Shanna (16 page)

“Aye, madam, and that I most certainly do.” The lights gleamed golden in his eyes as he lightly measured her form. The insinuation was clear. Her father's gaze remained on her, so he missed the slow perusal and the nod that followed it.

Squire Trahern sipped the tea, pursing his lips as he savored the spiced warmth of the brew. “I sent my daughter there on much the same mission, but she only returned as a widow with an empty cradle. I didn't even get to meet her young man and that eats at my heart. Having seen so many swains refused, I was in great suspense to see her final choice.”

Shanna spoke to her father, but her eyes were on Ruark, and she smiled behind her cup of tea. “There's little I can tell you of him, papa. But 'twas only fate that decreed I was not to bear his offspring. You see, Mister Ruark,” Shanna directed her remarks to him openly, “my father sent me to find a worthy husband who would sire sons for his dynasty. Such was not to be the way of it, despite my efforts. Yet I have no doubt that I shall find another man, perhaps more clever of foot so as to avoid the same end as he.”

She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly to emphasize her last words and stared straight into the amber eyes which dipped momentarily to acknowledge her riposte.

“In truth, Madam Beauchamp,” Ruark's tone showed concern and he spoke in earnest, “I can only agree that such a fine man could no doubt have made your life far richer. Still, I find that what is called fate oft has the workings of most worldly hands about it. Sometimes a whim or fancy, a base desire, can deny the bestlaid plans. My own case for example. Though I was in dire need, my best opportunity was denied by the very one who sought the bargain.”

“Aye, I have suffered much because of that one,” he continued musingly. “Yet justice, though oft delayed, will usually find its end. I have debts to pay, not the least of them to your father. Still, there are other debts owed me to which I look forward with great anticipation.”

Shanna recognized the threat in his statement and with some display of anger retorted, “Sir, I find your reference to justice ill-advised, for you are obviously the victim of it and are where you belong. My father may welcome your advice, but I find the presence of a half-naked savage at my breakfast odious!”

At her vindictive burst, the squire lowered his cup and stared at her, missing Ruark's leer which belied the soft
apology in his voice as he replied, “Madam, I can only hope you will change your mind.”

Daring no further words, but with turbulent emotions roiling within her and darkening the green of her eyes, Shanna came to her feet and stalked out of the room.

It was only after Ruark left that Shanna dared approach her father, and she did so apprehensively, for she could not name another bondsman who had gained the squire's interest as much as this colonial. Trahern was in his chamber study going over some accounts Ralston had prepared when Shanna strolled into the room, her hands folded behind her back and the look of angelic innocence on her face.

“Do you suppose we'll be having rain before the day is out, papa?” she inquired, staring out through the open French doors toward the dazzling blue sky. If any had taken serious note of her topics of conversation, they might have raised a question over her apparent concern with the weather this day.

Trahern grunted an answer, but his attention remained on the open pages of the account books. Deep in thought, he frowned and scanned the figures before him, hardly aware of his daughter taking the chair beside his desk.

“I wonder if Mrs. Hawkins might have caught some lobsters in her traps today. Perhaps I'll ask Milan if we might have them for dinner. Would you like that, papa?”

The squire cast a glance toward his daughter that barely acknowledged her presence and returned to his task. Shanna was not to be so easily dismissed. She leaned forward and peered over his arm at the work he was attempting to complete.

In a small voice, she inquired, “Am I interrupting anything, papa?”

With a sigh Trahern pushed back his chair and faced her, clasping his hands together over his paunch and nestling his head down between his shoulders like a wary hawk.

“I see I shall have no peace until we have discussed whatever you're here about. Get on with it, girl.”

Shanna smoothed her skirt and made a small shrug.

“Ah—this man, Ruark, father,” she began hesitantly,
unconsciously slipping into more formal address. “Is he really the sort to do any good here on Los Camellos? Can't we get rid of him some way? Trade him? Or sell his papers perhaps? Anything to get him off the island.”

