Shanna (26 page)

“I'll go.” Hergus sighed unhappily. “But I will na be content 'til ye cease yer foolery. Shameful 'tis, sleeping with a man, letting him do what he wants with ye without the least of vows atwixt ye. Aaiiee, I knew 'twould bode ill when ye were widowed so soon after ye wed, lovely thing that ye be and hot-blooded—that I can see for meself. You and Mister Ruark, both of ye the same. Too many fires to cool.”

Showing a small pout, Shanna plopped herself down in the middle of the bed and watched Hergus from beneath lowered brows as the woman picked up the discarded clothes, folded them and carefully put them away in the armoire. When the maid had gone, Shanna threw a last glare at the door. Then, presenting her back to it, she slid down between the silken sheets and drifted contentedly to sleep with the memory of strong arms about her and persistent lips against hers blending into her dreams.

T
HE
S
ABBATH
C
AME
; one chapel on the island served those who felt inclined to meet together in worship. It was the custom of the Trahern family to attend the services, and this day was no different in that respect The exception this morning was that Ruark was there. Passing into the church, he brushed against Shanna and by some strange instinct she knew who it was even before she turned. Her gaze moved, as if compelled, to the back of the trim, tall man clothed in forest green silk.

“Ho, Mister Ruark,” the squire called jovially, and Ruark faced them as if surprised to find himself so near the Trahern family. Shanna marveled at his coolness. He was so casual about it all that no one, except perhaps Hergus who stood beyond them several paces looking back, could have guessed he had maneuvered himself so with deliberation.

Ruark returned the elder's greeting before his regard passed to Shanna, feasting for a brief moment on her beauty as she stood in a shaft of sunlight, gowned in pale green lawn. She was as tempting as any confection he had ever set his eyes upon. She smiled at him coolly from beneath the wide brim of her hat.

“Why, Mister Ruark, I do believe you're becoming civilized. Wearing clothes and coming to church? I can hardly believe my eyes.”

A roguish grin twisted his mouth. “I didn't want to shock the minister unduly with my meager garb.”

“Oh?” Shanna responded. “I didn't think anything bothered you, Mister Ruark. You've certainly shown no hesitancy wearing those dreadful breeches in the village where all the girls gawk at you. If you were modest, 'twould seem that the village is the place to begin so you'd not abuse innocent minds overly much.”

Trahern leaned on his cane, eyeing the two, and wondered if their discussion would dissolve into more biting barbs. He could not understand his daughter's irritation with the man.

“Madam,” Ruark said, spreading a brown hand over his lacy white jabot and seeming to make mockery of a humble apology, “I do not mean to abuse the innocent mind.” His eyes met hers squarely. “Nor do I wish to overly confuse the simple mind. But I have always respected a man of the cloth and give due credence to words and vows spoken in a church.”

Shanna's eyes narrowed slightly. So, the rogue! Now that the bargain was done, he would claim her by right of wedlock. Well, so he might think, but she had other things in mind, and she would not play wife to any bondsman.

“Sit with us, Mister Ruark,” Trahern invited, trying to avoid a public scene, and caught his offspring's glare for his effort.

“I'm sure Mister Ruark will much prefer sitting with Milly Hawkins,” Shanna replied tersely. She waved her fan in the direction of the young woman, who craned her neck to watch Ruark over her mother's shoulder. “She seems to be agog over your new clothes, Mister Ruark.”

Briefly Ruark glanced in the girl's direction, and Milly was suddenly aglow, a wide smile of pleasure beaming on her face.

“Why, thank you, squire.” He directed his words to Trahern, ignoring Shanna. “I would enjoy that very much.”

The squire preceded them, a low, muted chuckle setting his belly to shaking. His hands folded behind his back, Ruark walked along beside him and nodded as Trahern spoke. In the family box, Shanna quietly took a place beside her father and mostly ignored Ruark as she found herself again the object of Hergus's shaming frown.

The chairs in the Trahern box were massive, with tall backs, and were spaced close together so all the carved wooden arms touched, except for the one belonging to Orlan Trahern himself. He sat slightly apart in order to give his bulk adequate room. The remaining chairs and those smaller ones placed before them, obviously made for children, were reserved for Shanna and her anticipated
husband and offspring. Shanna would have choked before she would have revealed to Ruark that the chair he chose was the one intended for her spouse. He had already claimed too many of his husbandly rights for her peace of mind. Watching him askance, Shanna saw Ruark's eyes take in the smaller seats and sweep the three large chairs that were occupied by them. Since there was a second row of chairs behind them for guests and she sat between her father and him, there was only one conclusion to be drawn. Shanna saw in his knowing grin that he well accounted for the chairs.

