Shanna (34 page)

In the still, ebony darkness that precedes early dawn, Shanna came aburptly awake, realizing Ruark was easing from her side.

“Wait, I'll light a candle,” she murmured drowsily. Her hand searched the dark for him, touching his hard, muscular thigh, and she rose, slipping an arm about his neck as he leaned to her.

“I thought you were asleep,” he whispered, his lips playing upon hers.

“I was, until you moved,” she replied softly. Wistfully she released a sigh. “Dawn comes so quickly.”

“Aye, love. Much too quickly.” She was like a fragile bird resting against him, and Ruark almost feared to move lest she fly away. The soft, delicate peaks of her bosom touched their warmth to him, and, aware that he must soon leave her, he was like a man on the rack.

Shanna drew away to light a candle on the bedside commode. Then she knelt back upon her heels to smile at him, her hair cascading in a wild torrent over her naked body.

Ruark half groaned, half sighed in longing at the sight of her. “Lord, you're a witch. A beautiful, sweet witch.”

His hand brushed aside the thick curls from her rosy breasts so his gaze could roam unhindered. Shanna laughed as she raised on her knees, her eyes sparkling with bright, happy, glittering lights. Throwing her arms about his neck, she fell against him in playful abandon.

“A witch, am I? Fie upon thee, sir, for taking the best I have to offer and then calling insults. Is this how you've kept your coins, plying your manhood through wicked brothels then claiming you've been cheated?”

Small, white teeth nipped at his ear before she rolled him on his back and raised her fist as if she would lay him lower still. Chuckling, Ruark cringed in mock terror.

“Please, mistress, have pity. I've been sore misused this night.”

“Sore misused!” Shanna gasped. “Indeed, knave, you will soon know what misuse is. I'll tear your fickle heart from your bold chest,” she tweaked a few hairs of his chest, drawing a quick grimace from him, “and feed it to the crabs. How dare you call me a witch when little Milly is so simpering, sweet, and willing. I vow 'twill be more than your heart go missing.”

A strange note of sincerity in Shanna's teasing made Ruark give her a questioning look, but Shanna chuckled wickedly, raking him with a mischievous stare that nearly drew his breath from him and rekindled the fires in his loins. Satisfied with the rapidity of his response, Shanna sat back upon her heels again.

“A mere glance? Can Milly boast of such? That skinny, flat-bosomed twit tempting the dragon Ruark? Hal I've seen better matches in my day.”

Ruark relaxed upon the bed, folding his arm beneath his head. He looked much like the sleek panther her mind had often compared him with. He gave her that slow, careful scrutiny that made her feel devoured.

“You're a bold wench, Shanna Beauchamp. Bold enough to tame a dragon.”

Ruark stretched out a finger and leisurely traced an imaginary line over the full, swelling curve of her breast, studying her eyes as he traveled the peak, seeing them grow dark and limpid like two bottomless pools staring at him from behind lowered lids. Her soft mouth parted with yearning, and Shanna leaned down to him and kissed his waiting lips, touching her tongue to his. His arms came around her, pulling her lithe body over his, and, once again, time ceased to be, though on the eastern horizon the sky lightened to a dark blue.

Humming a light and airy tune, Shanna almost skipped with glee as she descended the stairs for breakfast. She shocked Berta by greeting the housekeeper with an exuberant hug, and the old woman almost gaped as she stared after her young mistress. It was a rare thing, indeed, when Shanna appeared before the elder Trahern came from his chambers, and never so cheerfully. Laugh
ter mingled with her words as Shanna dismissed Jason to admit the bondsman, John Ruark, into the manor. Her face glowed as radiantly as the very sun that shone in the eastern sky. Much bemused, Berta took herself to the back of the house, shaking her head in wonderment as she went Shanna hardly noticed the woman's confused retreat as she gave Ruark a sprightly curtsy and accepted his warm appraisal as a silent compliment.