Shanna paused and glanced up to see her father staring at her, his lips pursed as if he were lost in thought. Before he could answer, she rushed on.

“I mean, Mister Ruark seems so bold and arrogant for a bondsman. Indeed, it is as if he were more acquainted with being a master than a bondslave. And his clothes! Why, they're simply ghastly! I've never seen a man prance about half naked like that before. And he doesn't even care what people might say. And there's another thing. I've heard it rumored that most of the young girls in the village are simply agog over him. You'll probably be supporting several of his brats before the year is out”

“Huh,” Orlan Trahern grunted. “Perhaps we should geld the stud to protect the ladies of our fair paradise.”

“Good heavens, father!” Shanna rose to the bait like a half-starved flounder. “He's a man, not a beast! You cannot do that sort of thing.”

“Ah, I see.” Trahern's voice was slow and ponderous, and he rocked in the chair to emphasize his words. “A man! Not a beast! So fine of you to admit that, dear Shanna. So fine.”

Shanna almost relaxed back in her chair until she realized that her father's eyes were hooded, and his tone had been strangely flat, a sure sign of simmering anger in him. Her mind flew as she tried to recall what she had said, and her breath almost stopped as she braced for the approaching storm. She jumped as his hand slammed down onto the desk, quivering the quill in its well.

“By God, daughter. I'm glad you admit that!”

Trahern leaned forward, grasping the arms of the chair as if he would hurl himself from it.

“I own his papers, and he shall serve me as a slave 'til 'tis paid. I know not what his sin was, but I recognize that he has a good mind and indeed a deeper understanding of this plantation than I do. I may know markets and trading, but he knows men and how to get the best out of them. He has proven his worth to me in the short time he's been here, and I respect him more as a man than you ever
could. He is not a beast to be broken or trained to some simple task. He is a man to be worked and used where best he fits, and I will wager whatever you choose that he will pay for himself a hundred times over. To that point,“—he shuffled the papers on the desk, throwing one which was covered with sketches and figures into her lap—”he has suggested a large cane mill and a distillery combined which should increase both the syrup and rum production ten times or more. 'Twill take fewer men than now work the fields.”

Orlan tossed another sheet of paper at her.

“After that, he has suggested a dam on the river to drive the wheel of a sawmill so that we might cut our own trees into lumber and sell the excess. He has already given a dozen ways to save men and animals. Aye, my high and mighty daughter, I do value him highly and I will not see him put away like some animal because he does not meet your high standards of comportment”

Shanna's pride was raw beneath this rebuke. Drawing herself up, she sniffed haughtily. “If you cannot see my reasoning there, then 'tis certainly within my rights to request that, at least, you do not invite him to my breakfast table where he can gawk and stare or even insult me with his silver words.”

Trahern's arm flung out, and his finger pointed stiffly toward the small dining room. “That is my table and my chair, just as this is my house!” he bellowed and continued only a trifle more calmly. “I invite
you
to share
my
breakfast, and 'tis there I begin my working day. If you seek privacy, then find it in your room.”

Somewhat stunned by his outburst, Shanna stared at him, but she tried once more. “Father, you would not have denied mother if she had asked you not to bring someone to this house, a person she detested or someone she disliked.”

This time Trahern did heave himself out of the chair, and he towered over his daughter. His voice and his manner were harsh.

“Your mother was mistress of this house and all else I owned. Never to my knowledge did she ever turn away one I had asked to come. If you wish to serve as mistress here, you will be a gracious hostess to one and all. You will
treat that man Ruark as a guest in my house whenever he is here. You know that I care little for gilt, pomp, and finery. Indeed, I fled it to come here. I cherish honesty, loyalty, and a good day's labor far more. All of those Mister Ruark has given me. And I dare say, daughter, he has given you no less than you deserve. But enough of this foolishness. I must complete these books of Ralston's.” His anger eased, and his voice became almost pleading. “Now be kind to a doddering old man, child, and let me finish my work.”

“As you will, father,” Shanna said stiffly. “I have had my say.”

