Shanna (15 page)

It was not long before his skills in engineering were known upon the island, and the overseers passed him
around so that he might solve their problems. Sometimes the duty was easy, sometimes difficult, and as with the burning of the fields there was much reluctance, and he had to prove his ideas. Still, he progressed. His pay was doubled, then tripled. His possessions increased by one mule rendered him by a village merchant for labors performed in his spare time.

Above all of his other talents, he had a special knack for horses, and the spirited stallion, Attila, was brought to him lame, suffering from a pulled tendon in the foreleg. When it was made known to John Ruark that this was the favored steed of Trahern's daughter, he tended it carefully, rubbing liniment into the injured leg and tightly wrapping it. Patiently he walked it and coddled it until the fine animal would take sugar from his hand, something not even the young mistress could get the horse to do. He taught it to come at his whistle and then, pronouncing it fit, sent it back to the lady.

For Shanna, her return was most welcome. She spent the days in riding her horse or swimming in the crystal sea, diving beneath its surface and on occasion spearing an edible fish or two to add to the fare at the table. She renewed her friendship with the people of Los Camellos and saw to the welfare of needy families. It was among her larger worries that in the past years they had been unable to find a tutor for the children, and the small school which her father had built stood empty. For the most part, her days formed into a lazy idyllic thread, like pearls on a string. Other ships stopped at Los Camellos for trade, and their officers usually dined at the manor, giving Shanna an excuse to gown herself appropriately and entertain them with her effervescent wit. She was mistress of the island, daughter of Trahern, and it was almost labor to constantly remind everyone that she was now Madam Beauchamp. It was a happy time for her, an interlude of bliss with enough duty entwined with pleasure to keep her from becoming bored with either. The haunting memories that had plagued her were becoming subdued at last.

February was well on its way, and it was on a Friday afternoon that she called for Attila and set out upon a lazy tour. She had taken the middle road up between the hills near the cane fields, much too close to the gangs of
men her father had often warned her were dangerous—though few on Los Camellos woud ever harm the daughter of Trahern. Yet it was not wise to tempt fate, and here in the cane fields the gangs of bondsmen worked day in and day out Still, Shanna was one to venture where she would with little thought of the consequences. It was a hot day, and Attila's hooves raised small clouds of dust which floated lazily above the surface of the road. Having passed between the hills, she was headed down the southern slope when she came upon a man leading a mule along the side of the road. He was a bondsman by his garb, though that had been oddly altered. He wore the familiar wide-brimmed hat, and his shirt was thrown over the mule's back, but his breeches were hacked off high above his knees. His back was well bronzed, and the muscles rippling there showed a ready, capable strength.

Attila snorted and shook his head. Shanna would have reined the animal away to give the man wide berth, but as she passed by the bondsman, a tan arm shot out and firmly grasped the bridle of her steed. On any other occasion the stallion would have revolted and jerked away from unfamiliar restraint, but Attila only whinnied as he nudged the outstretched arm. For a moment, stunned by the steed's reaction, Shanna could only stare wide-eyed as the horse nuzzled the fellow. Then gathering her wits, she glared down at this incursion of her freedom. She opened her mouth to demand her release. The man turned, and her ire fled. Her jaw dropped as overwhelming disbelief numbed her brain.

“You!” she choked out.

Mocking amber eyes gazed back at her. “Aye, Shanna. Tis the good man, John Ruark, at your service. Twould seem you have gained a name, my love, while I have lost one.” He grinned confidently. “But then, 'tis not oft a man can cheat both the hangman and his wife.”

Some sanity returned to Shanna, but panic was heavily mixed with it.

“Let go!” she snapped and jerked the bridle. She would have fled, but Ruark's weight held the stallion in place. Her voice broke with the fear she felt. “Let go!”

“Easy, my love.” The golden eyes glinted like hard metal. “We have a matter to discuss.”

“Nay!” She half screeched, half sobbed the word. She lifted the quirt in her hand as if to strike but found it snatched from her fingers and her wrist seized in a merciless grip.

“By God, madam,” he growled. “You will listen.”

His hands clamped tightly about her narrow waist, and she was seized from the saddle as if she were a child and was set on her feet before him. Frantically Shanna struggled, her small, gloved hands pushing against the dark, furred chest that seemed to fill her whole entire vision. He gave her a rough shake that threatened to snap her head off and did, indeed, send her wide-brimmed hat sailing off into the grass and the neat roll of gilded hair tumbling down her back in a torrent. Shanna stilled, staring helplessly into his scathing eyes.

