Shanna (37 page)

“Aye, as I care for all fools and children,” Shanna snapped testily, stepping down from the boards. 'Tis a wonder your guardian angel has not collapsed from overwork for all the care you give.”

“Of course, my lady.” Ruark switched to a stilted schooled speech akin to Sir Billingsham's. “But what a perfectly marvelous job the good chap's done 'til now, eh what.”

Shanna could not repress a smile at his foolery. In passing him, she gave him the lantern and returned to the stool, propping her feet high again. Ruark set the lamp on a shelf and began to wash his hands in a bucket beneath, using large amounts of soft soap from a crock. In some fascination, Shanna studied the play of muscles across his naked back until he turned to regard her, accepting his perusal but hastily shifting her own away lest he mistake it for a deeper passion.

“Am I a fool to hope you no longer wish my death, Shanna?” he smiled.

Shanna gaped back at him with widened eyes. “I never longed for such,” she defended tartly. “How can you think it?”

“The bargain—” he began, but Shanna's reply came swiftly in echo of his.

“Damn the bargain!”

Ruark chuckled softly and stepped toward her. “Have you not said you loathed me, love?” he taunted gently, eyeing her closely.

“And when have you ever said you loved me?” Shanna retorted. “What manna have you bestowed upon my heart?” She flung out a hand, and the violence of the gesture warned Ruark to keep his distance. “I have had lords aplenty, princes by the score, and feverish rakes all pleading for my hand, or at the very least a most singular favor. They plied me with tender words meant to stir my heart or make me know that I was wanted, even admired. But what of you? Where are those words that would nourish my woman's vanity? Have you once just held my hand and told me that I was”—she shrugged and spread her hands in a questioning gesture—“pretty? Graceful? Warm or gracious? Soft or lovely? Nay, you ply me ever with arguments like a nagging child seeking a bite of sweets.”

Ruark laughed, tossed the towel to a peg, then paused to ponder for a moment. When he continued, he addressed her like an orator before parliament, striding back and forth, arguing his case and accenting his statements with flourishes of his hands like a learned barrister.

“Madam, you most surely speak the truth. But I for one”—he softened his voice and tapped his chest with a finger—“have never been wont to question the method of success. Where are those mincing fops and drooling lads? Name me one who has not fled holding the halves of his heart together by dint of will.” He leaned forward and his voice was almost a whisper. “The favor you extended was mine alone to sample, Shanna, my love.” He straightened and considered the back of his hand for a moment. “Of course, since then I cannot vouch—”

Shanna was outraged at his suggestion. “You know no other has been where you have.”

Ruark met her stare with anger in his own. “There is one of late who seems to attract you overmuch.”

Shanna shook her head.

“And fondles you—”

“He but took my arm,” she denied, wondering at Ruark's sudden venom.

“And ogles you as if he possessed you beyond the common lot.”

“Sir Gaylord?” Shanna giggled at the sheer ludicrousness of his charges. “But he's just a—” She paused and her gaze became incredulous. “Why, Ruark! You're jealous!”

“Jealous?” His look of surprise ebbed to one of pained realization. He dropped his eyes and scuffed the straw beneath his feet. “Jealous? Aye.” His voice was so low that she barely understood his words. “Of any man who stands beside you openly in public and touches so much as one soft curl and looks at you when I may not While I must strangle dead the slightest show of yearning for you.” He whirled suddenly with fierce determination. “You speak of tender words.” His lips were strained and tight “My tongue has formed them by the thousands while I lie alone in my bed at night, half feeling the warmth of you beside me. There, unspoken, they writhe and twist beneath my flesh until good anger smothers them. Still, the arguments were there and always between us, burning to be spoken. And speak I did, trading away the softer terms of love for that which was ignored though obvious. I found no time to speak them, though they were ever in my mind.”

“Then speak them now,” Shanna bubbled gaily. “Come on,” she urged against his reluctance. “Pretend that I am a high-born lady.” She straightened. Raising her nose appropriately, she brought her arms beneath her heavy mass of hair, lifted it to a momentary towering edifice, then let it fall to an even more glorious splendor. “And you,” she pointed a finger imperiously, “will be my lordly suitor come to pledge your troth. Let me hear a sampling of your treasured rhymes.”

