Shanna (32 page)

The site of the mill had been chosen carefully. It was far enough from the settlement so that the stench of the fermenting mash would not offend the noses of the villagers,
but centrally located near the high plateau where the cane fields thrived. Beneath its foundation were caves where the barrels of rum could be stored for aging. Water was carried in shafts from freshwater springs running close by, and wood was in plentiful supply from the forest around it Not inconsequential to all of these was the fact that it nestled in a small, protected valley and was safe from the late summer storms that often raged through the islands.

A slight quickening of Ruark's pulse came as he felt the thrill of success followed by a deeper quickening still, as he realized his doubts and thought of the hundreds of things which could go wrong.

“No need to ponder on it,” he reasoned. “This day will see the test of it all.”

A narrow stairway led into the loft, and he climbed to where a small cupola had been added at the highest point on the mill roof so that a man could view the approach and departure of wagons during the rush of the harvest peak and with a set of signals could direct the drivers to avoid the inevitable road jams. At this vantage point Ruark would await the arrival of the Trahern carriage.

Already a long file of wagons, carriages, and carts were coming up the village road. Several wagons had been provided for the crew of the frigate, and he could see the colorful uniforms of the officers riding in the carriage. From one of the fields Ruark noted the approach of five wagons heavily laden with cane, and closer about the mill, piling out of the back of a cart, were the score of bondsmen who would see the mill into its first operation. At a shout of greeting from the overseer, Ruark waved his hand then lifted his gaze again to the lower road. No hint of Trahern's barouche could be seen, least of all that bright bit of color for which his eye hungered.

It seemed that every soul on the island was turning out to see the first operation of the mill and the actual workings for themselves, for the once empty yards were now becoming a jumble of people. Still, there was no sight of Shanna.

“I should have better tied my fate to the tail of a whirlwind,” Ruark mused wryly, “than be so committed to that whimsical bit of woman.” That sweet Circean witch had cast her spell on him from the first moments in the gaol.
Perhaps he did, in fact, commit the crime on that other wench in the inn and this was his punishment—to ever know Shanna as his bride, but never to know the joys of marriage. If that were truth, then he should accept his state and the rare monthly wedded bliss and, for the other days, his slavery. What a dreadful twist of fate. As a man unattached, he had threaded his way among the wiles of tender, fetching maids and lightheartedly plucked that which they offered, but now, wedded to that one who in all honesty he would have chosen in any circumstance—he was denied the state of matrimony and must creep into each tryst, enjoying only the hidden hours between the dark of midnight and the break of dawn. Even then, the chance footstep, the mistaken door, might see them snatched apart and, like wayward children, brought before her father for whatever punishment the man would dictate.

A shout from below interrupted his musings, and Ruark glanced up to see Trahern's barouche coming through the trees lining the narrow, low road. Leaving the cupola, he hurried down and quickly crossed the empty storeroom to the door where he had entered. As he caught sight of Shanna beside her father, Ruark's spirits soared, but they were dashed quickly when he identified Sir Billingsham in the seat opposite her. It had been in his mind to greet them, but now, angry and silent, Ruark retreated into a shadow and watched the lanky popinjay hand his wife down from the carriage. Ruark's displeasure deepened as Gaylord's hand lingered at Shanna's elbow. It was doubly hard for him to bear when he could not even touch her himself in public. Ruark clamped the white, straight-brimmed hat tighter on his head and leaned against the wall of the mill in frustration.

A goodly crowd had gathered around the Trahern carriage, and soon the squire was happily introducing his titled guest to the various shopkeepers and other personages of importance on the island. Sir Gaylord was forced to turn away from Shanna and left her side to acknowledge the compliments and salutations. Smoothing her gown, Shanna scanned the press of people for Ruark's face. She saw him in the shade of the building, arms folded across his chest as he braced a shoulder against the wall. His hat
was cocked forward, obscuring his face, but she knew that tall, lithe form. He was dressed casually, and, in the heat of the day it appeared the most sensible fashion. A white shirt, opened at the throat and ruffled at the cuffs, contrasted sharply with his bronze skin. He was as dark as any Spaniard and his lean, muscular build was accentuated by the close-fitting breeches and white stockings.