“That's better,” Ruark jeered and loosened his painful grip only slightly. “You are not so haughty when you fear.”

Shanna summoned a show of weak bravado and lifted her quivering chin. “Do you think I'm afraid of you?”

The white teeth flashed against his bronze skin as he laughed at her, and Shanna could only mark the resemblance he bore to a swarthy pirate. The pallor of the gaol had faded, and in its stead the brown skin gleamed with the healthy sweat of one who now enjoyed his freedom.

“Aye, my loving wife,” he mocked. “And perhaps you have cause. Hicks vowed me mad after you betrayed me, and well I was with a devil's desire to have revenge upon my beauteous spouse.”

The color drained from Shanna's cheeks as his words brought back the memory of what Pitney had said. With a choked sob she renewed her efforts to escape, then writhed in silent agony as his fingers clenched again in a cruel vise.

“Be still,” Ruark commanded, and Shanna had no choice. She was far from subdued, though she still trembled violently with fright.

“If you don't turn me loose I'll scream until they hang you! And for good this time! Damn it! I'll bring this island down around your ears!”

“Will you, my dear?” he lightly taunted. “And what will your father say of your marriage then?”

Pricked by his scorn, she was reckless and sneered, “Then what do you intend? Rape?”

Ruark laughed caustically. “Do not fear, Shanna. I have no urge to tumble you among the weeds.”

She was bemused. What did he want? Could she buy him off?

As if he read her mind, Ruark set the question straight. “And I want none of your father's wealth, so if you think to bribe me, your efforts are wasted.”

He raised a dark brow and considered her flushed cheeks and the soft, trembling mouth. His gaze moved even lower and surveyed her heaving bosom, until Shanna wondered wildly if he could see through her riding habit Beneath his steady regard, her breasts burned, and she could not control her rapid breathing. Feebly she crossed her arms before her as if naked beneath that stare. Ruark smiled evilly and gazed again into her eyes.

“In the gaol my mind was tortured by your beauty, and I could not forget even the smallest detail of you in my arms. That image was seared upon my memory as if you had branded me.”

He stared at her for a long time with a half-mad light in his eyes that made her doubt her own sanity at ever having sought him out. Then he smiled and became more gentle.

“I will yet find a way to reach among the thorns and pluck the rose,” he vowed.

His hand wandered up her back beneath the silken tresses and fingered them lightly. His smile broadened into a rakish grin, more like the Ruark she had known in the coach. It suddenly penetrated that he was not mad, but instead, was bent on revenge.

“ 'Tis not in my mind to let your secret out, Shanna, but I gave to the bargain all that you demanded. The only thing left wanting is your part of the agreement, and my dear, I shan't rest 'til I see it done.”

Shanna's mind flew aimlessly in ever-widening circles. “No bargain!” she cried, straining against him. “No bargain! You are not dead!”

“The bargain is met!” he snarled. “You have my name and all you desired. Tis no fault of mine that Hicks is greedy. But I seek the full cost of my barter, a whole
night with you as my wife, alone, and with no one to snatch open the door to drag me out” He leered down at her. “I think you might enjoy it as well.”

“Nay,” Shanna whispered, shamed by the memory of her own response. “The marriage was consummated. Be content with that.”

Ruark chuckled derisively. “If you're not woman enough to know, my darling innocence, we had barely begun and 'twas not completed by any means. A full night, no less, Shanna. That is my end!”

It was best to humor him, she thought, at least until she was able to escape, and then Pitney…

Ruark's eyes narrowed in warning. “Though your womanhood is sorely lacking, Shanna. I have bested the hangman to find you out. Should you set the hounds or that great oaf Pitney or your father after me, I shall escape them all. And I promise you I will come and claim my due. And now, my loving wife—”

His hands dropped away, and he reached for Attila's bridle, bringing the horse around. Bending, he folded his hands for her to step, and Shanna, eager to be gone, did not hesitate. With a hand upon his sturdy shoulder she sprang upward, lifted by his boost, and settled upon the saddle. A gasp caught in her throat as his hand reached toward her and very boldly led her knee around the horn. Snatching the reins, Shanna jerked Attila around and set her heel to his side until the stallion fairly flew along the road. Ruark's low, mocking laughter rang in her ears long after she had left his sight.

