Shanna (52 page)

“A strange man you are, Mister Beauchamp,” she mused aloud. “You ply me as a lover then berate me as if I were a child and set your cause much awry when you say that I am the last of your choices for a wife.”

Relaxing back against the rim, she lost herself in thought. Those words bit deep and rankled hard, but there was a gritty truth in them. Those who had seemed most eager to wed her were those most in need of her father's fortune.

Her gaze settled on a mirror which stood nearby and she stretched out a trim, well-curved leg to turn it until she could see herself. Calmly she considered what she saw, noting the deepening golden color of her oval face. Blue-green eyes rimmed with thick, sooty lashes shone startlingly bright in contrast They were her best asset and usually effective in most any situation when she wanted to gain her
way or charm a man. Wheaten streaks, newly bleached by the sun, swirled amid the mass piled high on her head. In the main, she was pleased with her image. Her breasts were high and full, softly hued in creamy white and delicate pink. Without being thin, she knew her waist was smaller than most women could claim, and her legs were long and well-shaped.

She smiled at herself. White, even teeth flashed back at her from the glass.

“Well, my Captain Pirate Ruark, if I have set you to these dire straits wherein your neck is forfeit, you must realize I am also the key to my father's pardon. You would do well to see me safely back to his care. So on that score, my beloved, we shall be even.”

The room had darkened when Ruark finally entered. Shanna returned her makeshift draperies to the mirrors and engaged in a leisurely toilette. She heard him rummaging through the sea chests, and some moments later the quietness which had descended pricked her curiosity. When she peeked around the curtain, she found him at the table with a large sheet of parchment spread out before him. He was intent upon the sheet and made notes here and there with a quill. Restoring her shelter, Shanna stood thought-fully chewing on a knuckle; then with sudden decision she went to the armoire and drew out a red silk gown of daring cut which she donned. It hinted of a Spanish owner, for the bodice was long, and the dress fitted well over her hips, spreading from there to a full hem which gathered up to show tiers of multicolored underskirts. The bare expanse from shoulder to gown was startling and most inviting. The back of the gown dipped low as well, revealing much of the soft, alluring curve of her body. Shanna ran her hand from bosom to hip, smoothing the soft silk.

“This should show that wandering stud the difference between a lady and a common street wench,” she mused shrewishly. She did not pause to consider there was little of a ladylike appearance about her. Still, there was nothing of a common wench either.

Tossing aside the screen, Shanna moved toward Ruark, hips swaying provocatively, hair flowing about her shoulders in a manner that belied the care she had given it. It was what Ruark had expected, another assault upon his
senses. It took an effort to return his gaze to the parchment, giving no hint of the success of her ploy.

Shanna wandered about the room, doing small, inconsequential chores in an effort to draw his attention but, much to her disappointment, he appeared completely engrossed in his study and gave her no apparent notice.

There was a light knock on the door, and Gaitlier's hesitant voice called for entry. At Ruark's nod, Shanna unlatched the door for the man and was delighted to see him carrying a large platter which bore an assortment of fruits, breads, roasted fowl, and boiled vegetables. There was even a bottle of good French burgundy. Shanna's mouth watered at the enticing aroma, and she could hardly contain her eagerness to taste the fare.

“Oh, Gaitlier!” she exclaimed, “You're a dear man!” She smiled brightly for his blushing pleasure and missed the dark scowl Ruark threw at them over his shoulder.

“Dora prepared it,” Gaitlier remarked timidly, casting a cautious glance toward Ruark. He hastened to set his burdens down seeing that Ruark pulled his papers aside for the tray to be placed, then stood sheepishly, rubbing his feet together and looking hesitantly toward the rolled map. Ruark thought the man might speak, but as he leaned back in his chair to wait the servant's pleasure, Gaitlier appeared to lose his nerve. With a quick nod to Shanna and Ruark, he left.

Setting the bolt in place behind him, Shanna seated herself across from Ruark and began to nibble tidbits from the platter while he opened the wine and poured it into the goblets.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked as he took up the map again and began to study it as he ate.

