Shanna (24 page)

He halted a passing servant and bade the man fetch rum and bitters for both himself and Ruark.

Shanna had placed herself as far as possible away from Ruark and smiled her thanks as Milan brought her a cup of tea. As she sipped it, she mentally regathered her scattered forces. She had lost the first encounter but was far from ready to yield the battle. She espied Madame Duprey with her husband, animatedly chatting with several
of the Spanish officers. Aye, Shanna thought, she would launch her campaign here. Let the fool Wyvern know that she was not chattel he could claim exclusively.

Shanna took another sip of her tea then set it aside, spreading her fan before her as she approached the group.

“Dear Fayme,” Shanna smiled. “How lovely you look.” And indeed, Madame Duprey was beautiful. Shanna could not understand Jean's infatuation with other women when such a rare jewel waited at home for him. Shanna thought Jean looked a trifle nervous, and well he should, the cad.

“Shanna!” Fayme greeted her brightly with that intriguing accent of hers. “And how perfectly wicked you look!”

“Why, thank you,” Shanna laughed and nodded to the Spanish men who were all smiles and teeth and roaming eyes. “Won't you share the company, Fayme?”

Fayme tossed her head back with careless grace. “Ah. Shanna, we will talk of ze less fortunate. Ho-ho, but you are not one of zem. But seriousment, I was so sorry to hear of your misfortune.” She sighed heavily. “Ah, so soon a widow! But come, let me present you to zese men. Zey do very eager to catch your eye.”

The officers and their captain responded with zealous enthusiasm and long-winded compliments as to the beauty of the women on Los Camellos.

“Shanna,” Fayme spoke in a pause. “Oo' eez zat man over zere? Ze ‘andsome one oo' kiss your hand?”

Shanna knew well the one. “Mister Ruark, my father's bondsman.”

“Such a man!” Fayme exclaimed, causing her husband's eyebrows to raise. “And a bondslave you say?”

“Oui, cherie,” Jean broke in. “We brought him back on the December voyage last year. Purchased from the debtor's block, I believe.”

“But Jean, the clothes! Certainment he eez not still—”

“Oui, cherie,” Jean broke in. “We brought him back on

“Oui, ma petite,” the Frenchman responded, annoyed that his wife should find another man fascinating. He could not know the ploy she used to spur his jealousy; she was a loving wife but she had had enough of his meandering. Jean straightened his scarlet coat and testily brushed the cuff. “The bondsman has gained the squire's favor and some say he's earned it, though rumors have a
way of being wrong. Why, some would even go so far as to claim he eez a man of letters and a skilled engineer. Do not believe everything you hear, ma cherie.”

“Ah, but strange, Shanna,” Fayme mused aloud. “How a man of much talent eez being a bondslave. He eez magnifique!”

Jean Duprey chafed and grew a bit red-faced. Shanna watched him with satisfaction and freely joined the conspiracy. Perhaps he would be a little less free-footed if aware that his wife might also be tempted. For revenge's sake and because she had been so lenient with the man before, Shanna felt a desire to heighten Jean's qualms.

“Aye, Fayme,” she whispered behind her fan, just loud enough for Jean to hear. “And I've heard it rumored he has a habit of sleeping without any clothes.”

Fayme sucked her breath in through her teeth. “Such a man!”

Jean blustered and cleared his throat He beckoned a servant near and took a fresh glass of champagne, eyeing his wife carefully as he sipped it. Suddenly he saw her in a new light and realized that the title “wife” had not detracted from her beauty.

“Capitan Morel,” Shanna said, smiling graciously at the tall Spaniard, “Tell me of Spain. It has long been my desire to go there, but, alas, I have found so little time to bring that dream into reality.”

The man, thin and swarthy but not overly handsome, turned his full and appreciative regard upon her. “Señora, I would take you there myself. If you but speak the word, I shall go to prepare my ship. But,” he spoke aside to his young lieutenant, “we must cover every man's eyes lest the beauty of this princess blind them or distract them from their duties.”

Shanna laughed behind her fan. “You are enchanting, Capitán, but you flatter me overmuch I fear.”

