Shanna (61 page)

“Would you tell me the way of it all? I have judgments to make, and I have little enough to go on.”

While he ate, Ruark began his narration. He told of the raid and of the voyage to the island. He spoke frankly of his attempted misdirection and its unfortunate results and made a point of the fact that all three of the captured men had wished to return when given the chance. He let it be urged from him of Shanna's time in the pit and his rescue of her. He avoided the details of their days and nights together but let it seem as if they had been caught together by the storm. He mentioned briefly the two men he had killed and his reasons. Included was the episode in which Shanna had slain the one. He related the plan and execution of the escape, with minor details omitted, and made much of Gaitlier's and Dora's parts in it He drew chuckles from both of them over Shanna's valor in the face of adversity.

The two older men seemed well pleased with his tale and grinned in relief when he assured them that no unusual harm had befallen Shanna. The squire let his chin sink to his chest and was lost in thought for a space. Pitney caught Ruark's eye and smiled, nodding ever so slightly his approval. Then abruptly Trahern came erect and slapped his knee in sudden joviality.

“By George,” he chuckled, then lowered his voice with a furtive glance toward the balcony. “I see no help for it but to give the three bondsmen a bonus for their service.”

Ruark cleared his throat and, as Trahern gave him pause, lent voice to another matter. “Sir, Mister Gaitlier and Mistress Dora risked their lives to no small degree. If the matter of rewards is discussed, surely they must be considered. I fear that they will be cast to dire straits for their effort.”

“Rest assured that I have not forgotten and will deal with them handsomely.” Trahern coughed and glanced at Pitney. “It has been brought to my attention, though I had already considered the fact, that you have done me a great service in the return of my daughter unharmed. When you are about, I shall give you your papers, paid and clear. You are a free man.”

He waited for the expected joyful response, but instead Ruark frowned and pondered first one and then the other of the two men. Ruark noted that Pitney was the more uneasy of the two and well surmised the reason. But Trahern had grown somewhat puzzled by his bondsman's delay in answering.

“Sir, would you have me accept reward for a common decency to another?" Ruark waved away any argument. “I did myself a service in escaping from the band of miscreants, and could not have left other innocents behind. I cannot accept payment for it.”

There was double meaning in his words, but Ruark was not about to take any recompense for saving Shanna. Besides, being a bondslave allowed him a good reason to stay on the island with her.

“Bah! You have more than earned your freedom with the two mills,” Trahern snorted.

‘Those would be yours if I had been hired as a free man to serve you. There is no cost to me there. I but served my employer as best I could.”

Orlan Trahern stared at him in bemused amazement, but Pitney avoided looking him in the eye.

“Had I not been forced to purchase expensive clothes,” Ruark reminded the squire with a twinkle in his eye, “I would have earned nearly enough to buy my freedom.”

Trahern protested as any good, outraged merchant. “I paid far more for your garb than you did!”

Ruark chuckled and then grew serious. He peered askance at Pitney when he spoke and noticed the fine
beading of sweat on his brow as Pitney chafed beneath the double edge of his statement.

“I have been known as one who always pays my debts to the hilt.” He shifted his gaze and met Trahern's directly. “When I lay the full sum of my indebtedness in your hands, there will be no doubt that my freedom is not another man's gift”

“You are a rare man, John Ruark,” Trahern sighed. “I would not see you as a merchant, for you have set aside fair payment”

He heaved himself up from his chair, paused, and studied Ruark closely. “Why is it I feel as if I have been taken to the limits of my purse?”

He shook his head and turned away, moving to the door and letting Pitney precede him out. He looked back again.

“My trader's intuition is outraged. I have been rooked, John Ruark, but I know not how.”

O
RLAN TRAHERN ATE
a light, brief breakfast and quickly took himself from the table, thus avoiding any conversation with Sir Gaylord. It had become the custom of the knight to join the family in its morning repast He was not really as boring as he seemed. It was only that the mention of: money, finances, the sea, England, war, peace, or the prospect of either, ships, water, trade, nations, wind or rain ended in an oration by him on the wisdom of investing in a small shipyard which could supply hundreds of sloops and schooners for the price of a single ship-of-the-line. His topic was noticeably limited, though he seemed remarkably adept at taking any random subject as an entry to it.

