Shanna (6 page)

“Well, since you're here, I see no reason for delay,” she said curtly and mentally debated his age. No more than ten or so older than herself, if that, though at their first meeting she had thought him nearly twenty years older. “Let's be about it.”

“Your most obedient servant.” Ruark smiled, then laughed as she glared at him. He pressed his hand earnestly to his lacy jabot and lightly vowed, “Madam, I am as eager to wed as thee.”

Of course he is, she silently jeered. He would, no doubt, brag upon the morrow about the wench he laid. The rutting cad!

Before she could turn her thoughts away, the door opened again, and Mrs. Jacobs appeared with her tall,
thin husband. The woman's blue eyes settled merrily upon Ruark and twinkled with obvious delight.

“Oh, my dear, bring your young man in by the fire,” she urged Shanna. “We'll have the ceremony when he's warmed himself, and I've a bit of sherry to hasten the chill away.”

Shanna mused derisively that he was warm enough. But for the benefit of the older couple, she went to him, resting her hand casually on his chest as she smiled sweetly into that amused and taunting grin. She would have dearly loved to wipe that smirk from his handsome face.

“Ruark, dearest, this is the Reverend and Mrs. Jacobs. I did mention them, didn't I? They've been so kind.”

The inane chatter sounded strange from her own lips. She could feel the slow thud of Ruark's heart beneath her fingers while for some odd reason her own pulse raced.

A man to take advantage of all opportunities presented him, Ruark seized upon her cue and slid his hands around her waist, squeezing it slightly as he smiled down into the less than warm depths of her eyes. In his own, there was a kindling fire that touched her like a hot brand.

“I trust the good Pitney remembered to publish the banns. I fear I shall taste death before we be wed, if it not be posthaste.”

If Ruark thought he won a victory as Shanna melted against him, pressing soft breasts full upon his chest, he was harshly rebuffed. Shanna herself refused no challenge and rose to this like a cornered feline. Beneath the wide folds of her skirt, she trod not lightly on his instep.

“Cease your worry, my dearest,” she crooned and leaned her weight upon his foot “The banns are published.” She feigned worry in her frown. “But you seem somewhat pained. Aren't you feeling well? Or is that old wound plaguing you again?”

Shanna pulled back slightly but not enough to give him ease, and her slender fingers went searchingly to the buttons of his waistcoat.

“How I have pleaded with you, Ruark, to take better care of yourself. You're always so reckless.”

Had he been of a mind, Pitney could have warned the colonial this was not the sort of woman to tamper with overly much. From the bottom step, as her hooped skirt
swayed slightly upward, he caught a glimpse of the small, slippered foot treading carelessly upon the larger. His laughter softly rumbled in his chest as he folded his massive arms and waited.

The Reverend Jacobs's eyes had widened behind his spectacles as the lady seemed on the verge of undressing her betrothed, and he could only surmise it had not been the first time. Mrs. Jacobs, her plump cheeks a deep hue of scarlet, was suddenly aflutter and didn't seem to know quite what to do with her hands other than to wring them nervously.

Ruark parried the attack in his own fashion, bending his knee and at the same time raising the toe of the foot she trod upon. With most of her weight upon it, Shanna weaved precariously as her balance was suddenly upset. With a gasp she stumbled against him, one arm flying about his neck to stop her fall while her other hand grabbed his sleeve. She heard his chuckling laughter in her ear as he steadied her on her own feet.

“Shanna, love, restrain yourself. We'll be home soon enough,” Ruark chided.

His amusement rankled her, and she longed to screech her ire at him but knew all too well the folly of that. She caught Pitney's loud cough as if he were seized with a choking fit and simmered all the more.

“We'd best get this marriage underway,” the clergyman suggested with much conviction and peered disapprovingly at them over his square-rimmed glasses.

With a quirk in his brow, Ruark viewed this lovely Shanna who silently glared her rage at him. She might well be the fairest thing he had ever seen, but he glimpsed a bit of a witch there, too.

“Aye,” Ruark agreed. “'Twould appear the proper thing to do before the babe's christening.”

