Shanna (17 page)

Pitney gazed out across the harbor for a long time before looking squarely into Shanna's eyes.

“Madam Beauchamp.” He seemed to try out the title for some whim of his own. His words were studied and slow. “I bounced ye on me knee when ye were no bigger than a spit in the wind, and I've seen ye grow into a lovely young woman. Ye've had trouble with your pa, and I've not always agreed with him. I went with ye on yer journeys under an oath to him to see after ye and to see ye safely home. I'm not so sure I've done the first, giving in to yer pleading about this marriage against Orlan's wishes, but I've seen well to the last. Now there's naught that troubles me but the fact that I've added to a man's woes and abused him for no good reason.”

“For no good reason” Shanna was angered at his ex
cuses. “But the man was accused of murder and condemned to hang. A brutal murder of a woman with child. Why,”—she waved a hand toward the village—“the next could be any down there, or even me!”

“Lass.” Pitney slipped back into a more familiar form of address. “Do not take to heart all that comes to your ears. I would say the man could not do such a thing. And as I've heard of him, there are many who would believe the same.”

Shanna rose and irritably smoothed her riding habit, unable to meet Pitney's eyes. “Then you will not help me?”

“Nay, lass.” His voice was gruff and firm. “I've already hurt the man enough. 1 will not again lilt my hand against him without a deeper cause.”

“Then what am 1 to do?” she whispered almost shyly.

Pitney thought for a moment, and there was an odd half smile in his eyes as he spoke again.

“Go talk to the man, John Ruark, like ye did in the gaol. Before you leave I'll give ye directions to reach him. Perhaps ye can convince him to leave. If he wants to go, I'll help him.”

With some anguish in her tone Shanna asked, “You would help him and not me?”

“Aye,” Pitney nodded. “Yours is but a whim. His would be a need.”

Night descended to cloak Shanna's ride through the village. The people had sought out their homes after the day's work, and the streets were quiet and barren. Leaving Attila at the store where he would not draw undue attention, she made her way through the alleyways, keeping to the dark and shadows. When she came in sight of Ruark's residence, she stopped in amazement. It was little more than a lean-to against the back of an adobe warehouse. A light from a weak lantern leaked from the multitude of cracks between the boards which covered it and from the door which stood half open. Cautiously Shanna drew near and peered within, taking care not to betray her presence. For a moment she thought he stood naked as he sponged his shoulders and arms with water from a small basin, but when he moved further into the light,
she realized he still wore those infernal chopped-off pants. Steeling herself for the confrontation, she reached out. Beneath her light knock, the door opened wider, and Ruark swung around instantly, startling a gasp from her.

“Shanna!” His first word came with some surprise, but he quickly recovered, smiled and reached for her hand to draw her in. “Your pardon, my love. I was not expecting a visitor, let alone such a charming one.”

Ruefully he rubbed a hand across his bristly chin.

“Had I been warned of your coming, I'd have made some preparations.”

In the dim light his eyes shone softly as he gazed down into hers. He stood close beside her, his other hand resting on the small of her back. Nervously Shanna glanced about the cramped room, unable to bear this attention he so freely gave her. The pressure of his touch was light, but to her it felt like a trap of steel. She began to seriously doubt her wisdom in coming here alone.

The smell of the strong lye soap and vinegar which had been used to scrub the bare boards of the place was pungent in her nostrils. Though the fittings were meager, they were almost painfully neat and well repaired. A narrow rope bed with a straw-filled mattress and clean, though threadbare, sheets filled one corner, and a small, rough table bearing a stack of drawings, quill and ink was pushed into another. A single, once-broken chair, bound back into service with small rope, and a high shelf were the only other appointments. The shell bore several boxes, one with a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese, a bottle of wine, and a meager collection of unmatched dishes. The light patchwork quilt on the bed was frayed and much mended but was neatly folded back, while the sheets were white with sun-bleached cleanliness.

Seeing where her gaze wandered, Ruark smiled. “Hardly a fit place for a tryst, Shanna, but the best I could manage It costs me naught of coin, only my services in keeping an eye out for vandals.” He laughed lightly and grinned as her eyes turned to meet his. “I had no idea that you would come so soon to fulfill our bargain.”

Shanna gasped, stunned at his suggestion. “I did not come here to spend the night with you!”

“Alas,” he sighed as if forlorn, brushing a curl from her
cheek and bending near as he did so. “I am to be tortured more, then. Ah, Shanna, love, do you not ken that the merest sight of you is enough to bring me pain?”

His voice was low and husky in her ears, and Shanna had to dip deeply into her reservoir of will to dispel the slow numbing of her defenses.

