Shanna (57 page)

Going aloft to rig the topsail was out of the question, so Ruark trimmed the ship on course and had Gaitlier lash the wheel in place. Ruark rejected the idea of going to the captain's cabin, for he was not sure of his ability to return, so Shanna and Dora fetched blankets to make a pallet and prepared a space for him against the rail, while Ruark carefully directed Gaitlier on the course, pointing it out on the map, and gave instructions on reaching Trahern's island.

This was the best Ruark could do. The sun was low in the sky, and the light would be gone in an hour. He must now see to himself. Relenting to Shanna's pleas at last, Ruark accepted her assistance and stretched out on the pallet Heedless of what the ship might do, the three knelt around him in concern. Ruark took the bottle of rum and splashed it liberally over his leg then took a long draught, his eyes watering as he choked it down. Tucking a wad of shirt into his mouth, he clenched his teeth against it then reached above his head to grasp the rail posts. He gave a quick nod to Gaitlier. The man's hands were gentle as he laid them upon the splinter, but sharp daggers awoke in Ruark's leg as he braced himself.

“Now!” Gaitlier half shouted and pulled hard.

Ruark heard Shanna gasp. An explosion of white pain seared inside his head, and, when it cooled, there was only merciful darkness.

It seemed he awoke only a short time later. The red and golden hues were gone from the sky above. The sun was still low, yet they seemed to be staring into it Ruark became aware of a warmth against his right arm and rolled his head to see Shanna snuggled beneath the blanket that covered them both. Her eyes were closed in sleep, and her breath touched him gently, like a small child's. Carefully he moved his arm until it was around her, and sighing softly, she nestled closer to his side.

Ruark lifted his gaze to the tall masts swaying against the blue sky. Then he realized, “'Tis morning!”

He had slept the night through. His hand went down and felt the heavy bandage that wrapped his thigh. For his own peace of mind, he wiggled his toes and then his foot. All seemed well but for a persistent dull ache from the wound.

Shanna stirred against him, and lifting her face upward, he kissed her lips softly and nuzzled her hair, breathing in the sweet fragrance of it. Her hand caressed his chest beneath his shirt, and she settled her head comfortably against his shoulder, her eyes searching his with brimming warmth.

“I would stay here forever if you were with me,” Ruark sighed in her ear.

He kissed her again, his parted lips savoring hers for a long, blissful moment as his hand slipped under her shirt to capture a round breast. Shanna's arm went about his neck, bringing the cover over his shoulder to protect his caress from the witness of others. Her cheeks grew warm and flushed with the pleasure he aroused in her as his thumb teased the soft nipple into an excited peak.

“Your leg?” she whispered eagerly. “How does it feel?”

Ruark glanced toward the forecastle deck where Gaitlier and Dora had spent the night. They were just now beginning to stir, and he gave a nod in their direction.

“If we didn't have guests aboard, I would be eager to demonstrate my health.”

Shanna's soft chuckle held a hint of a challenge as she snuggled closer. She murmured low in his ear. “Would you care to go below, milord? I know a private place in the captain's cabin.”

“You tempt me sorely,” Ruark moaned. His hand slid down, inside her loose breeches, and found the womanly softness of her. Her eyelids lowered and her breath trembled from parted lips.

It was only Gaitlier coming aft that cooled their play. In nervous embarrassment Shanna drew away and sat on her heels, facing Ruark. She tightened the rope belt around her waist Ruark watched her, unable to resist a last stroke of his hand along her thigh. Warily Shanna glanced back over her shoulder to see what had become of Gaitlier and saw him walking back to Dora in response
to a timid-voiced question. Shanna turned back and placing her hand over Ruark's, smiled in soft, intimate communication. She leaned down to him, bracing her elbows on the pallet beside his head, heedless of the loose shirt that gapped away, presenting every detail of her ripe, tempting bosom. As Ruark boldly eyed her display, a lazy grin spread across his lips.

“You're an evil temptress, Shanna Beauchamp.”

Her finger twirled in his hair as she admitted, “Aye, but only with you, my Captain Pirate Ruark.”

“Good enough then, my love.” Reluctantly he raised on his elbows, and his voice was firm as he stated, “I must see to the ship lest she race on and plunge herself against the Africa shore.”

