Shanna (33 page)

Shanna smiled like a cat that had just ensnared a rat. “I must inform my father of your findings, sir. Actually, he finds the drink quite tasty.”

Sir Gaylord folded his large hands behind his back and appeared to grow museful. “Perhaps your father would be interested in a more sound investment, Madam Beauchamp. My family has acquired a shipyard in Plymouth, very promising 'tis, and with your father's wealth—”

Again the knight blundered like so many others before him, but Sir Gaylord hardly realized what lay behind Shanna's sidelong glance. Instead, he had suddenly become fascinated with the advantage his height gave him. Standing head and shoulders above Shanna, he had a very pleasurable view of what lay beneath her demure bodice whenever he chanced to look that way, which now was rather often. The higher swell of her creamy breasts was a tantalizing sight for any man, and Sir Gaylord most certainly enjoyed this treat.

Seeing where the knight's perusal wandered, Ruark
was anything but jovial. He hid his churning anger behind a brimming tankard of ale, tipping the mug and drinking the fluid down until the last drop was tasted. After witnessing this feat, Shanna peered at him questioningly, but Sir Gaylord moved between them again, taking her arm. Bending low over her with some inane comment, he casually led her away from Ruark's presence.

Ruark had no time to react, for his own arm was seized in Trahern's huge paw. As he was tugged along, he heard a flow of eager words begin with:

“Now as to the sawmill. When do you think—”

Ruark was unaware of what he replied, for in his memory the rest of the conversation was covered by an angry haze through which he saw only the back of the swaggering Sir Gaylord.

Trahern left him as a train of wagons arrived from the manor. The squire's flock of servants spilled out of the conveyances and began to set up a long row of tables which were quickly covered with hogsheads of ales and beers and smaller kegs of selected wines, sweet and dry, red and white. A last cart was opened and still-steaming sides of lamb, roast pig, fowl of all sorts, and seafood were all laid out with a vast assortment of delicate sauces to complement the meats and to tease the palate. The ladies of the island brought forth their own preparations to add to the feast As Shanna led Sir Gaylord to inspect the dishes, he spread his hands in surrender and chortled lightly.

“Gracious, I am overwhelmed by this abundance on such a tiny island. Why, surely this must rival the outings in England of my own good kinfolk.”

He missed the glare of several ladies and took Shanna's amused smile as encouragement Trahern had come upon them in time to catch his last statement and hastened to offset the error of his remark.

“Ah, Sir Gaylord, 'tis only that you have not tasted this magnificent fare the ladies have contributed, else you would agree that in all the world no simple outing could rival this one.”

Ruark had followed slowly along, halfheartedly selecting another ale to sip as he regarded the posturing Sir
Gaylord. The knight dabbed repeatedly at his forehead with a lace handkerchief and seemed generally to be suffering from the heat. Ruark was not above hoping the man would collapse from it. But at least with Trahern's close presence, Sir Gaylord held his gaze to something less appealing than Shanna's bodice.

“I say there, John Ruark.”

Ralston hailed him with his riding crop and came toward him, glancing briefly over his darkly clad shoulder toward the Trahern party. Ruark paused to wait for the man, though his eyes, beneath lowered brows, never left that bit of pink almost hidden by the tall, lanky form of the knight. Ruark was not aware that Shanna returned his perusal, gazing past the Englishman's arm as she smiled and nodded at the man's senseless chatter. Ruark only saw Sir Gaylord again lead her away to the end of a separate table where the servants were placing their plates.

“John Ruark.” Ralston demanded his attention in a curt tone and grew red-faced with anger as Ruark responded slowly, finally turning to meet the cold, penetrating glare. “I suggest, Mister Ruark, that you try to keep your yearnings under control, though I well understand the cause.” Ralston gestured casually in the direction of Shanna. “Remember that you are a bondsman and do not think you can exceed your status while I'm about. Tis long been my duty to turn riffraff away from the Trahern door. Indeed, you seem to lack for duties. I suggest you see the pressings to their proper disposal. Twill be a shame for the juices to be lost, for this first should become a selected brew.”