Thus it was that Squire Trahern gave a last pitying glance at his daughter, shrugged away her silent appeal, and took his leave with a zeal that belied his age and girth. With a frown of disappointment Shanna watched her father go and managed to bestow a tolerant smile upon Sir Gaylord, who gave his own delicate but effective attention to the well-filled plate before him. His manners did not leave him room to speak with food in his mouth, for which Shanna was immeasurably grateful, but he was not above letting his gaze warm appreciatively as it roamed her trim figure.

The briefest of nods sufficed to excuse her, and on her way to the drawing room she quietly bade Berta bring her fresh tea, now that she would be able to enjoy it in some peace. Alas, it was her undoing. No sooner had she seated herself upon the settee than Gaylord entered, dabbing the last of his meal from his lips and then tucking the napkin into his sleeve. Were it not for the ornate “T” embroidered on it, the cloth might have served as an elaborate kerchief. But then, the man seemed to have a penchant for
anything artfully stitched with a letter and a special liking for the “B” which ornately decorated all his clothing. Even his coats had the monogram where it could be worn over his heart. As Berta set out the cups and readied the tea to be poured, he rose and brushed her away.

“Not a manly grace, my dear,” he informed Shanna pompously. “But one that must be approached with a skill one rarely finds away from England.”

Lifting the teapot with a flourish, he poured into two cups no more than half their fill of the rich brown fluid, topped them off with a like amount of cream and stirred until the cups held a thick pale concoction that on no account resembled tea. He gave no notice to Berta's gasp of horror, but ladled several spoons of sugar into one and then paused over the other, raising a brow toward Shanna.

“One or two, my dear?” he asked solicitously.

“No cream, Sir Gaylord, please. Just the tea and a touch of sweetening.”

“Oh!” He responded blankly and paused to sample his own cup. “Delicious, my dear. You really must try it this way. The rage of London.”

“I have,” Shanna managed without malice and leaning forward poured herself a fresh cup and added a shallow spoon of sugar.

Gaylord folded his frame into a straight-backed chair and crossed his legs before he sipped more of the tea.

“Ah, well, no matter. I trust I shall have a lifetime to teach you the niceties of good British gentlefolk.”

Shanna quickly raised her cup and lowered her gaze while Berta paused in her puttering to glare at the knight.

“Shanna, my dear,”—Sir Gaylord leaned back and contemplated her—“you have no idea what simply being near you can do to even a peer of the realm. Tis sore upon my heart that we find so little time alone, or I would speak of the wonderful passions that stir my heart.”

Shanna gave a small shudder and hastily excused it as she saw he had taken note. “Too much sugar, I'm afraid.”

She freshened her cup from the pot and dared not glance at Berta. The housekeeper stood by the doorway leading into the foyer and fingered a heavy figurine, narrowing her eyes in a most uncharacteristic fashion. The old woman seemed to come to a decision and marched forward boldly.

“Ay got tings to do,” she informed Shanna, bringing a note of despair to her mistress's face and a shine of new hope in Gaylord's eyes. “You need me, yust call.”

Before Shanna could protest, Berta gave a last doubtful glare at Sir Gaylord and left. The room was still for a while as Shanna stared after her, and she almost jumped when the knight cleared his throat and rose from his chair to stand before her again. He fixed her with a limpid stare and set out to pay serious court.

“My dear Shanna, there are so many things we must discuss. Tis so rare I can find someone willing to understand the needs of the blooded elite. You are so beautiful and so wealth—uh, desirable. No one else can ease my plight. I am stricken to the quick.”

He came a pace nearer, and Shanna was caught in a dilemma. She was equally afraid that he would take her hand or that she would burst into laughter. Some of her struggle must have shown, for he continued apace.

“I pray, do not distress yourself, my dear. Be aware that nothing of what has happened has in any way affected my respect for you,” he assured her.