Shanna's jaw dropped, and the urge to kill was strong. In another time she would have let fly a stinging slap to the knave, but here she found herself with no recourse but to bear his buffoonery. In a temper she whirled as Pitney's low chuckles broke the stunned silence, and she bestowed upon him a glare of such heat that it should have set the very blood in his veins to boiling. But the
man bore the pain with dignity and struggled to control his mirth.

The ceremony was quick and unpretentious. It was obvious the Reverend Jacobs wanted to put right any wrong that the young couple might have engaged in prior to this union. The proper questions were asked and answered. Ruark's deep, rich voice came firm and unfaltering, promising to love, honor, and cherish until death. As she repeated her own vows, Shanna felt an almost stifling sense of doom. It was like a premonition warning her that her ploy would fail. Reluctantly her eyes were drawn to the tiny band of gold on the open face of the Bible, and she could only think, as the minister spoke the words over them, of the years of devotion her own mother had given her father. In contrast this marriage was a farce, and it was a sacrilege to ever pledge her love on an altar of God. It was a lie, and she might well be damned for saying it.

For all of her attempts at composure, Shanna's hands trembled as Ruark slid the ring on her finger, and the final words came.

“By the authority vested in me and in the name of God Almighty, I pronounce you man and wife.”

The deed was done. The haughty Shanna was wed. Vaguely she heard the Reverend Jacobs give his consent for a nuptial kiss, and she was brought abruptly back to reality as Ruark turned her in his arms. That was enough to snap the brittle twig of conscience. Deliberately setting his hands from her, Shanna raised on tiptoes and very primly placed a sisterly kiss upon her husband's cheek.

Ruark drew back and frowned slightly into the exquisite face before him. Her tauntingly sweet smile was not what he relished in the way of passionate response. He was more in a mood for something richer than light pecks of gratitude. Already he had concluded his wife had much to learn of love. He only hoped that his hours were enough to see him through the thaw.

“Come now, my children,” Reverend Jacobs urged, his cheerfulness mightily restored. “There are documents to put your names to. And I do fear 'twill be another storm upon us before long. Do you hear the rain?”

Shanna glanced to the windows and experienced a new
anxiety. Outside the dark clouds gathered, deepening the dusk almost into night Her dread of storms had plagued her since she was a child and even now, as a woman, she could not subdue her fear. Hearing a light rumbling of thunder, she cringed inwardly. If only the worst of it would delay until this business was done!

Facing away from the water-speckled crystal panes, Shanna hoped to put the storm from her mind but was much in a panic as she started to follow the minister into the vestry. But a hand on her arm halted her. The touch was gentle but as unrelenting as an iron band, and it gave her cause to wonder what strength lay hidden in the long, thin fingers of Ruark Beauchamp.

“Look at me,” he murmured when she refused to acknowledge him. Unwillingly Shanna lifted cool, questioning eyes to his and found a slow, lazy smile that seemed to mock her. Leisurely Ruark passed a knuckle along the fragile bone of her cheek while the golden brands of his eyes plunged recklessly into the perilous depth of ocean green.

“Shanna, my love, I would take it much amiss if you cheat me of this night with you.”

Annoyed by his blunt reminder, Shanna tossed her head, lifting her fine nose in the air. “I doubt if these good people have made arrangements for overnight guests. I fear, Mister Beauchamp, that you'll have to restrain your ardor until we have more privacy.”

“And will we have privacy, my dear?” he persisted. “Or will you spend the time 'til naught remains?”

“You can hardly expect me to be anxious to fall into bed with you, Mister Beauchamp,” she retorted flippantly. “You may be accustomed to easy conquests, but I for one find the thought distasteful.”

“That may well be, madam,” he replied. “But the bargain is for a full night in my arms, no less.”

“You're shameless to take advantage of my situation,” she declared. “Were you a gentleman—”

Ruark laughed softly in amusement, and his amber eyes challenged her. “And you did not take advantage of mine? Tell me, my dear, who bared her bosom to that poor soul in the dungeon to seduce him with her wily ways? Aye or nay, madam, tell me truly. Was it not the
wench who took advantage of the horny wretch, knowing he was starved for the sight of a woman? And had it met her whim, I've no doubt she'd have drawn the fellow to those fair breasts.”

Shanna jumped as if she had been stung, and her mouth flew open to speak her outrage, but she could find no words that would do justice to this callous knave, though she searched her entire vocabulary.