In front of the white sprawling mansion, Shanna pulled the steed to a halt and flung herself from its back, leaving a servant to chase it down the lane in order to catch it. Racing past Berta—who paused to gape in surprise—Shanna plunged up the curving stairway and slammed the door of her sitting room behind her. She locked it quickly against any intrusion and leaned against it, panting for breath.

“He's alive!” she gasped. She threw her riding gloves down upon the tall secretary and stormed toward her bedchamber. She left her boots and riding habit in a careless heap upon the rich carpet In the light chemise, she paced angrily.

“He's alive!” she raged. “He's alive”

There was a dread, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, yet near her heart, pounding heavily beneath her breast, there bloomed an odd sense of elation, even freedom. Beneath her swirling thoughts, it occurred to her that she had felt bound by the death of a man for her own gain. A recurring dream of that sturdy neck twisted by a rope was cleansed from her mind, and a vision of a rotting corpse in a wooden box disappeared, never to be recalled.

“But how? I saw him buried. How—could—this—be?”

Her fine brow showing a puzzled frown, she walked about her chamber and considered this more deeply.

Bondsman? Ralston was responsible for all bondslaves coming to Los Camellos. But how did Ruark come? The
Hampstead?
Nay, there were no bondsmen sailing on it. Only the
Marguerite!

Good lord! Right beneath her nose!

Hysterical laughter threatened, and she flung herself back across the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes as if to shut out the vision of those smirking amber eyes.

S
HANNA STAYED AWAY
from the hills and the plateau on the south side of the island. When bondsmen were brought in from the fields, she made it a point to be elsewhere. Whenever she rode Attila, she was careful to stay close to the village or the grounds of the manor. But as she saw no more of Ruark, her apprehensions eased.

Nearly a fortnight had passed when her father urged her to take a ride with him in his carriage, since he had some business in the high cane fields.

“We'll take a basket of food along,” he said, looking at her and almost smiling. “Your mother and I—we would all go on an outing. You used to love to chew on a stick of cane.”

Growing uneasy at his own nostalgia, Orlan Trahern cleared his throat sharply.

“Come along, girl. I haven't all day, and the carriage is waiting.”

Shanna could not refuse him and smiled at his suddenly brusque manner. In the barouche and upon the road, she considered her father. Since her return he had become more tractable. Or was it herself? When he was wont to rave on some minor point, she no longer challenged him or argued with his idea, but rather let him rave on until he had worn his ire thin; then, smiling and gentle, she would calmly agree, or disagree as might be the case, firmly but without the open antagonism of before. And he would snort and carp a bit if she stood against him or smirk and preen if she were with him. She could almost say he valued her opinion and recognized that often she held more insight than he did.

The air in the hills was cooler, the breezes refreshing. Patiently Shanna waited when the carriage paused here and there while her father talked with overseers or left for a
moment to see to some trifling matter. They stopped to eat and then resumed riding. They came onto a large cleared field in the center of which a strange wagon was being drawn at a slow pace by mules. A wide cloth shade spread out on either side of the wagon like the wings of a bird, and beneath it a file of men with bags of seed and long sticks walked along poking holes and dropping the seeds into them, pressing the dirt back over them with their bare feet.

In alert attention, Trahern sat forward in his seat and stared past his daughter at the odd contraption. He waited eagerly for the overseer, who was hurrying to the carriage.

“Aye, sir, he's a smart one that,” the overseer answered her father's question. “We cleared the field in record time, just cut out the big trees and burned the rest He said the ashes 'ud sweeten the soil. And then, that thing ye see there. Why, a man would have to take a bag o' seed from the shed, an' 'fore an hour were passed he'd be back for more seed, to take a rest and a drink. That 'ere tarp gives 'em shade, and the wagon has seed and water, so we got the field almost planted. Cleared and planted in a week. That's good, ain' it, squire?”

“Aye,” Trahern agreed. He paused for a long time, observing the progress of the planting. Shanna saw that one man stood apart from the rest and did not labor as the others. His back was bare and though it was turned toward them, there was something oddly familiar about him.

Trahern spoke to the overseer. “And you say this fellow, John Ruark, it was all his idea?”

Shanna's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment the world seemed to stand on end. Of course it was him! Those shortened breeches!

The world was steady again, and she drew air in her lungs and calmed her trembling body, eyeing him surreptitiously. As he walked slowly along inspecting the results, sweat glistened on the firm muscles of his back, and his long, brown legs were straight and strong…She could almost feel again the bold thrust of him between her thighs and blushed profusely at her own musings. Leaning across, she plucked at her father's sleeve.