“You seem to have suffered no ill in your witch hunt, Mister Ruark.” Shanna's eyes scanned him. “No scars? No festering wounds from the witch's fangs?”

A rakish grin spread lazily across his mouth. Taking her slender fingers into his, he made a show of examining her long, carefully tended nails while Shanna watched in amusement.

“Nay, none to be seen, milady. 'Twas only a bit of skin she came away with when she clawed at me.”

Shanna tossed her head in a playful scoff and disentangled her hand from his grasp. “You are speaking nonsense, sir. I remember nothing—”

“Shall I tell you what you whispered in the dark?” Ruark interrupted, speaking in a hushed tone as he bent slightly to her. His smile was tantalizing as he gazed down into her wondering, searching eyes.

“I said nothing—” Shanna began defensively, but she was curious. Had her thoughts betrayed her? Had she spoken some unbidden words?

“You sighed in your sleep, ‘Ruark—Ruark.'”

A light blush touched her cheeks, and Shanna quickly turned away, not wanting to meet his close perusal.

“Come in, Mister Ruark. I believe I hear papa coming down the hall. And Mister Ralston should be here any moment. You'll not have long to wait.”

Thus dismissing his words, Shanna led him to the dining room and there some moments later greeted her father, brushing a light kiss upon his cheek as Ruark looked on, still as much unable as ever to fathom her moods.

Sir Gaylord was a late riser. The conversation at the morning table had been leisurely and well marked with varied opinions of the lumber mill, but he did not make an appearance until well after Ruark and the squire had left to inspect the sawmill being built. So it was that Mister
Ralston, after being coolly bid good day by Shanna, remained the only one to greet the swaggering Englishman as he came into the dining room.

“I say there, 'tis a bit of a balmy day without,” Gaylord remarked, taking a pinch of snuff and sneezing into his lace handkerchief. “Mayhaps I should invite the Widow Beauchamp on an outing this morn. No doubt she will be anxious for some gentlemanly companionship after these months of widowhood. Such a lovely, young woman. I am endeared to that sweet face.”

Ralston folded his accounting books and studied the man. A calculating gleam brightened his dark eyes.

“If I might suggest a bit of caution there, sir—I have known Madam Beauchamp for a considerable part of her life, and she seems to have a natural aversion to most men who come courting her. I can tell you much of her, though I am considered in the ranks of those she detests.”

Gaylord dabbed at his sweat-moistened upper lip. “Then how, my good man, do you propose to help me if you cannot help yourself?”

Ralston's thin mouth almost smiled. “If you should succeed in wedding the widow with my advice, would you be willing to divide the dowry in return?”

Ralston had guessed rightly. Gaylord was eager to strike up any agreement that would lead toward his gaining riches and reestablishing his family's depleted wealth. The knight was not ill-advised on the Trahern fortune, and he was determined to make the most of it, through marriage to the lovely widow or through dealings with the squire. His inherited shipyard was badly impoverished and needed a goodly amount of coins to set the whole of it right. With Trahern providing the purse, he could share a simple dowry with this man.

“As gentlemen,” Gaylord stretched forth his hand, and the bargain was made.

“First of all I would suggest impressing the squire with your importance at court and your good name,” Ralston said. “But you must be warned. If Madam Beauchamp suspects you have taken me as your counsel, all is lost. Even convincing the squire of your merits will not mend that error. So take care, my friend. Take special care in courting the Widow Beauchamp.”

A
PAIR OF SEA EAGLES
nested on the bluff along the east shore of the island. Shanna had often watched them hang on motionless wings as they rode the currents of air high above the crashing surf. Her spirit soared with them. Even with the renewed assurance that motherhood was not forthcoming, she gave little thought to the consequences of letting Ruark invade her chambers again. Her mind was filled with the pleasurable remembrances of when he had come to her in the deep ebony of night and tomorrow had ceased to be. She was content to live moment by moment, surrounded by an airy castle of bliss. She was in tune with her world, and she felt an overriding sense of peace and a strange aura of confidence that all was as it should be. The realization that this state was due to Ruark's daily presence in the manor did not seem to disturb her as it had in the past. She was like a flower, a rose, unfolding under the warm rays of the sun as she bathed in the glow of Ruark's eyes.