“With due respect, sir,” Ruark's tone was measured and tightly controlled, “the master brewer approved the laying of every stone and has established his skill. Tis unseemly that I, with less experience in the matter, should oversee his work.”

“ 'Tis more than apparent to me,
Mister
Ruark,”—the title was a sneer—“that of late you presume too much. Do as you are told and do not return until the labor is done.”

A long moment passed as haughty glower met carefully blank stare. Then Ruark nodded and strode away to do what he was bidden.

When all the guests were seated at their plates, Shanna found Sir Billingsham at her side and, gazing around the table in wonderment, she noted that Ruark's plate had been pushed to the foot of the table, far away from his usual place near her father, and that his trencher was as yet unattended. She was quick to note Ralston's arrival, and the smug smile playing about his normally taciturn lips.

Seating himself at the middle of the table, Ralston gazed with obvious satisfaction at Ruark's empty place. “For once,” he thought, “that rogue is where he belongs, doing what he should, laboring that his betters might take their ease.”

Lifting his eyes, the agent found Shanna staring at him with a frown gathering on her brow. Hastily Ralston bent his attention to his food, neither marking nor caring that it was not the simple English fare he favored.

Ruark's day had reached its zenith with the success of the mill. Thereafter, it began to sink with a series of rapid plunges to its nadir. However, that point was not reached until later in the evening, when, returning from his errand, he overheard Madam Hawkins and Mister MacLaird discussing the advantages of the squire's daughter marrying a lord. He listened for a while and then turned away in disgust, only to find himself again an unwilling eavesdropper as Trahern expounded upon the touted virtues that a knight might present as a son-in-law. The low ebb was truly found when Ruark overheard the captain of the frigate and the marine major discussing Sir Gaylord's decision to journey to the colonies with the Traherns. He had even made arrangements for part of his baggage to be taken to the manor, while the greater portion would be carried on the frigate to Richmond to await his arrival there with the Traherns. It was their premise that the knight was looking for a worthy wife and had settled his sights on the squire's lovely offspring.

The handwriting was not on the wall, but it blazed furiously in Ruark's mind. The scene was set for that mincing, foppish knave to be proposed to Shanna for a husband. As Ruark drained his cup for the twelfth time, he growled to himself that even
she
had not seemed too
displeased with the gentleman, indeed had been most gracious the entire afternoon.

Ruark made no excuses as he withdrew from the gaieties. Snatching up a large, full flask from the table, he sought out his old mule, mounted its back, and sent it plodding down the hill.

As usual Shanna was the center of much attention. The officers of the frigate came to pay their compliments and lingered long, enjoying the fresh draught of feminine pulchritude after long weeks at sea. Musicians mounted the platform and played for the pleasure of the crowd. A young marine captain led Shanna through a rigadoon, encouraging the other officers to ask for the same favor. The evening should have made her gay, as Shanna had always enjoyed dancing and the lighthearted company of men. However, this evening there was a strange note of discord in her pleasure, and when the rare moments occurred in which she could be alone, Shanna puzzled at her own mood. Events began to drag out interminably, and she became wearied with the tedium of them. She postured and smiled graciously through it all, but her relief was immense when her father finally suggested that the townsfolk be left to enjoy themselves and formed his entourage for departure. For Shanna, it seemed the ride back would never end, and even the breathtaking view of the moonlit surf failed to stir her. Upon their arrival at the manor, she quickly excused herself from Sir Gaylord, drawing a frown of disappointment from the man, and sought the peace of her own chambers.

Ruark came awake with a start. One moment he was asleep, the next wide awake. He could find no reason for it. He was alert and seemed in the best of health, though he had dozed off in the chair where he had been sampling from a jug. Pulling the cork, Ruark sniffed then grimaced at the bitter pungency of the oily black rum. He had never acquired a taste for it and much preferred the lighter, gentler brews.

The tall clock behind him in the hall gave a single chime, and, turning, Ruark verified the hour as the first of the morning. A frown drew his dark brows together. Rising from the chair, he went to stand beside the window.
Old Blue was in his own small yard, though the gate stood wide, dozing beneath the open shelter Ruark had built.