“Flattery, señora? Never in my life more serious have I been,” the man assured her warmly. Lifting a glass of champagne from the tray the servant held for him, Captain Morel presented it to her with a slight bow. “Señora, you make the glory of the heavens dim in comparison to your beauty.”

And so Shanna played. Her laughter rose with a sweet,
seductive softness that entrapped men's minds. She was gay and charming, but she limited much of her flirtations to the Spaniards, for they would soon be gone, and she would not be encumbered with unwanted attentions overly long. The dinner was served, and Ruark was placed beside her father at the far end of the table and well away from her. In a quiet moment after they returned to the drawing room, Shanna stood alone, and her gaze slowly swept the room. Pitney and her father had settled into chairs in a corner and were arguing over the chessboard they had left the night before. She saw Ralston nearby, alone as seemed his preference. The agent nodded in greeting as their gazes met, and Shanna coolly returned a smile. She paused to sip from her glass of Madeira. Then, with a suddenness that was startling, her eyes met Ruark's. He stared across the shoulders of two men who were discussing some matter in front of him, and she realized he had been watching her for a long time. Now there was almost a naked hunger in his eyes as they burned into her. Though he voiced no words, she heard his thoughts as if he had shouted them across the room.

Lord! Shanna turned her back to him and drained her glass in a single breath. Her hand shook as she set the goblet on a nearby table. Suddenly the room was warm and stuffy, and she began to feel lightheaded. There were too many bodies pressing in too close to her. The mood of gaiety slipped away, and Shanna felt an urgent need to be alone for a moment, if only to compose her thoughts. The shock of that golden gaze across the room and the unguarded message it conveyed had stunned her to a point where her mind reeled in confusion. Her breasts tingled, and her loins ached, yet her mind withdrew in horror from the bold, unmistakable urging of her body.

It was as if she viewed herself from a distance. The beautiful woman, pale but calm, passed through the crowd, acknowledging greetings, and somehow made her way to a deserted corner of the veranda.

“Damn the bastard,” she raged silently. Her fists clenched tightly as she swayed against the railing and gasped for air. “He comes at me from a thousand directions at once. I crush him here, and he is thrice there! He
is only a man! A man! A man!” Her fist thumped the balustrade with each repetition.

Trying to regain serenity, Shanna drew a deep breath and then another. Some measure of quiet returned to her, and she renewed her resolve to go back and enjoy herself in spite of him. Let him stand and gawk if he would.

She turned, once more reassured, took a step—then almost screamed.

He was there! Leaning calmly against a post and smiling at her. Every bit of the courage she had strived so hard to erect was shattered in an instant.

“Get away from me!” Shanna sobbed. “Let me alone!”

She pressed a hand across her lips to still their trembling and fled. She brushed past Jason at the door and flew up the stairs, never pausing or caring until she was safe behind her locked door.

Her bedchamber was hot, though she stripped and donned a light gown. She wiped beaded perspiration from her trembling upper lip and sat on the edge of her bed, trying to stem the shaking that had seized her body. An awareness persisted she could not thrust away. She knew what he wanted, and her own loins throbbed with her answering need.

The night grew strangely still. The sounds of the guests died away as the last of them took their leave. Shanna's bedchamber was stifling and seemed to close in on her. Fretfully she rose from the bed, blowing out the candle beside it, and began to pace the dark, determined to think of anything but Ruark.

Attila! On his back! Riding as swift as the wind! Attila! A sharp piercing whistle! Ruark! Angrily Shanna shook her head and tried again.

The sea! Floating on its swells! Diving to watch the fish! Coming out on the beach! Soft, warm sand beneath her feet. A shadow on the cliffs! Ruark!

A ride with her father in the carriage! Ruark

Her own breakfast table! A dinner! Ruark! Ruark! Ruark!

Shanna stood with her eyes clenched tightly, her fists pressed against her temples. Everywhere she turned it was Ruark!

But not here, not now. She was safe.

Shanna relaxed, heaving a sigh, and opened her eyes. She walked out onto the terrace outside her room. The wind had freshened, and heavy clouds flitted across the face of the moon. A wide halo shone about the silver disk, a sure sign of approaching rain. Leaning against the balustrade, she stared at the yard beneath, one tree at a time, watching until the fickle moon gave meager light to each. But alas, they were all barren. None bore the shape of a man crouched at its base.