Shanna smiled in thought The tailor must have waxed gleeful at the opportunity to garb such a handsome figure. Most of the men on the island who had money for the richer fabrics and latest styles were well past the prime of life. But Ruark had the good looks and the trim frame to complement the lowest garb, even those boldly shortened breeches. Still, Shanna felt a twinge of disapproval that these breeches should be so narrow in their cut and that Ruark should carelessly flaunt his manliness for the goggling stares of love-smitten girls. Yet she knew he was not one to be overly conscious of his appearance as the dandies of court were, or even this Sir Gaylord who was garbed in laces and velvets and seemed hot enough to burst.

Seeing Shanna momentarily alone, Ruark seized upon his chance and began to make his way toward her through the crowd. His haste and his singleness of mind, however, were his downfall, for suddenly his arms were full of the soft body of a girl, and he was abruptly knocked off balance. A sharp feminine squeal pierced his ears, and Ruark spun half about, grasping the young woman close to keep them both from sprawling headlong.

“'Od's blood, Mister Ruark,” Milly's shrill voice giggled. “Ye're a mite too sudden for a bit of a girl like meself.”

The apology stumbled lamely from Ruark's tongue. “Uh, your pardon, Milly. I was in a hurry.”

Ruark would have extricated himself, but the girl held onto his arm, clasping it firmly against her small bosom.

“Aye, 'at I can see, John.” Her familiar use of his name grated against his ears. Suddenly her voice sounded loud enough to carry across the island. “ Twould seem of late ye're always in a hurry.” Milly's chuckle struck an uneven chord. “But no need to cart yerself away, John Ruark. 'Ooever she be, she can wait.”

Ruark tried to hide his irritation. Twisting his arm in
an effort to be free of her grasp, he glanced over her dark head toward Shanna who watched them rather tensely. Milly's hand reached up to caress his chest, and her black eyes smiled into his invitingly.

“Oooh, John,” she sighed. “Ye're so strong. Just looking at ye can make a tiny girl like meself feel weak and helpless.”

Ruark bit back a harsh speculation as to where her weakness might lie and attempted to pry her fingers loose from his shirt.

“Come now, Milly, I'm in a hurry,” he half growled.

Milly was insistent. “I packed a good basket of vittles with a leg of mutton, John. Why don't ye come and have a bite to eat with us?”

“My regrets,” Ruark hastened to deny her plea. “The squire has bade me join them at his table.”

He almost freed his arm, but Milly had still another ploy to work.

“Oh,” she whined and leaned heavily against him. “I think I've bruised me foot a bit. Will ye 'elp me to our cart, lovey?”

A broad shadow joined them, and they both glanced up to find Mrs. Hawkins standing before them, arms akimbo and a frown clefting her brow like the blade of an ax.

“Huh!” the woman snorted before either of them could speak. “Bruised foot, indeed! Well, I'll help ye to the cart. Come along, ye shameless twit. Throwing yerself at Mister Ruark like that. Ye ought to be ashamed.”

Mrs. Hawkins took her daughter by the fat of the arm and, with a quick glance of apology to Ruark, led the girl away. Milly limped until her mother's hand swung low with a loud whack, startling a yelp from the girl. The bruised foot forgotten, Milly did an amazingly spritely scamper all the way back to their cart.

Ruark chuckled in amusement as he witnessed the haste of Milly's flight, but he sobered as he turned back to Shanna. She stared at him with a quizzical quirk playing about her lips and a wondering dip to her brow. Ruark knew her well enough to read the storm warnings and hurried forward to allay her wrath. Alas! Such was not to be his luck, for with a shout of greeting Trahern rushed
to intercept him, and Ruark was swept aside by Trahern's bulk just as he reached Shanna. Again Ruark found his arm clasped in another's grip and, much to his chagrin, he was steered by Trahern back toward the mill. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Sir Gaylord return to Shanna's side. The knight took her elbow and bent low over her shoulder to whisper some witty comment in her ear.

“Now, Mister Ruark,” Trahern was saying, “let's get this mill opened and allow these good people to get to their feasting. My daughter will cut the bunting, but I'd like for you to share in this moment.”