Nearly a week had passed since his visit to her room. The day had dawned with heavy black clouds threatening to engulf the verdant island in a storm. Standing on her balcony, Shanna contemplated the ominously dark sky which seemed to press down upon the hills with evil portent.

A loud, angry whinny rent the air, and Shanna whirled to find several men in the lane before the manor, struggling to subdue a horse that reared up before them, pawing the air with its forelegs. Even from where she stood, Shanna could see the bloody slashes that marred the glistening reddish brown coat. Her rage soared at the thought that such a magnificent beast had suffered abuse.

“Here there, be careful with the nag. The beastie is already sore.”

The voice that bellowed was one Shanna had never heard before, but she recognized the garb of the men as being that of seamen—the largest boasted a braided coat, while the other three wore the dress of common tars.

“You there!” Shanna called down as she hurried along the veranda. “What is the meaning of this? Have you no ken to the value of that animal? Were you all born on the wooden planks of a deck?”

Like a whirlwind she descended the wide steps, gilded curls bouncing riotously, and approached the four, glaring at them before she turned to the task of calming the mare. Speaking soothingly, she reached out a hand to caress the silken nose of the steed and stroke its shivering sides. Gradually the animal quieted beneath her gentle touch and condescended to stand still as the men gaped their amazement. They had battled the mare all the way from the village as she had refused to be led either by wagon or themselves.

The large, bewhiskered man took a step forward and spoke apologetically. “We had a bit of a tiff with the weather after we left the colonies, and the ship was tossed to such a degree that the mare was bruised against the stall we built for her. Twas not from ill use, I assure you, mum.”

Shanna contemplated the man and decided he spoke the truth. “What is your name, sir, and for what purpose have you brought the animal here?”

He gave a quick bob of his head. “Captain Roberts at your service, mum, of the Virginia Company. Captain Beauchamp bade me see the mare safely to Squire Trahern or his daughter in return for their generous hospitality while he was here. Might you be the Widow Beauchamp?”

Shanna nodded. “I am.”

The captain fished in his coat, withdrawing a sealed letter which he handed to her. “This be for you, mum, from Captain Beauchamp.”

Accepting the packet, Shanna gazed a moment at the wax seal bearing an elaborate “B.” She was overwhelmed by Captain Beauchamp's generosity, for this was no pauper's gift he had sent She had long ago learned of horses and their value. The broad but tapering head of the mare, the large, expressive eyes, and the gracefully arched neck
bespoke Arabian blood, and as she read the letter, Shanna was assured of this, for Nathanial had detailed the blood line. The mare was as worthy a steed as Attila, and no doubt would produce good foals if bred to the stallion.

The note went on to reassure her that the Beauchamps were happily anticipating their visit, and Nathanial expressed his hopes that nothing would delay their journey, for he predicted it to be a colorful autumn this year.

“We had no one to tend the beastie's wounds, mum,” Captain Roberts explained, mistaking her slight frown of bemusement.

“Oh, no matter,” Shanna replied slowly. “There is a man here on the island who has a knack for that sort of thing.”

A young lad, perhaps ten, stepped forward from where he had been staying out of harm's way and juggled a large bundle around in his arms so that he could yank at the captain's coattail.

“Where am I to take this, sir?” he questioned, holding forth the hide-wrapped bundle.

“Mum?” The captain looked to Shanna again. “Do you know where the lad might find a Mister John Ruark?”

Shanna responded in surprise. “I'm not sure. He might be working at the sawmill, but he has a cottage behind the manor. Can I help you?”

“This here thing,” the man gestured to the package, “be for him. Can we leave it at his house?”

