Shanna (53 page)

“Unfaithfulness is only from a husband. You play the same to me and yet do say I am no spouse.”

“You plead you are my husband true and spite the suitors come to woo me.”

“Yea!” Ruark raged. “Your suitors flock about your skirts in heated lust, and you yield them more than me.”

Shanna paused before him, rage etched upon her face. “You're a churlish cad!”

“They fondle you boldly and you set not their hands away from you.”

“A knavish blackguard!”

“You are a married woman!”

“I am a widow!”

“You are my wife!” Ruark shouted to be heard over the rising wind outside.

“I am not your wife!”

“You are!”

“Not!”

There they stood with but a yard's length between them yet an ocean's breadth apart, each firmly set in conviction, neither bent to yield, and anger writhing on each face until each seemed the visage of some twisted evil sprite. They gave no heed to the mounting fury that closed its grip upon the island; instead a thousand words rushed to their lips. Of epithets, a score or more were ready. For each it was a cause too righteous to be surrendered. But the raging night without had heard enough of petty threats and pleas.

A bolt of lightning flashed, bringing the room to a
stark white and black for the sizzling space of a full breath. Long before the lightning died, the chamber was filled with a stunning crash of thunder that held its pealing voice until the stones of the walls seemed to tremble. It was still echoing when another bolt rent the air outside, and, in its deathly light, Shanna's face showed suddenly stark with fear, her mouth frozen in a soundless scream of terror. The thunder came again and seemed to fling her toward Ruark, and suddenly her arms were choking tightly about his neck, her face buried against his throat A pitiful, keening cry threaded thinly from her lips as she mindlessly sought whatever shelter he would offer. His ire forgotten, Ruark wrapped her in his arms and tried to still the quaking of her body as she clung to him. A gust of wind struck the inn and flung the inner shutters wide, sending gusts of rain and wind to lash the room and touch the candles out.

Ruark stood the shaking Shanna near the bed and closed and bolted the shutters against the violent blasts. The night was assaulted with an endless flash of lightning that seemed to touch the low island everywhere. The thunder followed in bellowing rolls and nerve-shattering crashes. The whole island was whipped and stirred into a hellish brew by the winds, which shrieked around the eaves and cornices to pelt any unwary fool who might venture in its path. Rain rattled like leaden shot against the shutters, now bowed and strained with the unrelenting fury of a hurricane.

Shanna cowered in the dark. The flickers of light showed Ruark her face, and his heart was wrenched by what he saw. Her eyes were wide, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She crouched as if she sought some den or lair away from the storm. As he took her into his arms, she clawed at his chest and mewled:

“Love me, Ruark.”

“I do, my love, I do,” he whispered softly in relenting pity.

The room flashed white, and he saw Shanna's head roll from side to side. Her eyes were tightly closed, though tears still crept between the lids, and her face was twisted in a grimace of fright She pressed her fists against her
ears to shut out the beat of thunder that washed over them like a crashing breaker on the beach.

“No! No!” she shrieked against the din and caught his arm. “Take me! Take me now!” Anything to shut out and release her from this flood of fear that assaulted her from every side, even, it seemed, from within.

Shanna fell back upon the bed, pulling Ruark down with her. In another flash he saw the intent eagerness of her face as she pressed against him. His blood warmed, and he forgot all else of the moment.

The storm could have been contained in the room and they would have given it no heed. There was between them that storm of passion that blinded as surely as the greatest stroke of lightning and deafened their ears as completely as a crashing roll of thunder close about. Each touch was fire, each word was bliss, each movement in their union a rhapsody of passion that rose and built until it seemed that every instrument in all the world combined to bring the music of their souls into a consuming crescendo that left them still and quiet, warm like the softly glowing after-coals of a universal holocaust. Shanna lay limp and drowsy on his arm, her cheeks still flushed with the gentle blush of pleasure, her breath softly stirring the furriness on his chest. Had the world beat at their door, Ruark doubted that he could have lifted a finger for their defense. With stupendous effort he turned his head and buried his face in her hair, savoring the fragrance of it.

Some moments later Shanna's voice came, small and quiet, hesitant “Am I so lacking that you must seek out others?”