Ruark laughed and found his crushed hat, raised its splintered crown and set it jauntily upon his head. Shanna choked back a giggle at his appearance.

“Milady, you look more like a great white stork with
four wooden spindly legs,” Ruark accused as he eyed her with a roguish grin.

Shanna's eyes were animated and full of gaiety as she gathered the bulk of her robe around her and tucked its folds between her knees, unconsciously bringing to his full view dainty ankles, long, slim calves, and a good measure of thigh. With a quick jerk, Ruark doffed the hat and held it in both hands before him like a bondslave suddenly confronted by his master.

“As my lady wishes,” he murmured. When his voice came again, it was warm and rich, with a texture one could almost feel and a strength that belied his humble stance. “Oft have I wandered witless in the dark, bemused by a vision of such beauty that my simple mind refused to leave it. 'Tis thee, my love. Tis thee whose fair face is ever before me. I have set my feet on many foreign lands and ventured boldly forth to sample the womanhood thereof. But had I in my strongest moment drawn a likeness of that one who could bring me senseless to her feet and set me mumbling in rapturous pleas for the slightest touch of her soft hand, a kind smile, a brief caress, I would most surely have drawn this silken glory that rests upon your head.”

Ruark raised a hand as if lifting her hair and let it fall.

“And would I add a visage that would haunt me in my loneliness like a nightmare in my dreams, most certainly it would be yours. If beneath my trembling quill a woman's form takes shape, it is that one I have known once warm and living in my arms and that one which brings me chilled and shaking from the deepest sleep.”

Shanna's breast ached, and her eyes were soft and moist as she heard words that set themselves like tiny, swift barbed arrows into her flesh.

“You are the one whom I fear to meet each day, and yet I cannot wait until I do. I know the pain will come. I know the choking in my throat of the words that are never spoken.I know your beauty and seek it out, though the slightest taste will leave me weak and mindless. I have no other world but you. Your smile is my sun. Your eyes, my stars. Your face, my moon. Your touch and warm caress, my earth and food. Yea, this is Shanna,” he whispered, “as I have never said before to anyone.”

Shanna sat mesmerized, enthralled by the stirring warmth of his words. As if she came from a daze, she realized he stood close before her. The stool was tall and gave her added height, but still she had to raise her eyes to meet his, which gazed down at her gently. Confused, Shanna could only stare back at him. There was a part of her that yearned to take him to her and return like tender words of love. There was within her, too, that part which reeled beneath the shock of their near discovery a few hours past and was not yet prepared for surrender and, indeed, feared the slightest touch from him. And his manner set her at odds with herself, for she had no way of knowing if he spoke from the heart, or merely recited some memorized verse he had used oft before. Shielding herself, she took refuge in lighthearted banter.

“Good sir, your tongue is smooth and doth plead your cause worthily. But I am reminded of one who seized the bridle of my mount and threatened me with anger in his eyes and of another who plagued me sorely until I yielded myself to his pleasure. Your pardon, milord, but he does not seem the same as the one who vows me his ideal of womanhood. The words ring falsely when taken in the light of what has passed. I fear this to be but another ploy designed to please my ear but somewhat departed from the truth.”

Ruark's grin was devilish. “I beg milady to hasten in her decision. Your father has spoken of a dozen offspring to please him, and even so young a maid as yourself needs time to accomplish the task.” He rested his hands casually alongside her thighs and leaned close to leer into her face. “Do you not think we should be about it?”

Shanna carefully lifted his hands and placed them aside. “ 'Twould no doubt please you should my belly grow with child each winter and then in spring find me laboring to add another to your house until your proof of potency exceeds the most prolific of the princely heads at court.” She turned away and then back again to confront him with a further reproof. “But tell me, sir, should I bear you a score or more, by what name shall they be called?”

“The choice be yours, my love. And upon your choice will rest the comfort of your conscience.”

“You are impossible,” Shanna chided. “You offer little
in the way of solution and much in the way of confusion.”

“Then let the problem lie.” Ruark was little put aside by her reasoning. “In time and by the grace of God, all will be solved.”