“Aye.” Shanna pointed toward the back. “There's a path through the trees after you pass the manor. Follow it around. 'Tis the large cottage beyond the others.”

As the men left, Shanna affectionately rubbed her cheek against the mare's muzzle, pleased with the gift.

“Jezebel, the Beauchamps have named you. Aye, and you shall surely tempt my Attila, for nowhere on this isle is there so fine a filly. But I must fetch Ruark to care for you, for I'd not trust another to tend you. My dragon has a way with ladies,” she whispered, smiling wistfully. “I know you will like him.”

Inquiring at the village store on Ruark's whereabouts, Shanna drew a shrug from Mister MacLaird.

“Doan know, lass. He was here early this morn to order
some supplies, but I have na laid me eyes upon him since. Have ye checked the sawmill?”

At the building site, Shanna received the same unknowing answer.

“Seems 'ere was something doing at the brewing house, and he was needed.”

Yet even there, none could say where Mister Ruark had gone after leaving. Finally, late that afternoon, Shanna gave up the fruitless chase and returned to the manor. Her father had returned, and Sir Billingsham had engaged him in a discussion of shipyards. Hearing the man's voice, Shanna cautiously made her way across the entrance hall, but the squeaking of the front door had alerted Gaylord and he hailed for her to wait. He was insistent that she join them in the drawing room and would not accept her excuse of wanting to change for dinner, firmly declaring she was ravishing enough. Silently Shanna cursed her luck but nodded and smiled lamely, letting the man lead her across the hall. It was the most boring evening she ever spent in her life, for the man seemed incapable of discussing anything but his family's aristocracy and even had the nerve to point out to her father the advantages his good name would lend to the Trahern fortune. It was some time after the meal was concluded before Shanna managed to escape to her chambers where she immediately ordered a bath and slipped out of her riding habit, dismissing Hergus for the night after the bedcovers were turned down and her sleeping gown laid out.

Sinking into the steaming water, Shanna leaned back in the ornate porcelain tub and languidly sponged her creamy shoulder. Curling tendrils of hair dangled coyly from the luxuriant mass secured with combs on top of her head. The heat of the bath caused her cheeks to bloom with a rosy color, brightening the sea-green eyes beneath their ebony lashes. But in the midst of this comfort, the softly curving mouth showed a petulant pout, and as she caught her reflection in the tall mirror which stood behind a chair, Shanna made a face at herself, wrinkling the slim, lovely nose in aggravation. First her failure to find Ruark, then his absence from dinner had left her in a fitful mood. His mere presence at the table put monotony to flight, and she had felt somehow deserted. Of late there was little enough
left of her privacy outside her chambers to have even a word with him, for Gaylord seemed to scent her out like a hound after a bitch in heat. The knight was forever taking her arm, and she was becoming increasingly aware of Ruark's displeasure over this event Seeing his growing scowl, she would disdainfully set Gaylord's hands from her, but the knight was persistent and would not be put off easily.

Shanna closed her eyes and rested her head back against the tub's tall rim, letting the warm bath ease her tensions. It was rare now to go a full day without even glimpsing Ruark, though he was usually in demand wherever a problem was to be solved or an easier way to be found. Somehow her day did not seem complete.

The silken draperies behind her rustled with the stir of evening breezes. It was a warm, gentle night with the heady fragrance of frangipani scenting the air. The threat of the storm had subsided after only a light sprinkling, just enough to season the night air with a heightened aroma of freshness mingled with the smell of flowers. From afar, the shrill, repetitious song of a tree frog mixed with the sounds of night The clock in her room daintily chimed in the tenth hour, and at its last note, a new melody began, one Shanna had never heard before in her chambers. Her eyes flew open with a start and immediately saw the source, a rather large music box which had been placed on a table near her. And in the chaise beside it, Ruark reclined comfortably, a gracious smile on his handsome lips, his long legs stretched out before him and casually crossed at the ankles.

