Shanna (46 page)

“You play the stud so well,” she raved, warming to her subject. She gave him a slow, contemptuous perusal and trembled with her rage and fatigue. “So strong, so virile, so very talented in bed. Do you think I will twiddle my thumbs while you lay every bed-minded trollop who'll take a tumble with you?”

Ruark gave voice to his own frustration. “What in the sweet, loving hell do you prattle about?” He aired his injured pride. “I sit and watch you with your audience of men and bite my tongue to keep from shouting that you're mine!”

“Yours!”
Shanna stared incredulously and took a step toward him. “Do you think me your slave?” She snatched the red silk from her throat and trod upon it in a high temper. “So much for your slave's collar, Mister Beauchamp. You do not own me.”

“Must I abide the sight of lecherous hands upon you and say naught?” he retorted, shrugging the vest from his shoulders and throwing it across the room. “By damn, woman! You
are
mine! My
wife!
”

His statement seemed to inflame Shanna. “
I am not your wife! I am a widow!
And I no longer wish to be encumbered by your wandering lust!”

“My wandering lust!” Ruark laughed caustically. “Madam, I have watched you swing your hips through a knot of men and lead them amincing after you, frothing in anticipation. Aye, you must feel a need to stand amid your stable of rutting consorts and find it too difficult to limit your attention to your husband”

Shanna's jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered with
a low shriek. “You accuse
me
when you roam the hills like a horny goat and bed each willing wench?”

Her eyes raked him again, and the torment came to her, knowing he had welcomed other women into his arms while he used her like any common wench he could find in a brothel. She had been humiliated, and she wanted to hurt him. She struck out in defense and blurted, half in hysteria, “Why can't I be free of you? Is there no end to your persistence?”

The amber eyes snapped. “You tried well enough! But good Pitney's simple soul has no mind for murder. So here I am to play your game once more. I killed a man in your behalf, but do you thank me? Hell and gone! You'd see me run through as well if not for your fear that the others would take you.”

“You're a devil!” she half sobbed. “A spawn of Satan sent to torture me!”

“Nay, Shanna!” His tone cracked sharp. His own ire brought penetrating golden lights to his eyes as he caught her by the shoulders, none too gently. She stared full into his face, seeing the rage there, and her own abated in the face of it. Ruark shook her angrily.

“Nay, Shanna, 'tis only I, that one who has twice felt the bite of your betrayal! Your husband, well and rightly vowed, whom you would diligently set away—not kindly by the law, but with my blood upon your hands!”

Shanna's exhausted mind could not bear this attack from Ruark, and it brought her trembling to the brink of collapse. Her eyes grew wild, and she gave a mewling moan as she struggled against his grip. Mouthing a curse, Ruark shook her hard until her teeth clicked and her eyes regained some sign of sanity.

“You will be my slave,” he gritted with deliberation.

Shanna opened her mouth, but he shook the denial from her.

“You will be my slave when there are others about. You will obey me. You will be meek and loving for the benefit of those oafish knaves.” He tossed his head toward the door before continuing more harshly. “And if you disobey me, I will treat you like a disobedient slave. Do you understand?” He shook her again but more gently. “You will be my slave as long as we're here.”

Shanna stared at him blankly as he waited for an answer, and in the silence of the room, the timid knock on the door echoed loudly. Ruark threw a glare over his shoulder at the offending portal, angry with the interruption, then turned and faced Shanna again. Her head rolled listlessly against her shoulder, and she had not the strength to stand but sagged in his restraining hands, oblivious to her open gown. Some of Ruark's rage fled and with gentle care he placed her in a chair, where she sat unmoving, her hands folded, like one stricken of mind. Ruark covered her nakedness with a light quilt before he strode to the door.

Snatching the sabre from its sheath, he lifted the bolt and threw the portal wide. The man Gaitlier stood before it, straining beneath the weight of two wooden buckets filled with water. Under Ruark's glare, the man shrank away and was quick to offer explanation, staring at him over a pair of square, wire-rimmed glasses.

“Sir—ah—I was Captain Pellier's man, and now they tell me you are my master. Ah, captain, I brought water. Maybe you'll be liking a bath?” he asked gingerly, his gaze flitting toward Shanna, now asleep in the chair. Brusquely Ruark gestured him in, and the man hastened to comply. Ruark watched him narrowly, lowering his sabre and leaning on it.

“How come you to be a pirate's man?” he inquired. “You speak like an educated man.”

Gaitlier paused and cast him a glance, somewhat hesitant to answer. “I was a schoolmaster in St. Domingue. I taught Captain Pellier in his youth, though I warrant not very much. Several years ago I was on my way to England in a small ship when it was taken by him.” He stopped and rubbed his hands in a nervous gesture. “It was his pleasure, Captain Ruark, to make me his slave.” He nodded toward Shanna. “There are others like her, brought against their will and forced to stay.” Gaitlier heaved a sigh. “Will there be something more you wish tonight, sir?”