Ruark lost the rest of what the squire said as Shanna's laughter rippled behind him. The sound of it bit at his heart like vinegar in a thirsty man's throat.

In a salute to King George, tankards of ale and rum and various other brews were raised while the women chose a mild wine to sip. Dedicating the mill led to a series of other toasts, and by the time Shanna was led to the wide doors fronting the place, spirits were high. She was not unaffected by the gaiety, but her elation stemmed from an entirely different source. A few tiny sips of wine could hardly make her so heady with joy. She could not fathom the reason for her own buoyant emotions as she moved to where the bunting was secured, but the realization abruptly dawned when she gazed at Ruark standing with her father. This mill was Ruark's achievement, and it was ecstatic pride she felt at his accomplishment Tears suddenly brightened her eyes, and she smiled until the unbidden moisture subsided. Laughing happily, she yanked hard on the hidden rope that held up the mass of bunting. The knots slipped, and the many yards of colorful cloth fell with a multitude of flutters to the platform.

Ruark's hand joined hers to push aside the heavy bolt, and before this vast audience they both sought hard to ignore the contact Their eyes met briefly before Ruark stepped away to open the doors, and Shanna was the only one who knew her blush was not completely from the excitement of the moment.

When the doors were flung wide, the people stared into the gaping storeroom which in its emptiness gave more the impression of a cathedral. The noise of the
crowd died to a low murmur of amazement; then their attention was drawn away by a shout from the milling gates. Two of the wagons were already being backed into place above the hopper that guided the cane downward. Another shout rent the air, and a team of oxen were prodded into movement in a circular path, setting into motion a great cog above them. It meshed with a large spoked wheel which rotated a shaft that in turn ran into the building. The man who drove the oxen waved to another beside the bin who bent his back to lay a huge lever forward. A loud thump was followed by another, and then the rollers began to turn with slow, ponderous majesty. A heavy rumbling seemed to tremble the very ground, and it caused a feeling of exhilaration in Shanna's breast Her heart swelled almost to bursting, and she felt like laughing and crying at the same time. A buzz of voices rose from the people as they watched the first cane taken into the rollers. Restlessly they waited until the lever was moved again, this time ceasing the motion. The rumbling stopped, the oxen were halted. The sudden silence lasted for what seemed to Shanna a very long eternity—then a rattling came from inside the mill. Slowly, one at a time, four great hogsheads of juices were wheeled out onto the platform to be viewed and sampled by all who cared to do so.

It was a crowning achievement. That which would have taken a score of men most of the afternoon had been done in the time it might take one to sip a cup of tea. A loud, boisterous shout of approval rang from the onlookers. Even Ruark smiled, until Sir Gaylord crossed the platform, stepping between him and Shanna, and took her outstretched hand.

Since the mill was something entirely new to the island, the villagers were allowed to view the interior for themselves now that the actual crushing of the harvested cane had been demonstrated. For many weeks the townsfolk had wondered at this thing being constructed in the hills above their hamlet and now, at long last, their curiosity was to be appeased. They were filled with awe at the ingenuity which had brought it into being, and more than a few were somewhat contrite, because they had once slapped their thighs in uproarious disbelief
when informed' that the production of the mill was limited only by the speed with which the cane could be dumped into the hopper and that what had been a long tedious month of backbreaking labor could now be handled between Sabbaths.

“May I escort you within, Madam Beauchamp?” Sir Gaylord requested. “I've a bit of curiosity about the thing myself. Must have been an Englishman who brought the idea into being.”

Shanna smiled in amusement, recognizing the typical English mind. If it was good, it had to be English.

“I've already been given a most splendid tour of the place by our bondsman, Sir Gaylord. I'm sure Mister Ruark will be interested in your deduction, but he's from the colonies, not England as you surmised.”

“Egad! You don't say he was the one—” Gaylord was clearly astonished. With arrogant poise he sniffed lightly against his handkerchief. “Ah, well, for a simple brew I suppose one might rely upon some basic common knowledge in the building of a brewing house. Myself, I cannot abide the stuff. I prefer a good wine to that beastly concoction. No gentleman's brew.”