Shanna sat upright in the tub, staring at him in amazement. A quick glance about the room indicated that he had made himself at home. His hat was tossed upon the bed with his shirt beside it, leaving only the brief breeches to clothe his brown torso. A nod accompanied his greeting.

“Good evening, love, and thank you.” His eyes dipped briefly to her wet, glistening breasts.

“You have no propriety,” Shanna railed above the tinkling melody. But beneath his calm regard she settled herself to continue less harshly, as if only mildly injured, “You invade a lady's private bath and advantage yourself with unsuspected peepery.”

Ruark grinned in exceptional humor. “I do but exercise my spousely rights, Shanna. Tis an occurrence that happens so rarely that I am indeed much disadvantaged. While other husbands nightly view their treasures, I, for the greater part, must rely on recall, even then harshly reining my desire to my will, for I cannot oft seek relief from that which pains me.”

“You rant of nonsense, Ruark.” Shanna rinsed herself slowly with the sponge, noting that his eyes followed closely where her hands led. “Have I not been more than kind to your whimsy?”

She taunted him subtly, lolling back in the tub and raising her arms so that trickles of water traced down their long, slim length then raced in runnels across her round breasts. His eyes devoured her every movement, the heat of them scorching her wherever they touched. Wickedly, Shanna reached for a towel to shut off his view, knowing full well that she tested his starved appetite.

“It strikes me, Mister Beauchamp, that you must surely have some reason to risk my chambers at this hour,” she said offhandedly as she patted at her arm with the end of the towel.

His hand swept toward the music box. “I brought you a gift.”

Shanna smiled coyly. “Thank you, Ruark.” Then a thought struck her. “Is that from the colonies?”

“I begged a favor of Captain Beauchamp to see it purchased and sent,” Ruark replied. “Do you like it?”

Shanna listened for a space before she recognized the tune as the same one she had heard on the
Marguerite.

“Mmm, I like it very much.” She watched his fingers close the lid, shutting off the melody, and raised her gaze innocently. “Could there be another reason you came to my chambers, Mister Beauchamp?”

A slow, tantalizing smile spread across his lips, and his eyes raked her. “I was informed you asked about me across the island, and I could find no cause for such urgency save one.” His white teeth gleamed in a quick grin. “Thus it was, though the hour was late, I hastened here at the first opportunity to assure you that I had not fled in the face of fatherhood.”

For a brief moment, Shanna dried herself, letting this sink in. Then she understood what he had said.

“Cad! Viper!” she snapped. “Pompous fool!” Her hand searched in the water. “Do you think I would banter that about the island?”

The dripping sponge was raised to throw.

“Ah—ah!” Ruark grinned evilly and wagged a finger at her. “Have a care, Shanna. Hergus would not approve of the mess.”

“Ooooh,” Shanna moaned, her teeth clenched in frustration. The sponge was thrust deep beneath the surface and held as if she were choking it.

The towel began to move away from her, and Shanna looked up to find Ruark pulling slowly at the other end. She clutched at the cloth, trying to hold it to her, but it was relentlessly drawn away, leaving her nothing but her hands with which to cover her bosom. Her best attempt at that only aggravated the situation, pressing the delicious fullness to even more enticing display.

Ruark raised himself from his chair and came toward her, his eyes like two glowing coals as they burned into her, locking and holding her gaze. He stood above her, towering tall like some bronze, half-naked savage. The room was silent but for the slow ticking of the clock. The play of shadows in bold relief upon his torso fascinated her, and her eyes wandered slowly down the long, corded veins that stood out in his arms. Ruark leaned down until his elbow rested on the edge of the tub. His finger trailed in the water, and the passion in his gaze was as naked as his chest It fanned the sleeping fires in her own blood. His forefinger entered the deep harbor between her breasts and traced lazily across the beaches they formed and then moved inland along her shoulder and around the base of her slim, white throat His voice came soft, husky, almost a whisper.