Ruark gestured about the room. “Perhaps on the morrow you can find time to clean this chamber. The place is hardly fit for a man, and the lady most certainly is not conditioned to live in a sty.”

“Very well, sir. I'll see it freshened and scrubbed for you. And if you need some woman's chores done, sir, for a copper or two the lass Dora will be glad to oblige.” At Ruark's questioning look, he explained. “The wee lass in the common room, sir.”

Once Gaitlier was gone, Ruark turned his attention to the bed. Pellier had indulged his creature comforts well enough. Two more of the filthy ticks were thrown out the window before he found one that seemed clean enough. He took fresh linens from a chest and spread them across the bed, smoothing them out as best he could. His early training had not extended to the proper laying of a bed.

Finally he brought a bucket to sit at Shanna's feet and carefully removed the quilt and sodden garments, tossing the latter out the window. Dipping a cloth in the tepid water, he lifted Shanna's face and wiped it clean, taking tender care not to unduly chafe the sun-pinkened cheeks. As he washed her hands and arms, his jaw tightened at the red welts around her wrists and the bruises that bespoke cruel pinches and blows from her captors. At least he had sent one of those to a well-earned end.

Placing her slender feet into the bucket, he washed the caked mire from the slender calves and thighs then patted them dry. For a brief moment he let his gaze wander over her in a longing caress. Though she had been roughly used, her beauty still held a piquancy that stirred his heart. As he considered her tangled hair, he frowned slightly, but there was little he could do for that now. Gathering her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed and covered her with a sheet Then, for a long space, he stood staring down at her, a scowl furrowing his brow.

“ Tis a sad thing, my love, that you choose to take a lie as truth without question. Believe me, I have not betrayed you.”

It was almost as if she heard him, for her face softened and she rolled to her side, cuddling beneath the sheet, and in her slumber seemed more restfully content.

Placing a large chair in front of the door, Ruark set his pistols on a table beside it and slid around a small stool to rest his feet on. Taking a seat, he rested the sabre on his knees, relaxed, and sought his own rest.

W
AKING CAME WITH A BRIGHTNESS
that seemed almost painful. Shanna's mind became slowly aware of the disturbing glare. Light filled the entire room, and though she lay with her back to the windows, it still intruded, shining through her closed eyelids, penetrating into her brain. She retreated beneath the pillow, hugging it close over her head, to sink again in the outer fringes of slumber. She stirred sleepily as a hand began to caress the small of her back, kneading away the stiffness that she sensed more than actually felt Lazily she stretched like a sleek, contented feline and rolled onto her stomach to let the strong fingers better do their work. A throaty moan came from her as she arched her back against the gentle massaging, letting it soothe her aches and pains. The hand plied her back and the soft muscles across her shoulders, sending waves of weakening pleasure up and down her spine. Languidly she rolled toward the source of her enjoyment until her back pressed against a hard, furry chest. Her head lolled upon the strong-muscled shoulder, and she rubbed her cheek against the smooth, warm skin. Then her mind tripped into full awareness. Only one person in her whole lifetime had ever shared a bed with her, and no one, not even Hergus, had rubbed her back. Her eyes came open, and all memory flooded back as she stared into Ruark's smiling golden eyes.

“Oooohh!” The groan escaped her as she fell forward on her stomach and snatched the pillow over her head again, pressing it tightly to her ears. Still, she heard the gentle voice with a hint of laughter behind it.

“Good morning, madam. I trust your sleep has agreed with you.”

“Never before,” she railed with muffled disappointment, “has heaven turned so quickly to hell!”

“Reality, madam,” Ruark mocked lightly. “And a poor reality at that. 'Twould seem we've adopted the local ways, as I note the sun is high and the noon hour is near. I fear we've slept the morning away, and as much as my poor, bereaved body cries out for yours close beside it, I must bid you rise lest our dastardly antagonists steal a march on us and set the whole day awry.”

Shanna snatched the covers from her head and gasped, realizing that she lay completely exposed to his gaze. Even more humiliating was the fact that he had apparently undressed her and put her to bed. Giving a moan of despair, she caught the sheet beneath her and rolled to bring its protective cover over her, but she came to an abrupt halt, once more against Ruark's chest. He reclined on his side, head propped casually on his hand, pinning beneath his body the greater portion of the sheet. As his eyes played with hers, glowing devilishly, his arm curled warmly about her, and his hand stroked her bare back.

“Why, Shanna love,” he crooned. “ 'Tis a dread late hour of the morn for wifely passion, yet I would not dare turn you away.”

His lips began to lower to hers. A soft breast was crushed against his lean, hard chest, their thighs were caught together, and Shanna became abruptly aware that he was more than willing, and most certainly ready, to make the hour later still.