Dropping her gaze, Shanna surreptitiously studied the hand resting near her own. It was dark against the dazzling white of his ruffled cuff but clean, with nails neatly trimmed and given some care, out of character for an ordinary bondsman. Yes, John Ruark was a man totally different from any she had ever come across. Though known as a bondslave, he could pass as a peer in any circle of nobles and lords.

“How is it that you never found a wife in the colonies, Mister Ruark?” Shanna asked deliberately. “Is there a shortage of women there?”

“No shortage, milady. Indeed, there are many beautiful women there.” He grinned as his eyes met hers with warm communication. “Though none to equal yourself, madam. Twas only that work held me much in hand and permitted little leisure time for me to pursue a lady's company. It sorely plagued my father as he believed I was too dedicated to a single life of toil. But then in England, a sweet young thing quite firmly caught my fancy. Someday I hope to convince her that I would be a fit husband.”

“There's room enough for a large family here,” Trahern commented, gesturing about to the chairs. “But alas, I have yet to see the pew sufficiently filled. Should she ever find a fit husband, 'twill be a miracle.”

Shanna gave little heed to her father's gibe and pointed glance and refused to acknowledge even hearing Ruark's comments.

“I am still young.” she said primly. “And I will no doubt mother many children for your old age, papa.”

“Huh.” Trahern snorted. “I am already old. Find your
self a hearty man, and hurry, daughter, I pray thee, hurry.”

“Papa!” Shanna gave a quick smile to her father which he accepted more as a grimace of irritation. “I'm sure we are boring Mister Ruark. Indeed, he seems to be lacking sorely of rest.”

The squire peered past his daughter at his bondsman, who was hiding his mirth behind what appeared to be a pained yawn.

Saved from further aggravation by the call to worship, Shanna gave a special prayer of gratitude for the promptness of the minister. Throughout the service, however, she was ever aware of the presence at her side. As the harpsichord played and the congregation sang, the deep richness of Ruark's baritone roused a tingling within her, and she could do little more than mouth the words to the song herself.

It was only after they had left the small church that Shanna finally drew an easy breath and relaxed a bit. The strain of having to guard each glance and of trying to appear unaffected by Ruark's nearness while at the same time displaying a polite, albeit somewhat strained, facade for the benefit of her father had proved much unsettling. In the barouche on the ride home, she could only question her own sanity at ever taking Ruark Beauchamp as husband. He was like a beast of the wilds, caught and tamed to all appearances but dangerous to the unwary. Her once firm belief that she could control him was rapidly being replaced by a nagging fear that she had made an awesome error.

Shortly after lunch, feeling in need of strenuous exercise to tire her mind as well as her body, Shanna ordered Attila saddled. She sought out her father in his study to invite him on the outing.

“There is naught about a piece of leather strapped to the back of a horse,” he snorted derisively, “that appeals to my sense of ease. I have not the least desire to have my backside pounded around this island whenever you are wont to venture out.” But to soften his words, he added. “Go and enjoy yourself, girl. Pitney will soon be here to see me to another game of chess.”

Thus Shanna rode alone up the hill toward the site of the
crushing mill. On one of the narrow streets of the village she passed Ralston, but as he paused and tipped his hat in greeting, Shanna pressed her steed into a faster pace, ignoring the man and spurring on the stallion along the road to the hill.

The day was pleasant, almost cool, with gusts of wind that billowed out the skirt of her dove gray riding habit and loosened tendrils of hair about her face. As she drew near the construction site, Attila began to prance a bit beneath her, tossing his fine head and lifting his legs smartly as he sidled along the road. Shanna was an experienced equestrienne, yet this afternoon she gave little heed to the animal whose nervousness on any other day might have been a warning to her. A tinkling of a bell and a rustling in the bushes alongside the path proved to be a goat loose from its tether. It darted onto the road in front of them and shot away, making Attila rear in fright. Pawing the air with his forefeet, the horse jerked his head against the bite of the bit. Caught off guard, Shanna felt the reins snatched from her hand. She had to struggle to keep from falling. The stallion came down free of restraint and was set to run. He had taken only a single lunge when a sharp, clear whistle split the air. Attila halted with a bounce that brought Shanna's teeth together with a click, then, as sedately as a weanling colt, the horse began to trot along the path toward the mill.