“Do you know how my arms ache to be filled with you? To be so near and never touching is agony for me.” His fingers lightly stroked between her shoulder blades. “Are you some dark witch to bring me hell on earth, being that which I desire most and that which I may have the least of? Be soft, Shanna, be woman, be my love.”

He bent closer, his lips drawing perilously near.

“Ruark!” Shanna spoke sharply and jerking away from him, commanded, “Behave!”

“I do, my love. I am a man. You're a woman. How else should I behave?” He would have reached out and taken her in his arms.

“Do not press me so!” Shanna eluded his grasp. “Be a gentleman for once!” She held him at arm's length, her riding crop against his chest.

“A gentleman? But how, my love?” He played the simpleton. “I am only a cloddish colonial, unschooled in the postures of court, trained only in honesty and the truth of a bargain fairly met I cannot bear to see you here, alone with me, and not reach out to touch you.”

“I agree.” Shanna stepped further away and continued moving as he followed. “We should limit our meetings.”

Her glance flitted hesitantly across his hard, brown chest and its light furring of hair before her eyes lifted to meet that steady, predatory stare. Suddenly Shanna felt much like a hen before a wily fox, expecting to be devoured any moment.

“If you will stop seeking favor with my father and agree to stay away from the house, 'twould ease things. Now stop that!”

She brushed away his hand as he reached to caress her hair, but the coil was undone beneath the quickness of his fingers and tumbled in soft curls down her back. She tried without success to gather it again into a sober knot.

“Will you be serious for a moment!” she bridled. “Control your lust. I did not come here to bed you but to appeal
to your honor. Let go!” She raised both her voice and the quirt dangerously high. “I'll not be pawed by the likes of you again!”

Ruark stood back and leaned against the wall beside her, “Ah, Shanna, love,” he said sadly. “Am I really to believe that you will not see out the bargain?”

“Bargain!” Shanna struck the half-open door with her whip in exasperation. “Sir, you are the most—”

“Shhh.” His finger lay across his lips. His face was in the shadows, but his eyes seemed to glow, laughing at her, mocking her. “You'll have the village down upon us.”

He reached behind him on the shelf and lifted the wine bottle and a cup, pouring a draught into the latter.

“Perhaps a small libation will settle your nerves, Shanna. A bit of sherry?”

“My nerves!” The words were lashed out. “Sir, 'tis your nerve that must be reckoned with.” She took the mug he held toward her and sampled a drop, wrinkling her nose then sneering into his warming gaze. “Of that, dear Ruark, you have no short supply.”

“You abuse me, madam.” His hand reached out toward her tresses but paused as her quirt lifted again. He shrugged. “I but know my wants and seek them out.”

“Dear Ruark,” Shanna gritted venomously. “When I give myself to a man, 'twill be under the vows of marriage with all the love I can muster.”

Ruark chuckled and placed his foot on the bed, leaning an elbow across his knee. “Will you not settle for my everlasting adoration and the bonds of a bargain fairly set? I could add,” he gestured casually, “the vows have already—”

“Oh, you crude—!” Shanna was speechless at his brazen disregard of grace. “I have a dream—”

“No dream!” His reply snapped back. “But a barrier set against a flesh-and-blood man.”

“Have you so little honor that you would hold me to so vile a bargain?”

“Honor? Aye, I have it.” He tossed his head and stared at her, his amber eyes brittle. “And what have you? To offer yourself for a whim and, when once rightly paid, deny the pact?”

Angry tears stung Shanna's eyes. “I was gently born
and tenderly reared but then bent to the will of another!”

“Aye.” His tone was scornful. “The virgin Shanna, cruelly betrayed.”

“I will not be dictated to!” Rigid with fury, turbulent tears streaming down her cheeks, she glared at him.

“Oh?” Ruark feigned surprise. “So now 'tis the Queen Shanna, regal, domineering. Hide behind your thorny throne, my love. Never be a woman!”

“Oh, you filthy clod!”

“Shanna.” His voice was flat, hard, and biting. “Grow up.”

The quirt lashed out and struck his chest and, coming back, cracked again. She raised it for another blow, but his hand knocked the whip aside, and it sailed from her grasp. Shanna's rage had mounted to violent proportions. The open palm of her empty hand completed the stroke upon his cheek and returned with the back of it against his other while her eyes blazed her hatred. Of a sudden her wrist was seized in a grasp of iron, and her arm was twisted behind her back, crushing her against his naked chest which bore two livid weals across it. Her temper soared the higher at this restraint, and Shanna tried to raise her other hand to claw at that smirking face before her, but his arm encircled her until she could not move. She was caught to him, her breath hissing between clenched teeth and her bosom heaving against his chest.