Shanna was nearly frantic. Reason deserted her, and she could summon no rationale for excusal. She felt trapped, but Gaylord read her unease as indecision and grew bolder. His knee had already started to flex as if he would kneel before her when his eyes strayed behind her and he suddenly stiffened.

“Good morning.” The voice rang cheerfully from the doorway. “And a fine beautiful day it is.”

With a gasp Shanna twisted around on the settee to stare in amazement at Ruark, the last person she had expected to rescue her.

“Mister Ruark! Are you sure you should be up and about?” She forced as much worry and concern into her tone as she could manage so that the burgeoning relief that flooded her might be disguised. “What of your leg? Is it so much improved?”

She knew far better than anyone that three days of rest and well-diluted poultices had done wonders. Only last night the surgeon had changed the dressing and declared the wound pink and healthy. She caught Gaylord's
sigh of disappointment as he resigned himself to the obvious fate of further waiting.

Ruark limped in on her father's staff and lowered himself to the sofa beside Shanna. Beneath Gaylord's glower, his smile was bright and debonair, though a hint of mischief gleamed deep in those amber eyes that so quickly mirrored his changes of mood. Shanna hastened from her seat to fetch a footstool for him and propped his leg comfortably. As she bent low to slip a pillow underneath his calf, she gave no mind to her décolletage or the manner in which it displayed her bosom to Ruark. However, Gay-lord chafed as he saw Ruark's gaze roam freely over that which his own gaze craved. He was caught unaware when Ruark's eyes lifted, meeting his, and the bondsman's white teeth flashed in a broad grin of undisguised pleasure.

Covertly admiring Ruark's appearance, Shanna missed the exchange. He had donned a loose white shirt and tan knee breeches over white stockings and, amazingly, brown brass-buckled shoes. She cringed inwardly at the idea of the pain he must have borne to put the left one on. Over the shirt he wore the long leather jerkin he had affected as a pirate captain. Above it, his face appeared darker and leaner, his eyes livelier, his teeth whiter, his hair blacker. She had never seen him more handsome, nor could she hide the soft glow that warmed her eyes as she stared at him.

“Madam Beauchamp!”

Shanna started in surprise, realizing that Gaylord was demanding her attention. “I beg your pardon? I did not hear—”

“Obviously, madam, since I had to repeat the question twice. I asked if you might care for a stroll in the garden. Tis become a bit stuffy in here of a sudden.”

“Oh, well, I'll open the doors, then.” She rushed to push them wide, ignoring any reply to his inquiry, and stood for a moment enjoying the refreshing touch of the morning breeze.

“Tis cool,” she informed the room at large, but when she turned, her eyes went to Ruark. “Late September always brings the cooler winds and the evening showers. The clouds gather on the south side of the island all afternoon, and just before dark they slip across the ridge to
give us a wetting. This is the time when the cane grows highest.”

The glass doors framed her with a master's touch, and the lush greens of the lawns beyond accentuated her loveliness until it was almost painful for Ruark to look at her. She was a vision. Her gown of aqua was just enough different from her eyes to set them asparkle behind the sooty lashes, and Ruark was completely captivated.

Suddenly the three of them were startled by a loud crash which came from the porch, unmistakably the shattering of glass. With a bemused frown Shanna turned and stepped out onto the veranda in time to see Milly skittering around a chair in her haste to leave an overturned planter which had been displaced from its perch near the drawing room doors.

“Milly! What are you doing?” Shanna inquired. She realized with amazement that the girl had to have been eavesdropping to be behind the chair in the first place. But then, she had done that before in the stables, and Shanna could only wonder what she was up to now.

Milly was caught and wheeled about, immediately defensive. “I didn't break it. Ye can't blame it on me!”

“Aye, the breeze is a bit strong today,” Shanna quipped with a hint of sarcasm. “But never mind that. What do you want here? Have you brought fish?”

“I—uh—I—” Milly glanced past Shanna into the drawing room then blurted, “I heard Mister Ruark was hurt, and I come to see if 'ere was aught I could do for him.”

“You're a trifle late, but come in. He's here.”

