Shanna (49 page)

The pistol dipped away from his chest, and Ruark nodded stiffly. “Your apology is accepted.”

Ruark's gaze went beyond the man and found Shanna at the top of the stairs. She had donned a modest gown of proportions approaching Carmelita's. It hung almost straight from her shoulders, but its previous owner had not the height to allow the garment to cover Shanna's trim ankles and bare feet.

There was a glimmer in the shadows beside her skirt, and he took note of the small, silver dagger she held, no doubt found among Pellier's effects in her search for appropriate apparel. It was a pitifully tiny thing, but, knowing her, Ruark could guess she stood prepared to fight the world.

The mulatto took a place at the far end of the table, keeping carefully away from Ruark even though he had tucked the loaded pistol back into his belt.

“Join us, Madam Beauchamp. Please do,” Ruark called, striding forward a pace or two. He beckoned to her and indicated a place at his side. “Come, stand here.”

Before she came down into the full light, Shanna tucked the knife away in a shadowed fold of the skirt. As she appeared, Ruark faced the pirates and made a slow, deliberate show of reloading the fired piece. He rammed the shot home, tapping it gently against the powder, then rested the ramrod on Shanna's shoulder when she moved
beside him. She seemed very pale, very small, and very obedient.

“This is mine,” he barked, and even Shanna started at the sound of his voice cracking loud in the silence of the room. He stepped to the table and put the butt of the pistol on it while, with a solid click, he slid the rod into its place beneath the barrel. Opening the pan of the flintlock, he primed it carefully, then placed his foot on the bench and rested his elbow on a knee, letting the pistol dangle loosely in his hand. Calmly he scanned the faces before him.

“You speak of shares,” he sneered, his tone dangerously soft. “I could have claimed yours.” He pointed to the mulatto captain with his weapon. “And yours.” He stared directly at Hawks and ran his thumb almost longingly over the hammer. “Or even yours.” He smiled at Harripen. Then he laughed sardonically and spoke over his shoulder. “ 'Twould appear that Mother is the only one who will not challenge my rights to you, Madam Beauchamp.”

Replacing the pistol with its companion, he drew the long sabre, resting its point on the table in front of the men.

“If anyone would challenge my right to anything, let him speak, and we'll have it out now.”

His eyes mauled the pride of each of them until each man either turned away or shook his head, refusing the glove. Ruark slammed the blade back into its sheath.

“I thought not”

He went back to stand beside Shanna and began to speak in a stilted tone as if lecturing a group of small boys.

“You may consider Madam Beauchamp a piece of merchandise which has by your own rules and consent been given over into my care. She is a treasure of great wealth, the bounty of which could send many of you to the colonies as wealthy country gentlemen.” He lifted a lock of her hair and displayed it for them. “A tapestry or a painting is a thing of great beauty and a thing of great value, but if abused and torn it becomes of no more worth than a rag, of little use to anyone. Do you think to trade a ravished daughter to her doting father for a rich reward? Have you heard of Trahern?” He grunted. “I have! Mother has! He will bear me out If Trahern's daughter is
one whit less than she was, the man will hunt you all, each and every one to the ends of the earth if need be, and he will make you dance from the yardarm for his vengeance.”

The room was silent as they considered his warning. Mother rose from his chair, and the table creaked as he leaned his weight upon pilelike arms.

“Listen to him, lads,” his tenor voice commanded. His bald pate gleamed beneath the lamps, and his braided queues swung as he moved his head to look at each of them. “The man speaks well, and I fear that even should you take him, there would not be half of you left fit to pace a deck. We need every good hand, his with the rest.”

Reluctant murmurs rose in assent, and after a moment Harripen slammed his mug down.

“Carmelita! Dora! Fetch some vittles,” he bellowed. “Me belly aches with hunger, both for food and a good toss.”

The tension was broken, and the corsairs turned to their cups. Ruark gave a nod of his head toward a bench in the shadows behind his chair, and Shanna quickly crossed to it, her knees still weak and trembling beneath her. She glanced up into Ruark's face as he took his seat beside her, but even now it was hard for her to show gratitude. Not wanting to meet his eyes, she looked away.