“Trying to find some hint of the channel through the swamp,” he replied without looking up.

The meal continued, though both of them took no great relish in the tasty fare. Ruark sipped his wine and sampled the food without so much as a glance in Shanna's direction. After a while he pushed his half-filled plate from him, having lost his appetite under the stoical manner he forced upon himself.

It was with a good measure of dejection that Shanna rose, releasing a sigh. Taking a small slice of melon, she
went to the window. A distant rumble of thunder echoed her mood. An errant gust of wind swept into the room, setting the heavy drapes astir and rustling Ruark's charts as he held them down against its teasing. Worried, Shanna pushed the hinged shutters wide and leaned against the sill, watching the evening squall race toward the island. The aging dusk was turned white briefly by a flash of lightning that drew a gasp from Shanna and made her pull back with a start. The storm clouds drew overhead, and the first drops splashed on the thirsty sand. Soon more distant detail was lost in the haze of pounding rain.

His arms spread wide across the charts to keep them from going astray, Ruark raised his eyes to the window. His breath caught in his throat at the stirring sight there. Shanna half sat, half leaned, upon the sill, her thigh raised upon its edge, her face presented in profile as she gazed out at the darkening clouds. The diffused late light made her seem some classic statue cast in gold and robed in brilliant carmine. Her hair appeared almost transparent, tumbling like an amber waterfall of dark rich honey to her waist. The gown clung to her breasts, conforming to the natural swell that dared the touch of man. As he stared, a flash of lightning crossed the sky, and in its pure light she became a carving in fresh white ivory, her garment mellowing to a gentle pink. The dark clouds sapped the brightness from the sky, and, with its fading, her skin became the oiled oak of a ship's bold figurehead, her hair knotty swirls of ebony. Her face was pensive, her smile sad. Her eyes alone took on a lighter hue, that of a brilliant green sea stirred and swirled by the storm.

“My God,” Ruark groaned inwardly, frozen at the table by this innocent panorama. “Does she know how beautiful she is? Does she know how she tortures me?”

His mind whirled. “How can she tease and taunt like a shrewish vixen and refuse me that which I crave? What hellish task has she conjured for me now? She cannot believe that I can long ignore her. Perhaps here again she seeks from me some violence so she can have reason to hate me.”

The rain pattered down, and she became a cameo, a
work of art, but no artist ever touched a brush who could portray this beauty. Darkness descended with its cloak of black, and she was etched in the candles' glow. Again she became the mysterious beauty with gown of deep red crimson which showed her every movement Ruark forced his eyes away and stared at paper suddenly bare, void of any marking. His mind wandered, and he considered what plea might bring an end to her unreasoning anger.

Should he ply her as some loving swain? Nay, not that She'd only throw it back at him. But what did she expect of him? He was lost He sat bemused. If she knew his mind, would she have pity on him? A simple touch, one finger laid onto his arm. “A gaze,” his mind screamed in agony. “Anything!”

Nothing came. No touch. No kiss. No gaze. He looked away in despair.

Shanna's eyes turned slowly to Ruark, who was, it appeared, still poring over his maps. Her throat ached slightly with the effort of suppressed tears, and she had a sudden, intense desire to be held in someone's arms. Forlornly she crossed the room and stretched out across the bed, staring at his bronze, naked back, while a thousand ideas flitted through her mind only to be rejected one by one. A desperate longing welled within her, the need to run her fingers over that expanse and feel his muscles flex beneath her hands.

There were numbers on a sheet before Ruark, notes in his own hand, but his mind no longer made sense of them, though he tried for a long time. Finally he began to fold them away. Shanna saw his movement, and her thoughts flew:

“He's coming to bed! What shall I do now? Perhaps I shall yield to him if he only presses me a bit”

“Nay, damn him!” Her ire rekindled. “He takes a common trollop beneath my nose and so shortly after begging truth and love from me. I'll tutor him rightly on truth and love. I'll see him straining at the bit before I'm through with him.”