“There's been no one else, Shanna,” he stated simply.

Shanna leaned her head back against his arm and tried to see his features in the dark. “Milly?”

A streak of lightning illuminated his face, and he met her inquiring gaze. “That little vixen brewed a mischief in her mind, love, and used it to prick you. There was never anything between us. I swear.”

Shanna rolled onto her back, struck by her own folly and what it had wrought. In shame she covered her face with her arm. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Ruark raised himself on an elbow and leaned over her,
resting his hand upon her flat belly. “You never gave me a chance, Shanna.”

A miserable moan escaped her, and tears began to trace down the side of her face. Gently Ruark lifted her arm and kissed her trembling mouth, hushing the sobs which shook her. Her worried whisper came against his lips.

“Do you hate me overmuch, my Lord Captain Pirate Ruark?”

“Aye,” he muttered hoarsely. “I hate you when you hold yourself from me. But it never lasts beyond your first, soft kiss.”

Fiercely Shanna locked her arms about his neck and began to spread eager kisses mingled with salty tears upon his face and lips, half crying, half laughing until her fears, much subdued, vanished completely. Trusting now as she had never done before, Shanna nestled snugly in the comfort of his encircling arms. Thus, even with the threatening peril below and nature gone mad without, they drifted like tender babes into the nether world of slumber.

Howling winds still beat the gables, and torrents of rain battered against the rattling shutters as the sky lightened to a dark, leaden gray. Shanna paid no heed to the storm as she stirred from sleep, for as long as it continued they need not hasten from the bed, and Ruark would remain in her arms. Her eyes, soft and caressing, traced the sleeping face pressed upon her breast, and she smiled warmly with kind recall of the hours past, as sweet in her mind as any treasured nectar upon the tongue. Releasing a sigh of contentment, she sank again into blissful sleep.

At the noon hour Gaitlier brought them food but hastened away after depositing the tray on the table, seeing that Shanna frowned at him over a highly clutched sheet, while Ruark, hair tousled and shortened breeches hurriedly donned, waited beside the door, seeming impatient for him to leave.

When the man retreated from the chamber, Ruark leaned back against the door, closing it, while his eyes turned to Shanna. At her soft, welcoming smile, he crossed to the bed and fell upon it to take her into his arms and
nuzzle her throat while his hand slipped beneath the sheet to explore softer places. She giggled, nibbling at his ear, and answered his caress by curving her body seductively against him.

“Madam, you have the wiles of a vixen,” he lightly teased. “Now say the truth, are you seducer or seduced, ravisher or ravished, witch or bewitched?”

“Why, all of course.” Shanna rolled away from him, laughing. “What would you have me be, sir? The seduced?” Lazily she stretched, arching her back.

Ruark watched her soft, curving body, shimmery pale in the glower of enraged day. She was lovely beyond words. Becoming aroused, he reached for her, but with a throaty chuckle, Shanna averted his out-stretched hand and came to her knees.

“Or perhaps today the seducer?” She pushed him down upon his back then boldly leaned low until her breasts touched against his hard, brown chest and kissed him with such passion that Ruark trembled with his eagerness.

“Or do you prefer a witch?” Shanna tossed her head, flinging her hair wildly, and made a claw of her hand, raking her nails lightly across his naked ribs.

With a low growl Ruark rose, and in a sudden moment it was she who lay beneath him. There was a merry twinkle in her eyes, but he had lost all the mood of playing and was most serious as his lips met hers.

In the hall outside their chamber, a loud clump of boots thudded, and Harripen's booming voice roared, “Ruark! Ruark! Ahoy there, Captain Ruark!”

With a curse Ruark flung himself across the bed and snatched his pistol and sabre. Shanna made frantic haste to place herself beneath the sheet and jerk it high about her neck. The door swung open and with a crash re-bounded against the wall. In that moment Harripen found himself staring at an enraged man who held a full-cocked pistol centered squarely on his forehead. The empty scabbard still slid across the floor and clattered against the table legs. More than a trifle worried, Harripen flung his arms wide.

“Avast there, laddie!” he bellowed. “Belay that now!”