“Enough, Shanna love,” he bade sharply. “You have taken both cheeks 'ere I had a chance to turn the other.”

His embrace tightened about her until her toes cleared the floor and Shanna lay against him, gasping for breath. His mouth swooped down upon hers, twisting, bruising, rousing, his tongue thrusting through like a brand, searing her, possessing her. Shanna struggled weakly, trying to summon some logic from the chaos in her mind. Pleasure seeped through the barrier of her own will. The brutal crush of his lips on hers, his strong arms holding her clasped to his work-hardened frame became somehow bearable, and she was answering, not fighting anymore, growing warm. Then his arms were gone, and she stumbled free of him, coming up against the open
door. The amber eyes were puzzled as he stared at her for a moment; then they filled with anger.

“Arm yourself, Shanna. No young girl's wiles will see you safely away from me. I will have you when and where I bid.”

Fear rose up within her, not of him but of herself, for in spite of her words, she wanted to draw him down with her upon the narrow pallet and show him once and for all time that she was more a woman than he could guess.

Shaking. Shanna bit the back of her hand, seeking pain to awaken her will Whirling, she ran from the hovel, not pausing until she stood gasping against Attila's side. She had to wait for her strength to return before she could heave herself to the saddle. Her face burned where his unshaven chin had rasped against her tender flesh.

Miserably she stared back into the dark alleyway. Had he seen? Did he know the sudden naked desire that must have shone in her eyes?

It was a long ride back to the manor.

S
HANNA RODE
A
TTILA
along the beach until he wheezed, yet she found no pleasure in the exhausting pace. In the afternoons she went swimming, but the water was tepid and filled with weeds; she found no pleasure there, either. In the weeks that passed, she took special care to keep to herself, even avoiding her father unless he was alone. His worried frowns and concerned questions began to wear on her. But she could not bring herself to face the man, John Ruark, and so remained alone.

One sunlit afternoon Shanna sought out the privacy of a small hidden cove beneath the cliffs at the western reach of the island. For the sake of caution, she took Attila the long way around, riding the beach and avoiding the road that cut across inland. Urging the stallion belly-deep into the surf, she made her way around jutting rocks, and then she was there. Cliffs towered on three sides. The only approach was from the sea. Feeling secure, Shanna tethered the animal and left him to graze on the tufts of tender grass growing in the lee of the crag.

On a narrow stretch of sand, she spread a blanket in the shade and removed her clothing down to a shortened chemise. Here at last was privacy no one could break. For a time she lay and involved herself in a book of sonnets, combing her fingers absently through her loosened tresses as she read. With the warmth of the day she grew drowsy and, folding an arm across her eyes, slept.

When she woke, she did so with a start, unable to determine what had roused her. Her mind was unsettled, but there appeared no reason for alarm. The cliffs were bare as they had been before. No one was there.

Disquieted now, Shanna sought diversion to settle her thoughts and rose and went splashing into the gentle surf. In a clean dive she cleaved the water and with long,
flowing strokes swam a good distance out to sea. Playing a childhood game of seeking shells and starfish, she dove to the bottom. For a time she floated on her back, rising and falling with the gentle swells, her hair spreading out in a giant fan, like some shy sea creature displaying its glory to only a few. A huge gray gull on motionless wings came over her and hung there, drifting close to better view this odd sea nymph.

Tiring of the play, Shanna returned to the narrow, hidden beach. She toweled herself dry, wrapped the cloth about her hair, and lay back. She watched a fleecy cloud drifting by. It touched the top of a cliff and—

Smothering a scream, Shanna came to her feet. The figure of a man stood on the brow of the cliff. A wide straw hat shaded his face; his shirt was carelessly carried over his shoulder. Short white breeches covered his loins, and long brown legs showed straight and lean beneath. Shanna knew golden eyes smiled down at her, mocking, challenging, consuming her.

The shriek that rose in her throat was not smothered this time. It was one of pure rage. Was there no place where she could flee from him? Furiously she snatched the towel from her head, flinging it to her feet.

“Begone!” she cried, her voice echoing in the cove. “Go away! Leave me bel I owe you nothing!”

Ruark's laughter floated down to her as he strolled along the edge of the cliff circling the cove. He began to sing in a rich baritone, and the words were inane and silly, put to a tune she had heard before:

The high Queen Shanna could find no love.

The high Queen Shanna flirted with a dove.

He watched her as closely as Shanna did him. With a start she realized that her thin chemise was soaked and clinging to her skin like a filmy haze, leaving no detail to be imagined.