She scrambled away from him, surrendering the sheet to whatever purpose he might make of it. It was easier to contend with her own nakedness than with his amorousness. She rose from the bed and sought cover, aware that she must garb herself or face the prospect of rape. Ruark indulged himself in a leisured observation of her flight across the room.

Hastily Shanna snatched up and donned Ruark's leather jerkin, which offered at least some protection—it reached to her knees. Generally large, there were no fastenings above the slim, belted waist of the garment or any below.

Slowly Ruark grinned as his look ranged over her, halting momentarily upon the full, ripe curves showing between the lapels. He rose from the bed, strode naked
across to the chair beside her to fetch his short breeches, causing Shanna to glare at him in suspicion.

“I truly admire the garment on you, madam,” he commented. “And I really don't mind sharing my possessions with you, but I suggest more discretion among the pirates. Without warning, you might find yourself tossed upon your lovely backside by some horny knave.”

Shanna's eyes flickered down him and carried the implication.

“Excluding myself, of course, madam.”

Shanna rolled her eyes disbelievingly. “Are you sure that day will ever come, sir, when you will resist the urge to tumble me?”

“Not even when I'm fourscore and six, madam,” he reassured her lightly. “With you near me I would need the frigid north seas to cool my blood.”

“True,” she nodded. “And so 'tis with every wench you meet.”

Ruark straightened and peered at her in open question of her insult. “Every? Lord, woman, allow me some discrimination.”

Shanna's small chin raised a notch. “You could have had more, but it doesn't matter now. 'Tis over between us.”

“So, 'tis torture you have planned for me.” He stood beside her, hands resting low on his hips, his breeches trailing in a casual grasp on his fingers. “Madam, the sight of you naked in my bed makes my loins ache. The sight of you in my clothes makes my loins ache. Just thinking of you makes my loins ache. Madam, if you do not relent soon, I shall spend the rest of my days in a stoop like an old man bent with age. Do you have no mercy? You're a wench, Shanna Beauchamp, a hussy to so parade yourself”—he stalked about her and slapped the rounded tail of his jerkin heartily—“when you have foresworn that very thing you strut about.”

He seized his breeches in both hands and slipped them on while Shanna laughed at him.

“ 'Tis a simple mind, my lord and master, that bends the meekest movement to a strut Indeed, of strutting I have much to learn from you.” She clamped the straw hat on her head and struck a posture, one knee forward
and a hand braced upon her hip. “The Pirate Captain Ruark, conqueror of all he sees, be it maiden, budding child-girl or heavy-breasted harlot. Pray tell me, sir, have your conquests so burned your brain that you ignore the twist of words which brings our fate to this? You prattle of oaths and pledges, bargains fully made. And what of you, good sir? Have you a special standard where you hold yourself to no single pledge?”

“Shanna, love.” Ruark checked the priming in both pistols and laid them down again. “You have oft declared that I am no husband and that you are widowed full and true.”

“If that be the case,” he leaned close and spoke into her face with almost a snarl on his lips, “then, my love, what claim do you have on me? Why do you defame me loudly for this supposed taking of another? You gave me naught to say, no simple chance of denial, but set your hound on me. All that goes beyond that day, my love, must rest upon your pretty head, for had I not been cast asea by your anger, none of this would have come to pass. A crew of men would have been at your house thus to protect it, and close at hand another score or more to raise arms and set these curs upon their heels. Now what say you, my lovely? Am I your husband? Or am I free? And if the last it be, then why should you at every turn set upon me like a jealous vixen on her mate? Do I stray from you? Or am I some toy pulled along on a string meant to perform when milady would turn and play, but ever on the string?”

Shanna's anger subsided, and she tried vainly to replace it with reason. “ 'Tis not the wedding vows I claim. Tis the other that any woman hates, to be trifled with, to be taken to bed and there warmly plied with love and devotion then brought to listen as another woman lays honors to that selfsame love and warmth. How can I lie with you, tender and loving in your arms, when I know that others have of late been there like me and that others in times coming will usurp my place and with their pleasures make a common thing of that which I would treasure?”

“Now there's a word.” Ruark strode the full length of the room and returned to stand before her. “ 'Tis my first
sight of something worth the keeping. A treasure? Aye, so 'tis, my love. A thing of value, but cheapened if not valued. And now I have it from your lips. A treasure.” He nodded. “Aye, I have a need to hear that word from you.”

He went to the window, there to stand staring thoughtfully out across the island. In confusion Shanna frowned at his back. She had meant to prick his pride but somehow had given him a weapon to use against her.