The horse responded in that manner for only one person. Ruark! Clinging to Attila's mane, Shanna glanced about in search of him and saw him waiting beside a partially raised wall of the structure. Once again he was clad in the brief breeches, his lean, brown torso contrasting sharply against the bleached whiteness of the garment. At the sight of those pants, Shanna could have screamed her ire at him.

Ruark gathered the reins to tie them to a hitching rail. His own anger sounded in his voice. “If you must ride this damned beast, madam, you might do so with more care for your safety. If you ride out to dawdle and daydream, then find yourself a gentle gelding.”

The rebuke did not sit well with Shanna and was even more rankling because she knew he spoke the truth. Attila was not what most young ladies would have chosen for a
genteel mount The animal was spirited and eager and needed a firm, attentive hand on the reins.

“Is my father such a harsh taskmaster that he must set you to laboring on the Sabbath?” Shanna snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to look over a few things without the workmen here.” Ruark took hold of her, his long fingers slipping about her narrow waist, and as he stood close beside the horse, he let her slide down against his nearly naked frame until his eyes gleamed devilishly into hers. “Until you appeared, my love, I was certain my day was lost.”

He set her feet to the ground and bent to kiss her. But casually, as if oblivious to his nearness, Shanna swept off her hat, placing it between them.

“And pray, sir, how have I saved it for you?” There was a coolness in her voice that she struggled hard to maintain. She stepped away from him, tossing her hat on the horn of the saddle. Where his body had touched, her own burned, and she could still feel the pressure of his fingers on her waist. “I came only to see the progress of the mill. Had I known you were about, I would have sought a different pleasure.”

Ruark grinned and stretched out a hand to smooth her hair. “Ah, love, do you still fear me?”

Shanna straightened indignantly and pushed his hand away. “ Tis only that I prefer not to be mauled and ogled as you seem to have a penchant for doing. The completion of the bargain has hardly cooled your lusts.”

“Aye, love, not very,” Ruark confided lightly as he drew her to him. “Indeed, it has done much to stir them.”

Shanna placed her riding crop pointedly between them, but Ruark's strong, possessive fingers clasped her tightly, and she could not still the tremor that passed through her body.

“Try to restrain yourself, Ruark,” she cautioned. “I did not come to lie with you, only to view the mill. Now I wonder if 'tis safe to stay. You seem never appeased.”

Ruark's eyes burned like golden embers behind his dark lashes. “Aye, you tempt me sorely, Shanna.”

His gaze touched a quickness within her, and Shanna quickly averted her eyes. No one before Ruark had ever set her to trembling for any reason, much less with a look
or mere words. What was there about this colonial that aroused her so? There had been other handsome men, some most dashing and daring who had gallantly begged for her hand. They had bored her. There had been those whom she considered intelligent, but she had admired their minds and little else. There were young men she had thought much in need of maturing, yet the idea of having an old man as her husband and bedding him repulsed her immensely. Ruark had both youth and an agile mind, and just the memory of his lovemaking filled her with a delicious excitement, leaving her breasts almost aching for his caresses and her loins hungering for the consuming heat of his passion.

Greatly disturbed by the path of her mind, Shanna drew away. Was she some hussy that she must crave his amorous attentions all the time?

“Will you show me the mill?” She glanced away then peered up at him. “And will you behave?”

“I'll show you the mill,” Ruark lightly replied but made no vow to the latter question.

Slowly they strolled along as he pointed out and explained the construction. Shanna was familiar with the operation wherein the cane was fed into the wheels of a small mill mounted on the bed of a wagon and then taken to the fields where it was needed. But she stared with some awe and amazement at the structure that was being raised in the sheltered vale.

The three huge rollers had been set in place to await whole wagonloads of cane, and there was a mammoth vat to catch the juices. Two wings extended outward from the crushing mill, one being fitted with large copper boilers to cook the thin syrup into treacle, while the other was to house fermentation vats and a brass distillery which would turn out the various rums—the black to replenish His Majesty's ships with grog and the light brews which would grace any table.