“Papa,” she pleaded. “I've been too long in the sun, and my head aches. Can we go back now?”

“In a moment, Shanna. I want to talk with that man.”

Her heart thumped in her throat She could not bear to meet Ruark face to face. Not here! Not now! Not with her father

“I'm terribly sorry, papa, but I feel most ill. A trifle dizzy. Can we please go?” she urged in desperation.

Trahern regarded his daughter for a moment in concern and then relented to her request.

“Very well. I can see him later. Well go.”

He spoke to his black driver, Maddock, and the carriage wheeled about, setting off on the route to the manor. Giving a long sigh, Shanna leaned back and closed her eyes as relief flooded over her. But when she opened them again, she found her father staring at her with an odd half smile on his lips. His gaze was steady, and she grew uneasy under it then began to squirm.

“Can it be, Shanna, that you are with child?” he questioned softly.

“Nay!” she blurted out. “I mean, I think not I mean, the time was so brief. We barely—” She clamped her mouth shut.

“You mean you don't know?” Trahern snorted. “'Tis been time enough. Surely you know about these things.”

“I—think not, papa,” Shanna replied and read the disappointment in his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

She gazed down at her tightly clenched hands as Trahern stared straight ahead, uttering no further words the entire way home.

Berta met them at the door. Her quizzical glance swept them both briefly and then settled on Shanna. Having had her fill of questions for the day, Shanna brushed by the housekeeper and quickly mounted the stairs to her chambers. This time she had the presence of mind to put away her clothes as was her manner, and, clad only in a light shift, she fell across her bed and stared at the treetops beyond her balcony. The French doors were set ajar to catch the cooling afternoon breezes, and an airy rush stirred the filmy silk tied to the heavy canopy over her bed. The sweet scent of the flowering vine twining over the railing swept across the veranda and filled her room
with its heady fragrance and Shanna stared-and she stared—and she stared.

Some time later Berta's knock sounded on the door. She announced the evening meal, and Shanna pleaded illness as an excuse. The sunset faded into darkness, and again Berta gave a gentle rap upon her door. This time Berta would not be put off and insisted that Shanna open the door. Admitted at last, the kindly old woman brought to the bedside a tray with a covered plate of meats and a large glass of cool milk.

“It vill settle your stomach, Shanna,” Berta urged. “Is dere something else I can get you?”

Shanna's insistence that it was only a bit too much of the sun left Berta clucking her tongue and mumbling about the carelessness of “dis new cheneration” as she returned to the stairs.

Shanna nibbled at the food and sipped the cool milk. Becoming drowsy, she donned her shortened nightshift and slipped between the silken sheets. She was half asleep when somewhere in her mind came a memory of hands cupping her breasts and a mouth, hot and sweet, caressing the softness of them, kisses bruising her lips and searing downward the length of her throat, strong arms crushing her against a hard body, again that first burning thrust and then—

With a burst of fear Shanna came wide awake and then slowly eased back upon her pillow as she realized she was alone in the room. The familiar shadows stalked across her walls, but there was no help for the hollow ache within her. She drew a pillow close and nestled against it. Was it another trick of her mind when, just before deep sleep took her, she felt the hard muscles of a man's back beneath her fingers?

Morning gave her no answer. The pillow was just a pillow. But the night's sleep had done wonders. She rose, bathed, and donned a cool gown of pale turquoise, standing still as Hergus laced her narrow waist tightly. With its square décolletage, the garment displayed the higher curves of her round breasts. She considered her reflection in the tall looking glass and idly smoothed her hair, which was swept tightly from her brow and caught in a mass of cascading ringlets. A petulant scowl puckered her brow
as Ruark's taunting words seared through her brain. Womanhood lacking? How so? Where does he find me lacking? In looks? In stature? In wit? Where? A reply was not to be gained from the mirror, and Shanna left her chambers to join her father in a late breakfast as had become their habit since her return.

It was Orlan Trahern's custom to be up at daybreak, but most often now, unless there was other business pressing, he waited his morning meal upon Shanna's company. It was usually a pleasant time, though few words were spoken. But as she descended the stairs this morning, Shanna heard voices from the dining room. It was certainly not out of the ordinary for the squire to entertain at the morning meal, and business was generally the topic. But somewhat wary of who visited, Shanna made her way more cautiously. It was Berta who forced the issue.

“Goot morgen, Shanna,” the housekeeper greeted brightly. “Ya're feeling better today?”