Another irate shriek drowned out his song as she pulled her gown over her head, not stopping to lace the back. Tossing her other garments onto the blanket, she gathered it in a roll and threw it over Attila's bare back. Hauling herself astride, she forced the animal again
into the water and around the point then raced full tilt along the beach.

“Good day, my lady.”

Ruark's shout made her urge the steed faster, and once more the sound of Ruark's mirth rang in her ears until, home at last, she hid her head beneath the pillow in her room.

The air was heavy, the night was hot The sheet felt damp and Shanna thrust its clamminess away like the sweaty embrace of some unwelcomed suitor. Sleep was not within her grasp, and she lit a candle, setting it aglow before placing it on the night table. Restlessly she paced about the room, seeking out and verifying familiar shadows, but in every one seeing that lone figure standing high upon the jutting cliff.

Long ago her mother had instructed her that whatever the heat, she was never to sleep naked. It was a command Shanna had not been able to break, but she had compromised, taking a few of her lightest gowns and cropping them off just below her hips. It was one like this she wore, the briefest wisp of a gown so thin that it could barely be given the name.

Even this beat was better than foggy, wet London, Shanna mused as she pulled at the cloying fabric that stuck to her damp skin. She passed out onto the veranda, where she leaned her hip against the cool, carved wood of the balustrade.

The night was still, but she spread her arms and slowly turned her whole body, trying to catch the cool touch of a stray breeze. Thrusting her arms straight over her head, she stretched, arching her back, feeling the gown tighten over her breasts.

A long sigh slipped from her. She enjoyed swimming in the clear blue waters, racing among the trees, and sitting on the back of a laboring horse as he sped like the wind along the lanes. In England it was unseemly for a lady to so exercise, and Shanna reveled in her freedom to do so here. But of late there seemed something lacking, as if some other play might more fulfill the design of her person. She could not name it, but when this
feeling came it was usually accompanied by a memory of warm, golden eyes smiling into hers.

Bracing her hands on the balustrade, Shanna leaned outward, staring into the dark night sky. Fleecy clouds flitted by on gusts of wind. A quarter moon, bright and sharply horned, gave light to the grounds below, peeking briefly here and there then hiding coyly, giving silver halos to the fleeing wisps of vapor.

She perched on the rail, placing a slim bare foot upon it and raising her knee. Her gaze leisurely swept the yards beyond. Great patches of blackness gathered under the banyan trees whose tall spreading tops made dense shadows. Spots of light were painted across the lawn by the rapid brush of the flippant moon. One passed beneath a tree. Shanna gasped, for there beside an ancient trunk was a shadow darker and of more manly shape than the rest. Coming to her feet, Shanna leaned against the rail, staring hard at the figure which squatted on its haunches. The shadow unfolded as the man rose, and she could see he was naked but for short, white breeches.

“Ruark!” the whisper rushed between her lips unbidden.

Turning his back, he kicked at the turf with a sandaled foot and then strode casually away, a light and airy whistle trailing a tune behind him. Shanna was certain now. She knew that walk, that graceful half-animal saunter.

“Damned rogue!”

Whirling, Shanna dashed back into the bedchamber, her pride suddenly nipped that he had not come to stand beneath her balcony and ardently entreat for her favors. She blew out the candle and flounced onto her bed and there sat glaring back at the leering windows.

“How can I sleep with him ever about, sneaking beneath my balcony, spying on my every moment?”

In sore aggravation she flopped upon her stomach and propped her chin on folded arms.

What did the knave want of her? Ha! No question there! The bargain! Ah, damned bargain! And he did sorely want the bargain out. And what a price! A night with him, at his every beck and call!

Shanna tried to feel much abused and angered, but the
thought of that whole night stirred something more akin to—

“'Tis but curiosity,” she vowed. “I have meagerly tasted of the brew and only want to sample it more fully. 'Tis naught but what any woman would want. Aye, and I am a woman and being in a well and hearty condition would seriously test that rogue's ardor. He charges that I am less than woman, not bent to give myself to any man. More fool he, for I do yearn most fervently for that kind and great and noble man who will come and take me in his arms and thus bend my fullest passion to his charms.”

Closing her eyes, Shanna tried to form an image of that one of yore who would come to her so readily. He came, this time with raven hair and smiling amber gaze. Her eyes flew open, and anger arched her brows.

“He spies upon my very mind!”

Enraged, Shanna rolled and threw a pillow at the post. What manner of man was this Ruark Beauchamp, who crept into her dreams?