“Dammit, man!” Ruark growled. “What brings you here?”

“I've come unarmed and only meant to talk.”

Harripen stood carefully motionless until Ruark lowered the pistol and placed it, still cocked, on the bedside table.

“Unarmed?” Ruark snorted and pointed with his blade to the top of Harripen's boot where the hilt of a small dirk showed. The Englishman shrugged as he lowered his arms.

“Were I that honest, me bucko, I would not be a pirate.”

The man's eyes went to Shanna and stayed a bit longer and burned a bit brighter than Ruark cared for. At the open lust she saw in those gray eyes, Shanna shivered and clutched the sheet tighter to her.

“Didn't know ye were engaged, laddie,” Harripen leered. “Tis sorry I am that I disturbed ye.”

“Get the blasted hell out of here!” Ruark snapped. “I'll be down in good time.”

The Englishman gestured with his hands. “Now simmer down, laddie. I meant ye no ill. I thought ye'd be eating now, 'tis all.”

With a shrug that seemed to excuse his intrusion, he strode across the room to the platter of food and hefting half a fowl with grimy hands, began to consume it as he talked.

“Tis only that I wanted to have out a matter of importance wit' ye, lad.”

“There is nothing I can think of that we need discuss,” Ruark replied tersely.

Harripen chortled and came around to Shanna's side of the bed. His small, watery gray eyes never left her. He ignored Ruark's deepening scowl and flopped down upon the bed, giving Shanna a greasy smile as he tore a chunk of bird and stuffed it into his mouth with his fingers. Shanna backed away from him in disgust, jerking the tail of the sheet from beneath his sandy boots. She came quickly into the welcome shelter of Ruark's arms. Ruark half sat, half knelt, with one knee on the edge of the bed directly across from Harripen. The sabre blade completed the circle about her, the sharp edge presented outward toward the other captain. Beneath the Englishman's leer, Shanna's skin crawled, and she clutched the sheet higher
as she pressed back against Ruark's chest. He was as rigid as a rock, and beneath her head she could feel the tick of a muscle in his shoulder.

Harripen pointed with the hen and picked a piece of its meat from his bristly chin. “Aye, but she's a lusty one. A mite 'ot and eager for ye, too, 'twould appear, the way she snapped Carmelita off yer lap. What will ye take for her? She's hardly worth the trouble she's caused ye, lad.” The aging buccaneer leaned forward eagerly, and his red-rimmed eyes gleamed, belying his bickering. Tilting his head, he grinned with one eye half closed in an unfinished wink. “Bend your ear, bucko. I'll give ye another pouch for a thrice of nights with her.”

“It may be your time will come,” Ruark replied slowly, “but for now, at least, she's mine.”

“Aye, ye made 'at clear already, ye 'ave,” the older man sighed. “Still—”

Harripen could not resist reaching out a greasy hand to caress the shining rich tumble of locks Shanna displayed, but he halted suddenly as he realized if he moved his hand but one small degree further he would have less than a whole finger left, for the razor edge of the blue blade abruptly barred his way. His eyes shifted to Ruark's and widened slightly. He was met with a smile that was at once calm yet filled with such a strange, deadly patience that the skin on the back of Harripen's neck crawled. He was immediately sure that he could feel the cold breath of death upon his nape.

Harripen jerked his hand back as if he had touched fire and rose quickly from the bed, putting a goodly space between himself and the other.

“Hell and damnation, you're touchy!” he growled. “But I came not to speak of her.”

He tossed the half-eaten bird at the table and missed by a wide margin. He caught Ruark's reflection in the mirror, and those amber eyes marked him like those of a wary hawk. Facing about, Harripen clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels for a moment before he began almost delicately:

“Me own ship is a bit smaller than Robby's, but I've had me eye on the
Good Hound
for a long time. I do not wish to test the edge of your sword for her, but perhaps a
bit of a bargain. Ye're new here and know little of our ways. I could make us all a good fortune with a ship like the
Good Hound
and would not waste her sail or worthy men puttering about with the likes of Trahern. I have in mind that my share of the gold and my own ship would be a fair trade for the one you have.”