Then her father's voice came through the open door.

“Here she is. My daughter, Shanna.”

A chair creaked, and in a moment Trahern's great hulk filled the doorway as he came to greet her. Taking her arm, he led her toward the fresh airy room where white lattice screens allowed breezes to flow through the windows while filtering out the sun and its heat.

“I'm sorry, child, but I wanted to speak with this man,” the squire apologized as he escorted her in.

Shanna halted suddenly as she saw the one mentioned, and she snatched her hand from her father's arm. The color fled her cheeks, and her lips parted in surprise. Trahern returned to lift her hand again and consider her with a worried frown. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he spoke to her.

“Aye, a bondslave.” His tone was reproaching. “But I think 'tis not beneath us to share a table with him. If you would be the mistress of this house, be a gracious one and greet all I summon here as my guest.”

“Come now, Shanna,” he continued more loudly, tucking her hand in his elbow and patting it gently. “Meet Mister Ruark, John Ruark it be, a man of some learning
and of a good mind. He has done us well, and I must consider his advice on some matters.”

John Ruark rose to his feet and amber eyes smiled at her, touching her everywhere when Trahern turned to have a word with Berta. The blush returned quickly to Shanna's cheeks, mounting high as she experienced again that sensation of being stripped naked by his golden gaze. She mumbled inanely through a greeting while her own regard passed disdainfully over the short breeches. They were clean, but no less objectionable to her state of mind. However, she was thankful for the fact that he had at least donned a shirt. With the straw hat put aside, she noticed for the first time that his hair had been clipped close to the nape. Short heavy wisps curled slightly about his face, accentuating the lean, handsome features. The mocking grin gleamed with startling whiteness against his sun-darkened skin. Grudgingly Shanna admitted to herself that his being a bondslave didn't appear to have done him ill. Indeed, there was a health and vitality about him that was almost mesmerizing. In all, he was even more handsome than on their wedding day.

“My pleasure, madam,” he answered warmly.

Shanna gritted out a menacing smile. “John Ruark, did you say? I knew of some Ruarks in England. Scurvy bunch they were, murderers and cutthroats. Filthy wretches. Are you perchance related, sir?”

The sweetness of her tone did not hide the sneer she intended. He met it with a flicker of amusement showing upon his lips, but Trahern harrumphed sharply and gave her a warning glare.

“You must forgive me, Mister Ruark. Tis not oft I find myself entertaining a slave.”

“Shanna.” Her father's tone was low but challenging.

If only a trifle, Shanna did relent and slipped into her chair. Ignoring Ruark as he settled again in the place across from her, she turned to the small, elderly, gray-haired black who waited to serve her. She bestowed her best smile upon him.

“Good morning, Milan,” she said cheerily. “Another bright day we'll be having, don't you agree?”

“Yes ma'am,” he beamed. “Bright and shiny, jest like yourself, Miz Shanna.

“And what might you be having this morning? I've a juicy melon saved for you.”

“That would be nice,” she smiled.

As he set a cup of tea before her and moved away to the sideboard, Shanna dared to meet the amused regard of Ruark across the table.

While the men's conversation drifted across many topics, Shanna sipped her tea, listening quietly as Ruark expressed himself in bold opinions in response to the squire's questions. He quickly took up a quill and made sketches when needed. He acted not as a man who was a slave, but as one who was a valued peer. He leaned with the squire over stacks of drawings which covered their corner of the table and explained in detail the mechanical workings of designs. Shanna was anything but bored as she listened. She realized he was clever, as keen-minded as her father, and he seemed no stranger to the workings of a plantation. In fact, as the conversation progressed, it became evident he could teach his master much.

“Mister Ruark,” she interrupted in a pause as Milan refilled their cups. “What was your trade before you became a bondsman? Overseer, mayhap? You are from the colonies, are you not? What were you doing in England?”

“Horses—and other things, madam,” he drawled leisurely, a slow smile coming as he gave her his full attention. “I worked with horses quite a bit.”

Shanna frowned slightly as she pondered his reply. “Then you must be the one who tended my horse, Attila.” No wonder the stallion was not skittish of him. The wily beggar had taken care of him. “You mean you train horses? For what, sir? And why were you in England?”

“Mostly for riding, madam.” He shrugged. “And some enjoy the sport of racing their mounts. I went first to Scotland to select breeding stock.”

“Then you were trusted by your squire to know good blood stock when you see it?' she persisted.