Shanna (60 page)

“But the bondsmen also admitted there was no way for them to know for sure, since he carted ye off upstairs.” Pitney stroked his broad jaw thoughtfully and added for good measure, “Still, if he had no intentions of bedding ye, why would the man fight for ye?”

Shanna groaned despairingly and sank deeper into her chair. “Perhaps I'd best go down”—her smile was weak and pained—“and explain to papa.”

Hergus's skirts swished in her haste to follow Pitney out “I'll see to yer bath.”

Entering her own chambers after assuring herself that Ruark was resting peacefully, Shanna was met by a stubborn Hergus who firmly bade her, “Bathe!” and carried the command through by helping her into the tub, scrubbing her back, and seeing her hair washed, towel-dried and combed.

“Yer pa's coming up,” the maid informed as she brought
the young woman her nightshift and wrapper instead of the chemise and gown Shanna had expected to don. “He didna think ye would be up to giving Sir Gaylord yer best company. And I'll fetch ye a tray, so's ye'll not miss yer dinner. Ye'll be needing the strength to face yer pa.”

Shanna glared her gratitude and the woman shrugged, unconcerned.

“Serves ye right, lowering yerself to bed a common bondsman with the lords and all who've begged yer hand and the foin schools and learning ye've taken in. Mind ye, I have na a thing agin Mister Ruark. He canna help being taken wit' ye. And he's a bonnie-faced mon, to be sure. He's given ye his best—but—”

Shanna mumbled under her breath as she belted her wrapper tightly around her slim waist, but the maid either missed or ignored the ungrateful attitude and plunged on, heedless of Shanna's frown.

“What will ye get from him but a fat belly every year and no good name to dub the brood? Ruark?” Hergus wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Sounds Irish, and ye know there's no good in them folk, just mischief and mayhem, abrawling and aloving. If ye had yer wits about ye, ye'd find some Scottish laird with a foin name to equal yer poor dead husband's and settle yerself down.”

Shanna sighed in exasperation.

“I do not expect you to understand about Mister Ruark and myself, Hergus, but I am painfully hungry and you promised to fetch me a tray. Would you see me starve while you preach on propriety?”

The maid finally relented and fetched the evening fare, and as Shanna sat at her small table eating, her father knocked lightly and entered. He appeared a little at a loss, and after a terse greeting, he strode about the room, hands folded beneath the tail of his coat An occasional grunt or two emitted from deep in his throat as he paused beside a curio then stopped to examine a volume of verses. With the tip of his forefinger, he lifted the ornate inlaid top of the music box Ruark had given her and listened for a spell to the tinkling melody before closing it again with care as if he were afraid of breaking the piece.

“Hm! Gadgetry!”

Shanna held her silence, sensing he had something wor
risome on his mind. She watched his meanderings while she continued to eat, taking a bite or two of her food and sipping her tea, but scarcely tasting anything.

“You look none the worse for your ordeal, child,” he finally remarked. “Indeed, if it be possible, you are more lovely. The sun has agreed with you.”

“Thank you, papa,” she managed quietly before hiding further comment behind her cup.

Trahern came upon the jerkin folded neatly on the chaise and the dagger and pistol lying on top of it. Taking up the latter, he squinted dubiously over his shoulder at her, and Shanna could only shrug.

“It served its purpose.”

Trahern came to stand before her table, and Shanna put down the cup, folded her hands primly in her lap, and lifted her gaze to meet his.

“You did fare well?” he asked with concern.

“Aye, father,” she replied, slipping into the more formal address. She braced herself inwardly for the coming interrogation.

“And none of the pirates—touched you?” he questioned gruffly.

“Nay, father. You have heard it that Mister Ruark killed a man for me. Twas two, if you're taking count of his deeds. I survived only because of Mister Ruark's cunning and skill with weapons. Had he not been there, I would not be here today.”

“And this Mister Ruark—” He let the question hang as he sought for the words to speak of that which nagged him sorely.

Shanna suddenly rose to her feet. She could not face him and moved to the French doors leading onto the balcony and set them wide to catch the night breezes, for suddenly the room was stifling.

