behind as she descended. As Shanna stepped from the plank, Captain Duprey was there to offer his assistance, having made sure his wife was nowhere in the crowd. His dark eyes begged for some show of warmth in the exquisite oval face, but he was much disappointed, for Shanna hardly noticed him in her haste to be off the ship. As if he were only a servant fit for menial tasks, she thrust a frilly parasol into his hand and glanced anxiously about Beyond the throng Trahern's open barouche stood empty. But then the crowd separated as the squire came forward, almost hurrying to meet her. A wide grin parted his lips as he saw her, but he quickly squelched that show of pleasure.

Orlan Trahern was slightly shorter than the men around him, but his shoulders were broad, and his body was square. He moved with a deliberate stride, his weight carried easily, for though he was wide of girth there was a great strength in him. Shanna had seen him best Pitney in an arm wrestle for a mug of ale. When stirred to laughter, his whole frame would shake, though the mirth itself would be muted.

With a glad cry Shanna flew to her father and threw her arms about his stout neck. For a brief moment Trahern's arms encircled her slim waist, then he thrust her gently away to lean on his long, gnarled walking stick and give her a sober perusal. With a clear, tinkling laugh Shanna raised her wide skirts of pale blue lawn, danced in a slow circle before him, and then faced him again with a low curtsy.

“Your servant, squire.”

“Aye, daughter.” He pursed his lips and contemplated her as if seeing her anew. “ 'Twould seem you've outdone yourself and grown even more beautiful in the year past.”

He half turned, settling onto his head the broad, lowcrown hat he affected as his eyes fixed on Captain Duprey.

“And as ever you have men trailing after you to do your favors.”

Jean Duprey shifted the parasol in his hands as if he would have liked to find someplace to throw it but then finally handed it back to Shanna. Making the excuse of seeing to his ship, he rapidly retreated before Squire Trahern's amused countenance.

“Have you become more tolerant of hardships, girl? I would not have guessed it in you to lower yourself to travel on such a humble vessel. Tis more your wont to enjoy the luxuries of life.”

“Now, papa,” Shanna beamed. “Be kind. I was anxious to be home. Will you deny that you're happy to see me?”

Orlan Trahern cleared his throat sharply then peered at Pitney who seemed to be having trouble maintaining a sober face. The squire thrust out his hand to the man as the trunks were set to the ground.

“Aye, you're fit,” Trahern nodded. “No worse the wear for escorting this lass about for a year. Twas oft I questioned my judgment in just sending Ralston to guide you both, but you're here safe, and I suppose that nothing unduly disastrous has happened.”

Nervously Shanna opened her parasol and, twirling it above her head, managed a brilliant smile for her father.

“Come along, daughter,” he half ordered. “The noon hour is at hand, and we shall share a bite together while you give me news.”

Orlan clapped Pitney upon the back.

“You'll be wanting to see yourself home I would guess. Cool your ale, and I'll be along later to best you in a game of chess. Let me get this twit settled properly first.”

The squire led his daughter along without fanfare though the people closed around them to shout greetings to Shanna and thrust out hands in welcome. Word
had been passed with the first sight of her, and even now stragglers joined the edge of the crowd. In sheer enjoyment Shanna laughed as old friends and favored ones pressed forward. Women from the village jostled close if only to stare at her gown and coiffure, seeing there the latest of fashions, while children fought to touch a finger to the hem of her skirt. Men were present as well, but those not familiar with Trahern's daughter were given to hanging back to stare in awe at her fabled beauty. It was slow passage but filled with excitement and the renewal of fond acquaintances.

Assisted by her father Shanna mounted the carriage at last, and the barouche moved briskly away from the dock. Shanna leaned back, watching the familiar houses and trees roll by. Inwardly she braced herself for that which she knew would come. They were clear of the village and well on the road to the manor when Trahern, without glancing at her, broached the subject His voice was so abrupt it gave her a small start.

“Have ye had enough of thither and yondering, daughter, or have you set your heart upon a husband?”

His brawny hand lay firm upon his stout knee, and it was there Shanna placed her own so the plain gold band on her finger was ready to the eye.

“You may call me Madam Beauchamp, papa, if not by my given name.” Her eyelids fluttered downward, and she ventured a peep at him from their corners. “But alas,” she let sadness creep into her voice, “there is also something I must tell you that is most distressing.”

Shanna felt strange in her tale, for his eyes, the same shade as her own, turned in silent question to her. Unable to meet them, she averted her face. Tears came, though much in part from shame at her deceit.

“A man I met, most gallant, most handsome—we wed.” She swallowed hard as the lie grew more bitter on her tongue. “After one brief night of bliss.”—she dissolved in grief for a moment and then forced herself to continue—“he stepped from our carriage and turned his foot upon a stone. Before the surgeons could do aught, he died.”

Orlan Trahern slammed his staff against the floor of the barouche with an unworded curse.

“Oh, papa,” Shanna sobbed tearfully. “I was so late a beloved bride and so soon a widow.”