“Oh, Ruark, don't get up!” Shanna pleaded. “I'll do whatever needs be done. Sit still.”

“I can't, Shanna. I must be about. My leg will be better after I've walked on it a bit”

Shanna saw that he was determined, though he winced as he moved his leg and would get up by himself if she refused to help him. His leg was stiff and sore, but with some difficulty Ruark soon stood beside the wheel. Shanna was reluctant to leave him even then and remained beside him as he checked the course in the binnacle. Lifting his head, he scanned the sails. The wind had shifted slightly, and he would soon have to correct for it. But how far had they come, he wondered. If the wind had blown hard, they would be long past the islands and would have to turn back into them. In this breeze it would be a difficult task, which Ruark doubted his crew of three could handle. But where—

His eyes searched the horizon to port, and Ruark lifted himself as high as he could.

Ah, there! Low clouds with a dark shadow beneath. That heralded an island. He felt Shanna's hand upon his ribs and glanced down to see her watching him, a worried look on her face.

“We'll soon be there,” he assured her, mistaking her distress. “No need to fret”

Shanna opened her mouth to deny his thoughts but silenced the words before they were spoken. How could
she explain her own feelings when they were a mystery even to her?

Ruark looked pointedly toward her bosom. “That garb has served you well, but it does not seem right for you. A bit too mannish would be my opinion.”

Shanna smoothed the rumpled shirt and straightened the loose breeches over her hips.

“If my memory serves me right, Carmelita left without her clothes. Perhaps they might be taken in here and there—”

“Bah!” Shanna cut him short. “I threw them overboard last night Do you think I would wear anything of hers?”

Shanna set her back to him, raising an impertinent nose to scan the sea. Ruark reached out to tug a tress until she faced him again. White teeth gleamed against the darkness of his skin as he teased her with a smile.

“You're a devil, Ruark Beauchampl” Shanna declared but softened and rubbed her cheek against his knuckles. She raised on tiptoes and brushed a kiss upon his lips. “You must be hungry. I'll go see what's left in the cabin.”

As she strode from him, Ruark stared after her with warm attention, observing the graceful swing of her hips.

It came to his mind there was no possible way a sane man could mistake those curves for anything but woman. That only left two possibilities. The citizens of Mare's Head were either blind—or terribly mad.

Chuckling at his thoughts, Ruark slipped the lashing from a spoke then leaned against the chest-high wheel, whirling it around and trimming the schooner against the wind. The ship plunged along the gently rolling sea, and as he replaced the lashings to hold the vessel on the new course, Gaitlier left Dora and ambled aft.

“Captain?” The man appeared bemused. “Is Trahern as bad as Mother complained? Will I be taken as bondslave, too? Which master will I serve, you or him, sir?”

“You'll have no master, Mister Gaitlier,” Ruark returned boldly. He was unable to say what his own fate would be, but he could assure this man a return to dignity. “Mayhap you might find the island to your liking and wish to remain. If not, I am sure that Trahern will give you passage to any port of your choosing. He will be
grateful for your help in rescuing his daughter, and a tidy sum might be forthcoming.”

“And what of you, sir?” Gaitlier laid the question to him, but Ruark chose to misunderstand his meaning.

“I have no need of money.” He looked at the man. “However, there is one thing I would ask of you, Mister Gaitlier.”

He nodded. “Anything, sir. Anything at all.”

Ruark rubbed a thumb against his unshaven cheek. “Trahern knows me only as bondslave. Unless Madam Beauchamp tells him differently, I would ask your silence in this matter of our marriage. I am, to those on Los Camellos, John Ruark, and the lady is Madam Ruark Beauchamp, a widow.”

“Rest your fears, sir. Dora and I will say naught of you and the madam. I give my word to that.”

The four of them shared a leisurely repast around Ruark's pallet. Shanna was quick to see to his comfort. gently propping his leg on a pillow, filling his plate and taking his cup of pale wine as he reached to place it on the deck. His hand rested possessively upon her thigh as she sat cross-legged beside him, while he explained to Gaitlier about handling the ship. It was a quiet time, a restful time, and when it was over, Ruark limped again to the wheel. Raising the brass-bound telescope, he studied the still distant island off the port bow. It was the last of the chain; high bluffs dropped sharply into the sea at its eastern end. Once past it, they would turn toward Los Camellos.