Ruark rose and stretched, his arms flung high above his head to ease the cramp in his back caused by sitting so long. Fleeing from the bed, Shanna strode haughtily to her makeshift alcove. Frowning, Ruark viewed
the sway of her hips until she stepped from his sight. Muttering a low curse, Ruark finished the wine in his glass in a single gulp. He dropped his breeches over the back of a chair and reluctantly slid between the sheets to await her return. He knew he would then enter the battle of knowing she was so close and yet untouchable.

After a moment Shanna came back with a wide linen cloth wrapped around her. Retrieving the blanket, she avoided his gaze as she rolled it again into a barrier and came to place it in the middle of the bed.

It was too much! With a roar of rage Ruark snatched the thing and came to his feet In a single bound he was to the window and sailed it to the courtyard below. His wrath flared high as he turned, and his nakedness made it all the more magnificent. Shanna stared in rising fear and much admiration.

“Madam, I will have this out!” He approached the bed again and stared at her, a full measure of determination showing in his gaze.

“Oh, you will have this out,” Shanna sneered, recovering herself. “You are bold enough to claim that I should be your wife and bold enough to make it understood that this should never hinder you in any way.”

“Once on a time in my dungeon, I passed the hours and marked the days unto my end,” Ruark began to state his case. “The gaoler made life for me a challenge, and I met it” He flung up his hand dramatically. “Indeed, I threw it in his face.”

“What arrogance!” Shanna threw up her hand in a mocking gesture and watched him wrap a discarded towel around his hips.

Ruark gave her words no mind, but continued with his own. “And then into my dark, damp world, there came a light and warmth of a like I had forgotten long past. The bargain she made was beyond my wildest dream, and once again my world was more than the four stone walls with roof and floor and a narrow iron door to check my flight.”

It was as if she had not heard him. “And when I came to you, confused and beset, you gave no slightest pause, but tossed me on the bed and once more took advantage of me.”

Ruark paused his pacing to point a finger accusingly. “Twas on my honor that I acted out my part and waited on your pleasure. Alas, I saw my last hope dashed and was snatched from the lap of its fulfillment to be cast into my hole again.”

“And you crept into my chambers in the dark of night and took advantage of the slumber still clinging to my eyes.” Shanna whirled away from him and paced the room angrily.

“Once again, madam, fate did favor me.” Ruark became avid in his oration and rubbed a fist into his palm. “The hangman was cheated, and I found myself thrust into my fair one's life through purest chance. My rage was great My need for revenge trembled my knees.”

“Indeed, you lost no chance to see that I might be set with child and thus your own ends won. I can guess”—Shanna tossed her head and glared at him—“the fault of the maid in Londontown was that she held your seed in her belly.”

Ruark stroked his chin, pondering. “'But still, I was led a gentler way. I saw the tender breast before me bared and the promise of a righted wrong was made and the bargain done. I despaired, for I could make no further claim and the fairness of that one haunted me at every turn. I had no smallest chance of escape from my own word. But then she came again and overdid the bargain, then I was the one indebted. Still, she welcomed me when I most needed welcome. But fate closed her hand against me, and the vilest of rumors did me out. Another's name was linked to my own by wagging tongues.”

“Poor Milly,” Shanna sighed heavily. “She fell to you as easily as I did, though she has not yet found the brutish bend of your nature.”

“One whose simpleness I could ill abide was said to have enamoured me and taken me to pallet. A clumsy incident was made to mar what little happiness I had.”

“'Twas only her simpleminded clumsiness that made her full aware of your wandering lust. Poor wench that she should have no wealth to lure you. She will certainly end as the one in England.”

“I would have sought the lady out to plead my cause, but therein lies the woe of it” He began to warm with
anger. “I was betrayed again and met with no more than good Pitney's boney fist.”

“But still you ply me with all the boldness of a rogue, a pirate.” Shanna stamped her foot and accused. “You make the cruelty of those below seem lambishly gentle.”

“You deny our vows. You deny my rights. You abuse my pride and leave me nothing of yourself. You send me from you on some lackey's strength. You betray me at every turn.”

Shanna met his glare and hurled a fierce reply. “You took my heart and set your fingers firm around it, then, no doubt delighted at your success, you rent it with unfaithfulness.”