“Mister Ruark is a most honorable man. He has brought me no harm, and I am no different from when I left” She faced him with a sweet smile curving her lips and spoke honestly, for truly none of what she had said was a falsehood. “My greatest distress at the moment, papa, is for his welfare and even that seems to be much improved.”

For a long expanse of time Trahern stared at her as if
considering her words. Abruptly he nodded his head, willing to accept her story.

“Good enough, then.”

Satisfied now, he started toward the door, but Shanna's voice halted him.

“Papa?”

Trahern turned and raised his brows questioningly.

“I love you.”

With much blustering he stammered out a good night and glanced quickly about as if he had forgotten something. His hands searched his sides, then he snorted.

“Hmph, he's got the damn cane.” At the door he paused for one last glance. “Good to have you home, child. Good to have you home.”

It was the sound of her name being called that brought Shanna into full wakefulness. For a moment she lay still, wondering if the voice were real or if it had been some spectre from a dream. Then it came again, this time clearly.

“Shanna! Shanna! Don't go!”

It seemed a call of distress, lonely in the silence of night, and she could not mistake the voice. She flew from her bed and out onto the balcony, not pausing for her robe, and entered Ruark's room. He tossed upon the bed and fought against invisible bonds, some imagined restraint His brow was dappled with sweat, and the nightshirt they had managed to clothe him in was damp with perspiration. Shanna almost laughed in relief as she wiped his face with a towel. His skin was moist and cool. The fever had broken. By the light of the single dim candle, she could now see that his eyes were open and regarding her with some bemusement.

“Are you really there, Shanna? Or does my dream befuddle my sight?” His fingers closed lightly around her wrist and brought it against his lips. Kissing her soft skin, he murmured, “No maiden of my dreams could taste as sweet. Shanna, Shanna,” he sighed. “I thought I had lost you.”

She bent low to press her trembling mouth upon his. “Oh, Ruark,” she breathed against his lips. “I thought I had lost
you.
”

He laid an arm about her nape and pulled her down beside him, searching her eyes in the meager glow.

“I'll hurt your leg!” Shanna protested in concern.

“Come here!” he commanded. “I would know if this is a dream or more heady stuff.”

His eyes grew lambent, sending her senses reeling, and there was a soft union of tongues and lips as their mouths parted and clung with a leisurely sweetness that held still the very moments of time.

“I do believe the fever's gone,” Shanna breathed, nestling against him. “But it must have left you addled in the head. Your kiss speaks much more of passion than of pain.” She slipped her hand inside the nightshirt and rubbed his furry chest, reveling in the strength she felt in his lean, muscular ribs.

“Addled indeed!” He smiled at her and sighed. “Must I forever bear the barbs of a disappointed bride?”

Shanna traced a finger in the crisp hair of his chest. “In your madness you said you loved me,” she murmured shyly.

His humor fled, and the smile left her lips as she continued, “You said it before, too. When the storm struck, I asked you to love me, and you said you did.” Her voice was the barest of whispers.

Ruark's gaze turned away from her, and he rubbed the bandage on his leg before he spoke. “Strange that madness should speak the truth, but truth it is.” He met her questioning eyes directly. “Aye, I love you.” The pain of longing marked his face with a momentary sadness. “And that is madness, in all truth.”

Shanna raised herself from his side and sat on her heels, staring down at him. “Why do you love me?” Her tone was wondrous. “I beset you at every turn. I deny you as a fit mate. I have betrayed you into slavery and worse. There is no sanity in your plea at all. How can you love me?”

“Shanna! Shanna! Shanna!” he sighed, placing his fingers on her hand and gently tracing the lines of her finely boned fingers. “What man would boast the wisdom of his love? How many times has this world heard, 'I don't care, I love.' Do I count your faults and sins to tote them in a book?” He gazed at the timid candle flame. “I am thinking of a mouse-haired girl of plain face, one whose virtue was
destroyed before she knew of its existence. Then there is a man of some account who was abused as a slave. Good Gaitlier and his Dora.” He looked upon Shanna's face, but she would not meet his eyes. “They stand hand in hand against the taunts of all and tightly close their eyes and shout aloud, ‘It makes no difference. We love!' Do men step forth and declaim upon the clever way they chose the object of their devotion? Or if asked, would the young swain more likely shrug and spread his hands with an unminded grin and softly say, ‘I love her!'”