Returning to his pallet, he stretched out full length again. His leg ached, and the muscle began to jump in his thigh, sending white-edged shards of pain through his body. He rubbed his hip and thigh to ease the throbbing and found his hand brushed away by Shanna's as she took up the chore. Beneath the tender care, he dozed and dreamed of soft pink lips bending near and caressing his.

The island was low on the horizon behind them, and the sun hung high overhead when Ruark set the course for Los Camellos then stumbled back to his pallet Gaitlier had rigged a shade for him, and Shanna now shared that small spot of coolness with him. His leg ached agonizingly, and each time he rose, the effort was greater.
He sampled the rum again, but this time its fire did little to ease his discomfort.

He laid his head back on Shanna's lap, and with her cool hand she gently stroked his eyes and forehead until he began to relax and the pain ebbed. As she sat holding his head, Shanna hummed a few lines from a tune that flitted through her mind and softly Ruark's rich baritone began to fill in the words. Shanna's humming stopped, and she listened quietly. Suddenly she knew the voice that had drifted up to her from below decks on the
Marguerite
one starry, moonlit night as she sailed homeward from England.

“Oh, Ruark,” she whispered softly and kissed the brow that was hot beneath her hand.

A shout came across the deck and both of them rose. Ruark lurched and leaned against the rail to steady himself, staring forward to see Gaitlier prancing along the deck waving his arms, Dora following close behind.

“Ships! Ships up ahead!” the man shouted as he ran toward them. “Two of them! Big ones!”

Unable to calm himself, Gaitlier jumped up and down, gesturing with his arm. Ruark laughed almost wildly as he scrambled for the wheel and the long spyglass. He braced the instrument on a spoke, centering it on the sails that gleamed white in the sun and drew closer with each breath. He moved the glass to the fluff of color that floated on the masthead. It was blurred for a moment. They all waited. Finally it cleared.

“English!” he shouted. “They're English! But there's another flag.” He put his eye to the glass again. After a moment he turned and grinned at Shanna. “'Tis your father! The
Hampstead
and
Mary Christian.
”

A cry of joy escaped her, and Ruark fought for balance as she flung her arms about his neck. Holding her close, he called past her to Gaitlier.

“Drop the sails! Get them down! We'll come about and wait for them!”

The man needed no urging. He leapt to the rail, snatched the ax, and with a single blow severed the riser to the mainsail. The yard came crashing down to bounce and lie still, spilling canvas onto the deck. Gaitlier scram
bled over the billowing sail to the foredeck where with like energy he brought the spritsails rattling down.

Ruark threw the lashings off the wheel and spun it hard aport. The schooner groaned and creaked and dug her nose into the waves as she slowed and came about until she was stern on to the approaching vessels. The
Hampstead
drew near, and soon there was no doubt Beside the thin stick in black that could only be Ralston was the white bulk which could only be Trahern. Shanna gave a glad cry and ran down to the main deck where she joined Gaitlier and Dora by the rail. Ruark would have joined them, but his leg would not bear his weight As the huge bulk of the
Hampstead
drew alongside, he held fast to the wheel. The ports were opened and the guns run out. Behind the gaping black muzzles he could see the eager, white faces of the gun crew, alert for any sign of hostility.

Grappling hooks were thrown fore and aft as the two ships bumped together. Then at a shout from the mate a detachment of men swarmed up from behind the
Hampstead
's rail and leapt onto the deck of the
Good Hound,
pistols and cutlasses at the ready as if they expected to do battle. The
Mary Christian
stood off the port side, and all the while her four small guns were run out, ready for a fight.

When any possible resistance had been quelled, Ralston cautiously joined the men on the schooner then more boldly began to order them about before stalking aft with his angry, jerky, storklike stride.

One of the seamen, seeing no threat from the small crew, put aside his cutlass and gave a hand to Shanna as she stepped over to the
Hampstead.

She had barely set her feet down onto the deck before she ran across it and up the gangway to the lofty quarterdeck. When her eyes fell on her father, she dashed to him and threw her arms about his neck, sobbing her joy and relief. Trahern fought to keep his balance. His arm came around her tightly for a moment, and his breathing was curiously hoarse and somewhat ragged. Then with a quick pat on her shoulders he thrust her away to arm's length to survey her.