Suddenly Shanna stiffened as it came to her that she was looking for Ruarkl The name blazed across her mind. Anger stirred because she had so little control of her own thoughts.

Petulantly Shanna returned to her bed and threw herself upon it, flinging her arm across her brow and closing her eyes tightly, determined to sleep. But she had tasted the sweetest of nectars; she knew now the long, sleek hardness of his thighs, the rippling muscles of his back, the flat, hard belly, the strength of him pressed against her. Her eyes flew open and Shanna realized she lay sprawled tense upon the bed.

With a muted groan she rose again and dressed in a long skirt and loose blouse, the usual garb for women on the island. She bound her hair in a brightly flowered kerchief. Her bedroom had ceased to be a haven, and Shanna fled from it, climbing from her balcony and dropping to the ground. The cool, damp grass beneath her bare feet brought memories to mind of her childhood when she had run across the lawns with carefree abandon. Slowly she strolled away from the manor and sighed as she stared up toward the moon. The clouds had gathered in density and the wind had quickened, whipping her peasant's skirt about her. Aimlessly she meandered through the trees and reveled in the privacy the darkness gave her. When as a child she wished to pass unnoticed, she often dressed as a peasant. Few gave a young, commonly garbed girl more than a second glance, and although she could not bear close scrutiny, she could with casual caution pass unhindered. Now she wandered the grounds of the mansion as she pleased, pausing as a memory marked a tree or a path. It was not until she stood before a porch and saw the light of a single lamp burning in a dining room, that full aware
ness penetrated, and she realized she had come the way her mind had so often led her of late.

A great weariness had come over Ruark in the quiet of the cottage. The battle for Shanna's attention suddenly seemed inane and pointless. She ever welcomed the considerations of other men and ever rejected his. The labors in the heat of the day as well as the party had sapped his strength, and his mood plunged into the blackest depths of despair. He lay naked across his bed in the unlit room and stared upward into the darkness. His mind was numb, and the very air he breathed seemed heavy and oppressive. His eyes closed, and wispy, foglike tendrils of slumber drifted about him. It was as if he stood in a dense mist while colored lanterns moved about beyond his sight; then a single bright beacon flamed alight, and he hastened toward it until he came into a stone-walled garden, sunlit and barren but for a single stem which bore a rose of such beauty as to make him halt for breath. As he stared the stem dissolved, and the rose floated free amid glittering mists that obscured all else. The deep red bloom filled his mind. Then it seemed to drift away, shrinking, lightening, changing shape. It was a pair of lips, moist, gently parted; then above them pale green emeralds became a pair of eyes, sea-green and haunting, with a depth that beckoned to him. The swirling mists became a face of fragile beauty formed with the skill of an artist expending all his talent in one effort. The eyes held him entranced. The lips formed voiceless words that enthralled his soul.

“Reach out thy hand. Pluck me. Take the bloom. Tis yours for the holding.”

When he stretched forth his hand, a long, black-tipped thorn thrust into his flesh, and in searing pain, he withdrew. The face laughed and tossed brilliant tresses which flowed about it in a wild disarray of dark honey streaked with gold.

It retreated from him until it floated in the midst of a leafless thorn-twined jungle. The siren song increased and became intense, blinding his will to all but the beauty that beckoned, calling, crying out for his touch. He lunged forward carelessly. His fingers almost seemed to brush the blood red petals before the vines caught him, held him,
and with evil eagerness the thorns plunged deep into his limbs and body until he sobbed in agony and the burning whiteness of the pain wiped away his vision. He tried to withdraw, but each movement freshened the ecstatic torture. Then he was falling, plunging through a green, flower bedecked forest—

Ruark's eyes flew open, and he stared into the darkness again as his senses returned. Cursing he rose, lighting a candle beside the bed, and donned his short breeches. He would turn to work for ease of mind, and he'd be damned before he would let Shanna's little games torture him.

He strode into the dining room where he had been working and sat on the table's edge. An oil lamp hung on a chain overhead, and in its light he stared blankly at the parchments and the sketches scattered across the table's surface. Even here, Shanna was too much on his mind to allow him freedom.