She made use of his averted attention and crossed to the armoire, shrugging out of the jerkin and kicking it free as it fell to her ankles. She snatched a black velvet gown from the door, slipped it over her head and with a quick wiggle, settled it in place upon her body. The deep front gaped open to her navel with a crisscrossing of laces across her bare skin. The fabric barely held the rosier hue of her breasts in its confines. Shanna worked the laces tight as she moved to stand before the nearest mirror, and there she stopped, her breath catching in a gasp as she viewed herself. The gown did more to destroy her modesty than protect it.

She saw of her image a somewhat disheveled maid with wildly tossed hair tumbling over her back and shoulder and, with breasts pressed together, forming such a vale as to entice the sternest miser. The velvet gown would not close, coyly showing the white of her belly. Shanna glanced back to the armoire, wondering what she had overlooked in her haste to don the dress. There had to be something more to the garment. A blouse? A shift?

Wrinkling her nose in aggravation, she turned slowly before the mirror and over her shoulder caught sight of Ruark. He no longer watched the breezes, but, instead, yielded her his full attention. A wicked grin lifted a corner of his handsome mouth as he sat on the edge of the window, arms folded across his naked chest, silent but deeply appreciative.

“This cannot be all there is to the thing,” she said in some perplexity. “There must be more.”

Leaving his perch, Ruark came to stride behind her musingly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated her reflection. In a casual tone he finally commented as
he looked pointedly toward the overflowing bosom, “There doesn't seem to be much room for anything else.”

“There should be at least a shift,” Shanna argued.

Ruark went to stand beside the mirror to ponder the matter, gazing at her directly. He nodded. “Harripen should like it The Dutchman too, I think.”

“Ruark!” She stared at him in horror that he might make her wear this below, but suddenly she saw the laughter twinkling in his eyes. In impatient exasperation she stamped her foot, setting her hands on her hips, letting go the ends of the lacing. Ruark choked on his breath as her splendorous beauty nearly burst forth. As he stepped forward, Shanna cast him a challenging glare, struggling with the strings in an effort to cover herself.

“Madam.” Ruark's voice was strained, strangely tight “I have never cast my coin for a lady's bed nor exerted my will beyond a tender lass's power to resist” His stare was fastened on the swelling curves, which seemed so eager to be out He heaved a slightly tremulous sigh. “But on occasion there comes a point in a man's life when he is greatly beset and tempted beyond his will.” At her raised and questioning brows, he stated himself more bluntly. “Madam, rape does have its rewards, even if they be onesided. And if I am brought to this brink, do you think yon pirates will hold themselves in check? I suggest you find a gown that would not entice them overmuch and in the course of such, spare me as well from thoughts of violence.”

Petulantly Shanna went to search through the sea chests, discarding garment after garment; none would suffice. It seemed when the size was right, the cut was overbold, and when the style was right, the size was large enough to boggle the mind with the immensity of its wearer.

It was a treasure near the bottom of a large trunk which caught her eye, and she could barely suppress her glee as she examined it How a Puritan garment found its way into a pirate's possession, she could not guess, but she was as happy with it as if she had received a precious gift. It was black wool, high at the neck, with sleeves to the wrists. A wide, stiff collar and cuffs were folded in the long skirt, and beneath it lay a bonnet, as drab as the gown.

Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Shanna assured herself that Ruark was paying no heed. He stood with his back turned, stropping a razor at the washstand as he prepared to shave. Gathering everything into a bundle, she slipped behind a mirror where she would be screened from his wandering gaze. She doffed the black velvet, donning in its stead the heavy woolen. No chemise had been found, not even the simplest shift, and the prickly gown was, at the least, a monstrous torture for her tender body, causing second thoughts to gather quickly in her mind. Still she had a need to disturb that confounded complacency of his, and with puckish anticipation she carefully settled the straight-cut garment in place over her narrow waist and round bosom. Moving to stand behind Ruark, she made a small request.

“Will you lace me?”

“Aye, love,” he readily replied, setting the razor down, before facing her. He suddenly appeared pained. His eyes slowly descended and his tone reflected his lack of appreciation. “Where did you manage to find that?”

Innocently Shanna shrugged and waved a hand toward the chests. “Over there.” She smoothed the gown where it was loose around her waist. “Am I covered well enough?”

For a reply Ruark only snorted derisively.

Shanna pouted defensively. “ Twas all I could find.”

She lifted the long, heavy tresses from her neck and presented her back where the unfastened garment revealed the smooth, creamy nakedness of it. A long, quiet moment slipped past as Ruark performed this service for her, time enough for Shanna to reflect upon the advantages of having a husband. There was almost a domestic tranquility, or more rightly a truce, between them in this moment when her need dictated his attention.

“Have you found a brush for your hair?” he asked over her shoulder.

Shanna shook her head, all too aware of its unsightly state. She felt his hand against it, smoothing the snarled mass, and stepped away, not wishing him to be repulsed by the feel of the wind-ravaged locks.