The men bantered and exchanged jibes as before, but every now and then Ruark caught a glare tossed in his direction. Orlan Trahern had best come apace to fetch his daughter to safety, Ruark mused, for he could not himself say how long he would be able to hold the pirates at bay. They were, for the most part, criminals fleeing the law—outcasts, rejects. With careless abandon they faced death, for it meant only an end to a meaningless existence. Maiming was what they feared most of all, for like wolves they must be healthy and strong to roam. Once crippled, they would have to beg scraps from the cruel and ruthless pack.

Appearing to the others relaxed and confident, Ruark stretched his long legs before him and rested his arm on the edge of the table. Only Shanna knew there was that in him which was like a beast in the wilds. One could never
be sure of his mood and must always treat him with the respect due a dangerous animal.

“God help the world should he ever become a real pirate,” she thought “He'd make a hellishly good one. He has a flair for leading men”—her eyes narrowed as Carmelita sauntered near him with a platter laden with roast meats—“as well as a way for leading women.”

Dora kept as far from the men as she could, loading the trenchers at the hearth and filling the pitchers of ale and wine from the huge casks, setting both on a low table there and letting Carmelita serve, a task that she accomplished most heartily. She could skillfully balance a large tray of meats on one hand, seize a brace of brimming mugs with the other, and still walk with a full swaying motion of her hips. Laughing gaily, she spun away from encircling arms and avoided the rougher grasping hands which seemed eager to seize portions of her body. Still, she pranced and displayed the deep cleavage of her ample bosom with amazing impartiality, though beside Ruark she lingered overlong and rubbed her thigh unnecessarily against his. She bent low so he could not miss the full display of her endowments and leaned well over his arm to refill his mug with ale. As she drew back, her bosom caressed the full length of his arm in an open, deliberate way.

Shanna bristled, incensed that Ruark did not remove himself from the woman's attention. She could not see the disturbed frown he fixed upon Carmelita, and she dearly longed to lay the sole of her foot smartly against those broad buttocks.

Carmelita drew away to a safer distance, fetching another armful of food and drink and allowing Shanna to cool her rising temper, if only a small bit As Ruark turned in his chair to Shanna, offering his plate for her to select a morsel, he could not miss the import of her squared jaw and the fine, tilted nose that somehow snubbed him while she chose what she wanted from his trencher.

Suddenly Mother slammed down his tankard and glared at them all accusingly. “There's a stench in this room,” he snarled, “of the rich and haughty.” He silenced them all with a vicious swipe of his hand across the table. “ 'Tis an
odor of whips and blood and sweat. Tis a stench of wealth and twisted justice. It smells like—”

His gaze flitted about the room again until it settled on Shanna. She stared into his mad eyes and had she been alone, without Ruark beside her, she would have hidden herself in terror. With a sudden movement Mother flung out a thick arm and pointed an accusing finger at her.

“ 'Tis the smell of a
Trahern,
” he screamed, and Shanna quaked convincingly as all turned to stare. Ruark stiffened imperceptibly and lowered his glass. Mother's high laughter rang in the room. “Rest yerself, Mister Ruark. No one here disputes yer rights to the vixen. Ye know full well I cannot hinder yer claim. But 'tis my end that she serve us as we served her father—like a
slave.
”

Bellowing agreements came from every side, and Carmelita smirked as the noise died and added her verdict. “Aye, let the little twit earn her keep.”

Mother waved his arm toward Shanna and commanded, “Let her be about her labor like any good slave.”

At Shanna's questioning glance, Ruark ever so slightly nodded his consent. In some confusion she rose to her feet, not quite aware of what was expected of her. Her gaze flickered across the leering faces until it came to rest on Mother. The giant smiled slowly.

“If ye please, Madam Beauchamp—a goblet of wine will tide me for a spell.”

A flagon was thrust into Shanna's hand by Carmelita, who regarded her with dark, lazy eyes and a self-satisfied smile. With shaking fingers, Shanna clutched the pitcher to her, feeling the full weight of many stares and Mother's sly eyes upon her. She refilled the eunuch's cup. Then as others beckoned her with raised glasses and gaping grins, she moved hesitantly about the table, carefully filling the goblets with the thick, heady brew.