Satisfied, Trahern seated himself and, picking up his quill, was soon deeply engrossed. Shanna made no move to leave as she considered this turn of events. There was no help here, but neither was this the end of her resources. With sudden determination she rose and went to rest a hand on her father's shoulder until he looked up at her.

“I shall be going for a ride now, papa. I have several errands in the village and a few purchases to make. I may be home late so don't worry about me.”

She brushed a quick kiss on his forehead then was gone. Orlan watched her leave then slowly shook his head in bemusement.

“Too much damned schooling for a woman,” he muttered, then shrugged and returned to the stack of papers on his desk.

It was late in the afternoon when Shanna guided Attila to the hitching post before Pitney's house. It was a quaint cottage set somewhat above the town and reminiscent of those found in western England. Behind it was a small shed where Pitney was usually engaged in making fine furniture from the rare woods the captains of the Trahern ships brought him from wherever their voyages took them. As a child Shanna had spent many hours here watching his skilled hands turn rough boards into handsome, sturdy chairs, tables and chests. Carvings of his own design liberally embellished most of the larger pieces. It was here Shanna found him, drawing a plane carefully across a slim piece of wood, his large feet buried in curled shavings. He saw her approach and rose to greet her, wiping the
sweat from his brow with a tattered piece of faded blue cloth.

“Good day, lass,” he greeted her amiably. “ 'Tis been a goodly time since ye've been up the hill to visit me. But come, we'll sit on the porch. I have some good brew cooling in the well.”

Pitney sipped the Trahern wines out of good manners, but his liking for bitter English ale was well known. He slid a cushioned chair around for Shanna as she followed him, and while he turned the crank of his well, she seated herself.

“Just a cup of water for me,” she called. “I've no taste for your brew.”

The well was an oddity in itself. Pitney had found an ice-cold spring years ago when the Trahern mansion was being laid and the town was but a few sparse dwellings, and he had built his house around it. The stone wall of the well formed the end of his porch. Water could be lifted from the porch or through a window into the cottage.

Pitney brought her a pewter mug filled with chilling cold water that made Shanna's teeth ache as she sampled it. Taking a seat on the rail in front of her, he sipped the foamy dark ale from his own mug, waiting patiently until she was ready to speak. The house faced westward where all the colors of the brilliant sunset could be seen, and from the height Shanna could look down on the roofs of the town spread out below. This was a man's house, sturdy and thick-hewn, with doors a little larger than usual, much like Pitney himself. To Shanna's knowledge only three women had ever set foot here, her mother, herself, and an old woman from the village who cleaned it once a week.

Finally Shanna withdrew from reverie and bent her thoughts to her business here. Facing Pitney, she came abruptly to the point.

“Ruark Beauchamp is alive and here on the island. He is a bondslave to my father and goes by the name of John Ruark.”

Pitney nodded and balanced his mug on the rail beside him. “Aye, I know all of that.”

His voice was calm, and Shanna stared at him, for once wondering what she would say next.

“I knew that he was not hanged,” Pitney labored further, “and that we buried another man, old and wasted in his years. I would've told ye at once, but Ralston was there with you. And after that, I could not see the harm in it nor the need to worry ye. I even knew that he was on the
Marguerite
. I followed Ralston to the gaol, for 'twas there I knew he got his men, not from the auction block as he has always said. And I would've told ye that, but there were too many about who would have carried the word back to your pa. If I've done ye harm in this, 'tis no less than the harm I've done for that lad. Ye wouldn't have recognized him when they brought him to the ship, so badly mauled was he. Indeed, lass, he was the one ye saved from a beating the night before we sailed. In God's truth, I do not know how the man bore it all without being maimed for life or at least being scarred. And I've been there meself.”

Pitney did not elaborate what his own plight had been, nor did Shanna ask, assuming he would tell her in his own good time. But she felt her own cause failing badly and had to make another try.

“Will you get him away from here?” she asked sternly, already sure of what his answer would be. “Can you not get him off this island, back to his colonies or wherever he wants to go?”