Loosening his linen shirt and slipping it over his head, Ruark went to the washstand in the bedchamber and, having naught else to do, shaved and washed the sweat of the day from his body. He rinsed the bitter taste from his mouth and then donned a pair of shortened breeches before going out onto the small porch to catch the coolness of the night Though slightly lightheaded, as if some of the effects of the rum were still with him, he had a sense of well-being and clarity of mind.

The moon was low and skimmed the treetops. Where it penetrated the high canopies it lit the cool but oddly tense night with an eerie gray cast. There was an urging in him that made Ruark uneasy. The night seemed to call, the shadows to beckon. Stepping from the porch, he felt the dampness of dew beneath his bare feet. He passed the shrubbery and wandered beneath the tall trees. The manor house drew him. Its great dark hulk squatted in the midst of slimmer trees. All the lights were gone now, and he knew that the revelers had returned and were abed.

A familiar bulk loomed beside him, and reaching out his hand Ruark felt the bole, identifying the tree that stood before Shanna's balcony. He leaned a shoulder against the comfortable bulwark of sturdy wood and stared upward toward the open doors that marked her room. His mind wandered until it touched on a scene of Shanna sleeping beside that hulking English knight The vision was most distasteful, and Ruark banished it quickly from his mind. Thus freed, his thoughts trod gently backward to a night when he had watched her in slumber, her honey- and gold-streaked hair spreading in careless cascades across the pillow, framing her perfect face. Her lips parted slightly with her breathing as she slept in innocent trust upon his bed. Then there was a time in the cottage when she had knelt above him naked and leaned across to kiss him, her breasts in silken tresses caressing his chest until he nearly dissolved in bliss. And once she had curled close beside him, cuddling her body against his, her warmth touching a warmth deep within him, stirring his passions to a soaring flight like a covey of quail from an upland lea. The burning inside him grew hotter until it became an exotic
torture, and he found himself beneath her balcony, stretching upward to grasp the vine.

Shanna floated in a deep well of dream stuff, a limbo, an endless void. She was swimming in a gently rolling sea, bright turquoise water shattering with the easy strokes of her arms. A small panic began to build as she realized there was no land in sight, not even the green-hued clouds that reflected its presence, but then the fear fled. Beside her, a man's golden, bronzed arms matched the movements of her own, stroke for stroke. The man turned, and the visage was Ruark's, his white teeth flashing in a tantalizing grin. His lips moved in a voiceless plea, then he rose and arched his muscled back to dive beneath the waves. With a playful laugh she followed, going deep where the light faded into dark green and endless tendrils of seaweed twined about them as they came together in a timeless kiss. She felt no need to breathe. They were like two nymphs drifting in an oceanic nirvana, deeper, deeper. Then suddenly she was alone—

Ruark's face returned in gigantic proportions drifting above her. It came ever closer, yet she could not touch it. She blinked her eyes and moved her head, trying to banish the vision. Suddenly she realized she was awake, and he was there. His arms, braced on either side of her, trembled beneath his weight. His lips hovered over hers, and his voice was soft as he spoke, like a small boy pleading for a favor.

“Shanna—love me, Shanna—love me.”

With a small, welcoming cry, she reached silken arms to draw him down to her, her heart flooding her body with warm gladness. It was like a time for things meant to be, like the trees, the sand, the sea, the sun, and the stars. It was a thousand twinkling stars blending to a single sun, the naked hunger that caught them both into a sweet, violent whirlwind. Shanna arched against him, opening her thighs and meeting his deep thrusts with all the vigor in her trembling body, holding no reserve. They were one, belonging and possessing, giving and taking.

Sated, they lay entwined, Shanna warm and secure in his arms, knowing the strange peace she had found nowhere else. There was no shame, no sense of having strayed, not the smallest tinge of regret that she had
yielded once again. In the record of her mind, the words of the clergyman long ago in a small country church came drifting back. A long and enduring marriage, he had said. For some reason those words no longer frightened her.

Shanna sighed contentedly and kissed the side of Ruark's neck where she nestled close. The slow drum of his heartbeat lulled even the peaceful thoughts, and she drifted to sleep, cradled in his arms.