Harripen leaned back in his chair, watching her every movement, his eyes testing the soft curves hidden beneath her oversize gown. With a flip of her wrist Shanna brushed a curl off her cheek, and his heated gaze turned to the loose bodice which lay against her round breasts. Reflectively he let his perusal leave her to pass over the robust Carmelita, who sliced meat with an energetic motion, setting her heavy breasts swinging. He sipped his wine and
began to eat again, having decided that at the proper time he would ease his needs—but not with the slut.

The mulatto showed no such patience. As Shanna came near him, he grasped her wrist, causing her to slosh wine over his knee. Fearfully Shanna tried to snatch free, but he pulled her ever closer until he chanced a glance toward Ruark. Then he froze, seeing those golden eyes hardening with that same piercing coldness he had seen glowing behind the flintlocks. With a pained smile he set her from him, and Shanna made haste to step beyond his reach.

Ruark waited until all had been served then motioned to Shanna, who came quickly. She leaned over to pour wine into his goblet, and in a careless moment her breast lightly brushed against his shoulder where the sleeveless jerkin left it bare. The contact caught them both unawares, startling each with a quick excitement that rippled through their bodies. Their eyes met with a suddenness that made a blush suffuse Shanna's cheeks. Unsteadily she straightened, clutching the pitcher against her bosom in painful confusion.

Having witnessed the whole of the encounter, Harripen burst out into loud guffaws, grasping the shirt of the Dutchman, who joined his glee when the Englishman pointed to them, drawing everyone's attention.

“ 'Ey there, Mister Ruark, ye've trained her well.”

Ruark slipped an arm about Shanna's hips, placing his hand with bold familiarity upon her buttock, and returned a grin to the leering men. “Aye, but she has a mite to learn yet. 'Tis like breaking a good mare. I can't leave her alone too long.”

He felt Shanna stiffen and could guess how his words must rankle.

“Aye,” the Englishman bellowed. “'At's the way of it But here, lass, let Carmelita show you a thing or two.”

Carmelita came forth eagerly, swinging her broad hips, and leaned against Ruark's chair, oblivious of Shanna, who slowly burned while brown fingers curled in Ruark's dark hair. In the face of the smaller woman's glare, Carmelita laughed.

“Take it easy, lovey. He looks like he's got enough to please the both of us. The mores the merrier, I al'ays say.”

Shanna's eyes narrowed as the woman fell giggling into
Ruark's lap, causing his breath to leave with a “whoof.” He struggled to sit up beneath the weight and seemed somewhat pained as Carmelita spread eager kisses over his face and chest. Twisting upon his lap and crooning in his ear, she pulled his hand to her breast and settled her own hand intimately upon the bulge of his manhood.

Something within Shanna snapped, like a dry twig beneath a heavy foot With a low, rising shriek of rage, she reached out and gave Carmelita a heave that sent the woman sprawling to the floor. There Carmelita sat, somewhat dazed by the attack of this supposed lady. The roaring laughter of the pirates, however, would not let this affront go unpunished, and a long, slim blade suddenly appeared in Carmelita's hand.

Ruark rose to his feet as it again looked as if he would have to intervene, but a shattering of glass brought his attention around to Shanna. His brow raised in mild wonder as he saw that she faced the larger woman with a cloth slung through the handle of a broken pitcher. He removed his chair and himself from Shanna's way, though not far. She stood her ground, swinging the sharp-edged shard on the length of towel. It made an excellent mace. The graceful line of her jaw was set with the same stubbornness he had often witnessed before. He could not but admire the savage beauty her wrath brought forth as her sun-streaked hair swirled in glorious disarray around her.

Carmelita retreated a step, her uncertainty written plainly in her face. Even if she managed to cut Shanna, the jagged edges of the shattered pitcher could mar her for life, and in this place, having to make her living from men, she could ill afford the loss of any part of her meager beauty. She saw the determination in Shanna's eyes, the fire in the bluish-green depths. She had not been bested before, but she thought it wiser, for the moment at least, to retreat.

She tucked away the knife, and relaxing, Shanna set her own weapon down. Harripen chuckled as he reached out to pat Shanna's rump in approval, then almost swallowed his tongue in surprise as the open palm of her hand struck him smartly across his face. Ruark held his breath, awaiting the Englishman's reaction; but Harripen, after the first shock, gave a hearty roar of laughter.