A fortnight passed, and on Sabbath afternoon Shanna straddled Attila's bare back and ran him along the beach some distance beyond the village. She had dressed in a light, casual gown and a wide-brimmed straw hat which protected her skin from the burning rays of the sun. No shoes hindered her slim feet as she urged the powerful steed into deeper water, raising the hem of her skirt well above her knees and tucking it beneath her. The wind snatched her hair free from its mooring until she released the long curling tresses to let the golden-lit mass fly riotously behind her. She clamped her hat tighter upon her head and laughed gaily as she raced faster along the shore, bending low over the stallion's neck.

Suddenly a whistle pierced the air, and the horse slowed. The shrill call came again, and, despite her efforts to direct Attila otherwise, Shanna found herself being carried toward a clump of trees that edged the swamp. Without a bridle she could not enforce her commands upon the steed.

Ruark stepped into the sunlight and whistled again,
softly this time, offering out his hand to the horse. Attila snorted and came willingly, taking the sugar.

Shanna's lagging jaw snapped shut, her glare boring into Ruark's amused and mocking stare. Casually he caressed Attila's nose while his eyes boldly roamed her bare thighs and the dampened gown that clung to her breasts.

“You've ruined a good steed!” she cried, infuriated that he had gained Attila's trust so readily.

Ruark smiled slowly. “'Tis a fine stallion and smart. 'Twould have taken me many months with another. I've only taught him to come when I whistle. Tis more than you will do.”

Shanna seethed, and her bosom heaved with her indignation. “If you think I'll ever come when you beckon, then you are more than addlewitted, sir!”

It was as if he did not hear her stormy words. His smoldering gaze moved caressingly over her meagerly clad body, and his desire quickened. He well remembered the softness of her naked skin.

“Will you stop staring at me like that?” Shanna railed, feeling devoured by those burning eyes.

Without a word Ruark stepped beside her and with a quick movement was up behind her. Shanna gasped in outrage, struggling briefly, but his arms came around her, and his hands took the horse's mane.

“Get down! Are you mad?” she protested, but her mind was invaded with the press of his hard, naked chest against her back and his long thighs showing dark, lean, and muscular beside her own. His loins pressed intimately against her buttocks, and she was suffocated by the manly feel of him against her.

“What are you about?” She tried to twist away from him. “If 'tis rape, I'll have you hunted down. I swear I will.”

His voice sounded hoarse in her ear. “Be still, Shanna, and let me ride with you for a space. You're accustomed to a lady's saddle and so is Attila. He needs to be taught obedience by his rider, whoever that may be.” Then Ruark added in a jaunty tone. “You'll then be able to restrain him when I whistle. Now watch and I will show you both how a man rides.”

Shanna's spine stiffened at the humor in his tone. She snatched her hat from her head as she sneered, “And what if we're seen? What then. Mister Ruark?”

“With the swamp on one side and the coral reefs on the other?” He chuckled lightly. “I doubt it and so do you. Now be at ease, Shanna. Your virtue is safe with me. Who could be more concerned than your husband?”

His low laughter had an edge to it that cut sharply.

“Safe!” Derision rode heavily in her words. “When you are near me, I am constantly pawed, and I feel as if there's but one thought in your mind.”

“Because there's but one thought in yours, my love.” The whisper came close to her ear as he smoothed her tumbled hair between them. “And you know what the result will be. I'll have the bargain done in my own time, my own way, and fully met.”

“You are a rogue to so force a lady!”

“Rogue? Nay!” Ruark shrugged. “I have only the desire to see payment for a service rendered as was promised me. As to force—never! I do not wish to hurt you, Shanna. Rather, I would say, I wish to share a blissful moment and introduce you to the tender touch of passion.”

Shanna twisted around to stare at him, a play of wonder and anger fighting for her face.

“Enough!” Ruark settled her in his arms and took a firm grip on the mane. “Today you are safe. Tis but a lesson in riding I wish to give you.

“Watch.” He grew more purposeful. “Place your knees higher and let the horse feel your heels against him. Then—”

He tapped Attila's flanks with his heels, and the steed moved slowly, prancing. Ruark leaned forward, and the stallion quickened his pace. Ruark guided him through a series of maneuvers, and Shanna was amazed. She could feel the movements of the man, and the horse responded as if they were one. Then the knees beneath her tightened, and with a leap Attila stretched out along the beach, and they were racing with the wind.

Ruark whispered in her ear, and Shanna turned a questioning stare to him.

“I asked if your father expects you back soon.”

Shanna shook her head, and her hair flew over his shoulder.

Ruark shifted her closer against him. “Good. I'll take you along a trail I found in the swamp. Not frightened, are you?”