Shanna led the girl into the room and waved her into a chair beside Ruark, avoiding his questioning glance. Despite his assurance that nothing was between them, Shanna felt a prick of ire at Milly's apparent inability to leave him alone. Sir Gaylord had risen at the entrance of the newcomer, and the girl bobbed a quick curtsy.

“Milly Hawkins I be, gov'na,” the young woman boldly introduced herself before wiggling her small fanny into the chair. She eyed Ruark boldly. “Hear ye got it in the crotch, Mister Ruark. Hope 'tweren't nothing serious.”

Shanna closed her eyes as if to blot out the sight of Milly while Ruark struggled to contain his mirth. When he regained his poise, he grinned across to Shanna.

“'Twas Madam Beauchamp's attentions that brought me through, Milly, none other's.”

“Oooh?” Milly queried, turning wide, dark eyes to Shanna. “Why, she must 'ave sweetened to ye a mite since the last time I seen ye together. She lowered 'at collar on ye pritty good.”

Gaylord's interest perked smartly. “Eh? Collar? What do you say?”

“Never mind,” Shanna said quickly. “Would anyone care for tea?”

“Berta promised to bring me a tray in here,” Ruark rejoined. “I'll have a cup when she comes.”

It suddenly occurred to Shanna why the housekeeper had left in such haste. No doubt she had seen Ruark entering the dining room from the foyer.

As it was, Sir Gaylord pondered on much the same topic. Berta barely managed to serve him with civility, yet she catered to the injured bondslave. The hulking Pitney spoke no word to him other than the least required to a knight of the realm, but the fellow seemed to hang on every phrase uttered by this colonial miscreant. Even Orlan Trahern, though certainly no disrespect could be awarded to that fine man, was a trifle reserved, and sought after the advice of this bondsman, who had proven no more than a stone in the porridge of the brave Sir Billingsham.

Berta was once more her cheerful self as she helped Milan serve Ruark his morning fare and Sir Gaylord stood apart from the group and fretted. He felt as if he had just heard a joke whose point had escaped him while others chortled in glee. It was almost more than a proper gentleman could bear, and, to make matters more intolerable, he could not even gracefully question this bondsman's presence in Trahern's parlor.

“Well!” Milly slapped her hands upon her thighs after a long pause of silence and got to her feet. “I didn't mean to stay long. Just to see 'ow ye were doing, Mister Ruark. 'Sides, I can't rightly chitchat with ye when 'ere's so many folk about.”

The young woman rolled her hips as she took herself to the door, giving Berta cause to shake her head as her blue eyes followed the gyration. The housekeeper bustled out
on the heels of Milan, and Milly turned in the open portal leading into the foyer.

“I'll see meself out the front here,” Milly announced to the three remaining. “Daren't go along the porch. Might cut me foot” She wiggled her bare toes as everyone's attentions were drawn there. “I forgot me sandals again.”

Leaving them with that, she sauntered out, sending back a coy wave to Ruark and closing the door firmly behind her. Shanna almost breathed an audible sigh of relief but caught herself just in time as Gaylord faced her abruptly, folding his huge hands behind his back and bending slightly forward.

“Now, Madam Beauchamp, about that stroll—”

Shanna brightened. “Of course, Sir Gaylord,” and rose to her feet, smoothing her gown of airy lawn over the hooped panniers. “Would you care to join us, Mister Ruark? I think an outing might do you good.”

The Englishman's face sagged into a distasteful, pinched frown. “Wouldn't if I were he. Might slip and break his other leg.”

Ruark stood up with an ability that amazed Shanna and flashed the dour knight a wicked grin of dazzling whiteness.

“On the contrary, I agree that the exercise would be good for me.” He swept his arm before him in a half bow. “After you, madam, of course.”

“We'll go through the front,” Shanna offered sweetly. “'Twill be easier for Mister Ruark to go down the steps with the balustrade to aid him.”

She glided to the drawing room door and paused demurely for it to be opened. Gaylord was fast of foot and, bowing gallantly, held it wide for her. He was about to take a place at her side when he was interrupted.