“You simply refuse to comprehend.” Shanna thumped her knees with her fists in frustration. “Why can't you see my plight?”

“I understand perhaps more fully than you realize,” he said tenderly. “ 'Tis the same problem every woman faces: when to give up the dreams of childhood and face the realities of life.” He lifted a shining lock of her hair from her shoulder and devoured its luxuriance before he let it fall again. His golden gaze found the sea-hued depth of hers and held it in a gentle bond which roused again the warmth Shanna had felt with his speech of avid admiration. It was like some strange spell he wove around her, and it was a struggle to free herself.

“Stand clear of me.” Her command was sudden, but it lacked in firm conviction. “Keep your distance, knave. I see through this simple assault. Once again you contrive to toss me on my back and mount me like some horny stag.”

His lips were close to hers, but Shanna was not yet ready for a quick surrender. She ducked beneath his arm and flew her perch, finding another on a saddle rack near the door but remaining ready for further flight.

Ruark seemed to discard his intent, and, lifting a long-handled wood-tined fork, he began to clean wisps of straw and hay from the stable floor.

“Do you really like the mare?” he asked innocently.

“Aye, I do,” Shanna replied, keeping a wary eye on his progress. “Tis a shame she suffered so from the voyage.”

“ ‘'Tis, but she should heal well,” Ruark commented. “She is of good stock, that Jezebel.”

The mare stomped and snorted at the mention of her name.

Ruark peered into the mare's stall as if concerned. “She seems to chafe against her pain.” He straightened. “What's that?”

Unwarily Shanna turned her head, and as soon as her gaze left him, the fork sailed into the corner. As it clat
tered down, Shanna found herself swept up in Ruark's arms. She cried out, but not too loudly lest she wake the stable boy. For the most part her struggle took place in silence.

“Ruark, put me down.” She managed to twist herself around until her toes were touching the cobbled floor, but his arm was wrapped around her beneath her robe, and she felt his hand against her bare buttocks. “Behave! This is no place—”

He laughed against her ear. “For fools and children you said. If that should mean you love me, I care not for which it be.”

Shanna wedged her arm between them and clutched the robe at her throat, well aware of her near-nakedness and the familiarity of his hand wandering up her back.

“Ruark, you can't. Oh, stop that.”

He nibbled at her ear, sending a flood of shivers up and down her spine.

“Ruark, I tell you we just can't—not here! Now stop that!”

Shanna managed to get his hand away and almost escaped as his grasp loosened for a moment. But Ruark trapped her again as she made to flee. With a sudden heave, Shanna pushed with all her strength. Ruark's heel caught on a loose flagstone, and he sprawled full length backward onto a pile of hay. It was his good fortune that his hand caught her gown, and Shanna found herself pulled down on top of him. Their bare limbs were entangled, her hair wildly tossed about them. For a moment Shanna struggled to rise as she recognized the fires in her own loins kindling with the hard flint of his, but with a low chuckle Ruark rolled with her, imprisoning her beneath him. Her robe had parted, the light nightshift strayed upward over her belly. Braced on his elbows above her, Ruark smiled down into her eyes.

“So, temptress, I've caught you. Will you change into another form and fly away? Or will you play your siren song until my poor befuddled head shall lose its wit and I am tossed mindless onto the rocks of this barren shore?” My gaze does see a vixen bold with enchanted form, mermaid eyes and seafoam breasts, who doth ever
lure me on, stirring me beyond my ends; then crying nay, nay, nay, she flies and leaves me mewling like a hungering child for her.”

Shanna's voice was soft as she gazed into those golden eyes that hypnotized her and slowly sapped her will to resist. “When have I ever tempted you so sorely then denied your manly lust?”

“You are, my love, the Circe of my dreams who, when I close my eyes, does make me a rutting swine to slaver at your feet for the merest tidbit of your favor.”

“If I pain you so, good sir,”—Shanna laughed with a warm twinkle in her eyes and plucked a straw from his hair—“why don't
you
leave? Perhaps when the sawmill is done, I can ply my father for your freedom and your fare to the colonies. Would you then leave me?”