With a snort Trahern turned from her and sat quietly staring off into the distance, deep in thought The welltraveled road passed between thick groves of palms and stretched into the sunlight again. The daughter quieted her weeping and, for the most part holding her peace, gave only an occasional sniffle until they reached the sprawling white mansion. Riotous colors flooded the lawn as poincianas unfolded their scarlet blooms, and clusters of fuchsia frangipani graced the air with sweet scent. The neatly clipped lawn spread as far as the eye could see, broken at regular intervals by the great trunks of towering trees that spread thick foliage high at their tops. Only rare shafts of sunlight pierced the crowns, dappling the wide porticos that stretched endlessly along the front and wings of the mansion. Covered archways of whitewashed brick shaded the raised veranda bordering the house on the main floor, while on the second story ornate wooden posts lined the long porch with sections of lattice-work, lending privacy to the separate chambers. The mansion was weighted down by a steep-pitched roof bedecked with dormers. French doors were an easy access to the porches from most any room in the great house, and the small, square panes of crystal within the doors sparkled with the mottled light, showing the care and attention of many servants.

Trahern sat silent, unmoving as the barouche halted, and Shanna glanced at him with a certain amount of trepidation, not willing to break his mood. She made her own way from the carriage and up the wide steps to the broad veranda, there pausing uncertainly to glance back. Her father sat still, but his head turned and he stared at her, his brow heavily furrowed in thought Laboriously he rose, stepped down, then slowly climbed the stairs as if his cane were leading him by the hand. Shanna went ahead to the front door and opened it, waiting for him. Several paces away he stopped and peered at her again. The wonderment left his face and slowly was replaced by rage. Suddenly he raised the stick high over his head and threw it flat upon the porch.

“Dammit, gir!”

The door slammed shut as Shanna's hand flew to her throat, and she shrank away from him, eyes wide with fear.

“Do you take so little care of your men?” he roared. “I would have at least seen the lad!” In a slightly lower tone he inquired, “Could you not keep him alive 'til you got with babe?”

In some awe of her father, Shanna replied softly. “There is still that chance, papa. We did spend our wedding night—together. 'Twas only a week before we sailed, and I know not—”

She blushed slightly at the lie, for she was as certain now as a woman could be that she bore no seed of Ruark's in her belly.

“Bah!” Trahern snorted and stomped past her, leaving his cane where it lay and letting the door slam again behind him.

Meekly Shanna retrieved the stick and followed her father into the house. She paused a moment in the entrance hall as all the memories of her years in the manor came flooding back with a rush. She could almost imagine herself a child again, squealing with excitement as she raced down the staircase that seemed to curve around on itself and encircle the long, crystal chandelier suspended from the lofty ceiling. The shimmering prisms that set the hall aglow with myriad dancing rainbows had always been a source of fascination for her. And she could well remember scooting on all fours upon the marble floor as she searched around the large and lavish ever present ferns and greenery that bedecked the room for the small, darting kitten Pitney had given her, or when she stared up in awe at the portrait of her mother which hung near the drawing room door, or squirmed with girlish impatience upon the large carved chest which sat below it while she waited for her father to return from a tour of his fields.

Now as a woman Shanna saw the bleached woodwork of the balustrade and the carved panels of the French doors, which led to other rooms off the entranceway gleaming with touches of gilt. Here and throughout the house, furniture of the French Régence style was in abundance. Rich Aubusson carpets, rugs from Persia,
laquers, jade and ivory from the Orient, marbles from Italy, and other treasured pieces from around the world tastefully embellished the rooms.

Long hallways jutted in opposite directions from the spacious foyer, leading into the wings. To the left were her father's large chambers including the library and study where he worked, a sitting room, his bedchamber, and a room in which he bathed and dressed with the assistance of a valet.

Shanna's own chambers were up the curving stairs and to the right, well away from the squire's quarters There, before gaining the sleeping chamber, one had to pass through her sitting room, where walls of soft cream moire complemented the subtle hues of brown, mauve, and vibrant turquoise of the chairs and settee. A luxurious Aubusson carpet combined all the colors in an ornate pattern. Rich mauve silk covered the walls of her bedroom. On the floor was spread a carpet of brown and mauve. A pale pink silk canopy hung from the large tester bed, while a brown watered silk chaise waited to be reclined upon.

The memories dissipated as her father glared back over his shoulder at her. Grumbling beneath his breath, he turned back and bellowed up the stairs, setting the crystal chandelier gently atremble above the foyer.

“Berta!”

The answer was immediate. “Yah! Yah! I come!”

The housekeeper's light clogs beat a rapid tattoo on the circular stairway, betraying her haste. She came in view, breathless and rosy-cheeked. The Dutch woman barely topped Shanna's shoulder and was plump and round with a fair complexion. She never seemed to move at less than a trot, and her feather duster was always tucked into her long apron's pocket. It was mainly through her efforts and her charge over the servants that the mansion was kept spotlessly clean.

Berta paused a long pace from Shanna, staring at her in awed wonder. After Georgiana's death the housekeeper had taken over in her firm Dutch manner and had on more than one occasion watched tearfully from the door as her protégée departed for Europe. Though it had only been a year, the girl had still been much of a child when she had
left home, but now she stood regal, self-assured, poised—a graceful young woman of stunning beauty. Thus it was that the old servant was not quite sure how to approach her. It was Shanna who solved the dilemma. She flung her arms wide, and in the next second the two were clasped together, sharing tears of joy as kisses were exchanged and cheeks were pressed lovingly together. Finally Berta stood away.