Ruark moved his leg onto the pillow and touched the bindings as if he would ease the ache of his wound.

“I dream of unbelievable softness. I remember warmth at my side the likes of which can set my heart afire. I see in the dark before me softly glowing eyes of aqua, once tender in a moment of love, then flashing with defiance and anger, now dark and blue with some stirring I know I have caused, now green and gay with laughter spilling from them. There was a form within my arms that I tenderly held and touched. There is that one who has met my passion with her own and left me gasping.”

Ruark caressed Shanna's arm and turned her face to him, making her look into his eyes and willing her to see the truth in them as he spoke.

“My beloved Shanna. I cannot think of betrayal when I think of love. I can count no denials when I hold you close. I only wait for that day when you will say, ‘I love.'”

Shanna raised her hands as if to plead her case then let them fall dejectedly on her knees. Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she begged helplessly, “But I do not want to love you.” She began to sob. “You are a colonial. You are untitled, a murderer condemned, a rogue, a slave. I want a name for my children. I want so much more of my husband.” She rolled her eyes in sudden confusion. “And I do not want to hurt you more.”

Ruark sighed and gave up for the moment. He reached out and gently wiped away the tears as they fell. “Shanna, love,” he whispered tenderly. “I cannot bear to see you cry. I will not press the matter for a while. I only beg you remember the longest journey is taken a step at a time. My love can wait, but it will neither yield nor change.”

His voice took on a lighter note, and his eyes twinkled with golden flecks of mischief.

“You should know by now that I am a willful man. My mother called me determined, my father called me spoiled.”

Shanna sniffed and managed a weak smile. “Aye, I admit that as fact.

He chuckled at the gibe. But come, my love, worry no more. Lie here beside me and let me feel that warmth and softness. If you cannot declare your love, at least humor a sick man.”

Shanna complied and cuddled close to his side, resting her head on his shoulder. She heard laughter deep inside his chest and glanced up in wonder.

“I cannot rest, for I fret sorely on which is worse.” She raised on her elbow to frown at him until he explained. “The ache in my leg or the one in my loins.”

“You lusty ape,” she giggled, dropping her head again into the crook of his arm. “No man is ill who rouses so quickly at the slightest smile.”

Ruark held her close for a moment, kissing the softness beneath her ear before searching out her lips. There his mouth stayed long and enjoyed heartily the honey sweet taste. The room grew quiet, and for Shanna it was a most natural place to be, held close within the circle of his arms. Still, many in the house would have raged to find them thus entwined and in one bed.

A morning tray had been delivered by Berta, and Ruark was settling down to eat the first solid nourishment in days, when the door swung open and Pitney entered with a tray loaded with a coffee service. He was followed by Orlan Trahern himself. Soon a steaming cup was placed on his bedside table by the squire.

“'Tis an early hour but the best time to come and thank you without the interference of my daughter.” Trahern jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “She's still asleep, so keep your voice down, or we'll be set upon by more of her fretting.”

Ruark chewed on a mouthful of food, not quite sure of his status. He glanced apprehensively toward Pitney, who stood at the foot of the bed, his massive arms folded across
his chest. The man returned his stare with a warning frown creasing his brow.

“I have assured Orlan that I know a man who saw ye dragged off onto the pirate ship. He was a bit addled at the time, confused ye might say, and dared say naught of the deed.”

Ruark nodded and sipped the coffee to find it heavily laced with brandy. He raised the mug in silent thanks to Trahern and savored the heady aroma that issued from it.

Pitney appeared to have spoken his fill and was satisfied with Ruark's silence. Trahern sat back in the chair beside the bed and folded his hands across his paunch as Pitney drew a straight chair up and straddled it, resting his thick arms on the back. When the room had been quiet for a few moments, the squire spoke.