Reaching out a finger, Ruark placed it beneath her lovely chin and gently raised it until her lips closed.

“Do you deny it?” he mocked.

Shanna's eyes narrowed as she gritted, “You vulgar beggar, they should hang you for a molester of women!”

His eyes gleamed like hard brittle amber, and his quip jarred her. “Madam, I believe that's what they intend.”

Shanna gulped. She had almost forgotten he was a murderer. She tried to wrench away as her heart fluttered in her breast, but he held her fast. Fearfully she glanced about for Pitney, but he was talking with the guards. Unless she made a scene, she could not gain his attention.

Her words stumbled out awkwardly. “I—I was foolish to agree.”

Ruark's face was inscrutable, but something flickered in those eyes.

“So,” he smiled lazily. “Now that you have my name, you say the bargain void.”

The prickling of fear became stronger. Something warned her that she dared much with her open disdain. Casually Ruark laughed and stood back, releasing her, and bemused, Shanna glanced up. He raised his hand and called across the empty pews.

“Good sir—”

Seated at a low desk writing the marriage documents, the Reverend Jacobs paused and looked up expectantly. Pitney glanced around, his brows lifted.

“A moment please, sir,” Ruark bade. “Twould seem my lady—”

Shanna gasped and quickly interrupted. “No need to bother him, my love. Come, let us discuss it further.”

As the clergyman went back to his writing, Shanna reached up to snatch Ruark's arm down, clasping it firmly
against her bosom. Her eyes dared him to refuse her as she jerked hard at his elbow.

“You are a cad,” she said through sweetly curving lips.

The amber flame in his gaze kindled brighter, burning her with its intensity. The muscles in his arm tightened against her breast as he leaned to kiss her cheek, and then his warm mouth hovered much too near hers.

“Tsk, tsk, Shanna. Be kind. My days are few and those with joy even less. Let us at least appear to be lovers, if only for the sake of Mrs. Jacobs. Try to summon more warmth, my dear.”

Shanna steeled herself against any outward show of withdrawing while his mouth softly tested hers, playing lightly, teasing, but the stiffness of her body was like that of one waiting for doom.

“You must learn to relax,” Ruark admonished, his breath falling softly upon her lips.

His arm slipped about her waist as he straightened, drawing her possesively against his side, and reluctant though she was to have it there, Shanna accepted his at-tentiveness as he escorted her to the vestry.

While the minister laboriously completed the documents and entered the event in the record book, Mrs. Jacobs went to fetch refreshments. As they waited, Pitney' frowning perusal centered upon the colonial, who he felt displayed a more zealous regard for his bride than necessary. An arm resting lightly on her shoulder, a featherlike caress along her ribs, a single stroke of her arm where it was bare; the long, lean fingers made their claim on her. Pitney could well imagine the trap his young mistress found herself in to stand for this unwelcome pawing.

Pitney's scowl darkened, and, when he caught Ruark's eye, he beckoned the man to him. “We'd best make haste. The storm is building, and we might be caught here.”

Ruark paused to listen to the sound of the wind blowing about the corner of the church. It rose forlornly and whistled eerily at a higher pitch. Raindrops splattered against the windows and then ran down them in streams. Candles had been lit to illuminate the gray shroud of the storm.

Ruark studied the other man carefully as he replied. “Aye, I'll tell your mistress.”

The square jaw tightened. “Keep yer hands from her, lad. She's not for the likes of ye.”

“You are a loyal servant, Pitney,” Ruark returned with measured words. “Perhaps too loyal. I am her husband now.”

“In name only,” the large man retorted. “And that fact will remain true 'til ye've seen yer end.”

“Even if you must show me that end before my time?” Ruark queried.

“I've warned ye, lad. Leave her be. She's a good lass and not the sort ye might find in an inn giving a man comforts.”

Ruark folded his hands behind his back and looked Pitney squarely in the eye. He spoke with much conviction. “That is my wife, whatever else you may think. Now, I am not a man to start a quarrel with another in such a place as this, but I'll leave you this word of advice. If you intend to stop me from giving Shanna my attention, you'd best draw your pistol now and be done with it. I have naught to lose, and she's worth whatever fight you'd give me.”