Shanna (64 page)

Lamely Shanna dropped her hand as she stared after the girl, recognizing with sickening dread that she had given over into Milly's possession the secret she had so carefully guarded for these many months. Giving a groan of despair, Shanna stamped her foot in rage at her own foolishness. She turned listlessly and would have taken Jezebel into the stable, but she found herself face to face with an amused Ruark.

“Madame, I fear that you have just told the town crier.”

“Oh, Ruarkl” Shanna flung herself against him in abject misery. “She'll go straight to my father. He'll be in such a rage he won't stop to listen. He'll send you back to England to hang!”

“Gently, love. Gently.” Ruark held her close to him and whispered against her hair. “'Twill do no good worrying about it. If she tells him, we'll admit it Your father is a reasonable man. He'll at least allow us to speak our piece.”

His calmness and assurance began to affect her, and Shanna took refuge in his strong, encircling arms, heedless of the fact they stood in the open, where any chance glance would find them. Strangely the prospect of having to confess their marriage did not seem as repugnant as it had once.

“At least you won't be bothered by Milly anymore,” she sniffed wryly.

Ruark shaded his eyes and peered off across the distant lawns. “And what of Gaylord? Where is the good chap? I know you left with him.”

Thinking of the knight's ungainly horsemanship, Shanna chuckled gaily. “The last I saw of him, he was at odds with his mount. That was shortly after we left the stables, and he is even now probably struggling to turn the horse about so he can come home.”

“He seems to demand much of your time lately.” The words came out sharper than he had meant.

“Why, Ruark,” Shanna stood back and rubbed the butt of her quirt along the lapel of his jerkin, smiling up at him coyly. “You cannot seriously be jealous of Sir Gaylord.”

Scowling, Ruark half turned from her, and his tan darkened a shade or two. “I cannot stand his foppish manners, 'tis all.” But in more truthfulness he admitted hoarsely, “And I can bear no one fondling or ogling you.” The golden flame in his eyes touched her with a warmth full of promise. “That privilege, madam, I claim as mine alone.”

“And so you do, sir,” she replied, teasing him. A smile curved the corners of her mouth as she leaned forward to murmur confidentially. “And very skillfully.”

Giving him a saucy look over her shoulder, Shanna danced quickly past him, leading Jezebel into the stables. With a low growl Ruark swooped his hand around, catching her upon the buttocks, bringing forth a giggling shriek from her, and as his hand lingered to caress her, Shanna skipped away and made a face at him.

“Oafish knave,” she flung. “When will you learn to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Never,” Ruark assured, leering after her swinging hips. He fell in beside her, taking the mare's reins from her hands. Hooking an arm around Shanna's neck, he brought her close against his side. “For all the times I must look at you and not touch, I vow I shall make up for them when we're alone.”

His hand slipped downward over a soft, round breast, and his open, hungering mouth was upon hers, parting her lips, devouring the sweetness. The kiss was heady wine, sapping the strength from their limbs, and sudden, intense passion swept over them like a rampant river.

Ruark's voice was hoarse as he muttered against her trembling lips, “Your father will be gone until late. Come with me to the cottage.”

He met no resistance. Willingly Shanna nodded her head, and almost in a daze she felt his arm leaving her. Fused with warmth, she leaned against a heavy timber as he hurriedly attended the horse, glancing Shanna's way often as if his eyes could not get enough of looking
at her. Then the gate to the stall was closed behind him, and he was taking her slender hand into his.

It was nearly dusk when Shanna slipped into the manor and quickly ascended the stairs. She had made an effort to recoil her hair into a neat knot, but the gilded tresses had escaped her trembling fingers and she had been only half successful. Her cheeks still bore a rosy blush of passion. The manly scent of him clung to her, and her eyes were like soft, limpid pools of aqua. It was no wonder Hergus, in Shanna's chambers waiting to attend her evening bath, gave a gasp at first sight of her mistress.

“Ye've been with him again!” the servant charged. “And in broad light o' day! ‘Tis shameful ye are, awhoring with Mister Ruark beneath yer pa's nose.”

Shanna flinched, and her cheeks grew hot with color. “Don't call it that.”

“Aye, ye do na want to be reminded o' what ye do.” The woman's voice began to burr heavily with a Scottish accent as it always did when her ire was roused. “A foin lady ye were—‘till he come along. Now ye canna hold yerself from him. And him! Like an animal he be, sniffing ye out, waiting ‘til yer pa's back is turned then tumblin' ye. Aaiiee! I can only see yerself plump-bellied wit' babe an' him smirkin' cause he done it to ye. He must be proud o' what he's got in his breeches to use it so often on ye!”

“Hergus! That's enough!”

“Aye, I guess it be,” the maid sighed heavily. “'Ere's no talkin' to ye.” But Hergus tried one last appeal. “Lass, ye know I care for ye. But I canna stand this thing ye do to yerself. I've been with ye since ye were a wee babe and I, not much more than a budding woman. Eight-and-ten I were.” She drew herself up and gave a sniff. “I see ye now, givin' yerself in a back-door affair to a common bondsman. Me Jamie and me,”—her eyes grew distant for a moment—“we came from a poor highland clan, and we had na long on each other's arms. But ye!” Her attention returned to Shanna, and she said with a vengeance, “Shanna, lass, ye do na care what ye're doin'. Do ye na feel some shame?”

Shanna lifted her chin a notch. Strangely she felt no
sense of wrongdoing and wondered why not even the slightest twinge pricked her conscience. What was there when she lay in the comfort of Ruark's arms that made it all seem right? Love? Aye, he loved her. He had avowed as much. But what of herself? Did she love him? How did one recognize love when it came to them? What made her surrender all to Ruark, if not for love? Passion? Aye, there was that, but there was more, and standing as she was, before Hergus's questioning regard, she could find no answers.

“Nay.” She whispered so low the maidservant had to strain to catch the word. Shanna turned her back to the other and began to loosen the bodice of her habit “I feel no shame. He loves me and I—”

Shanna frowned and shook her head. What crazy thing had she glimpsed in a moment of dawning then seen flit away? She sighed at its loss.

“There is much about Mister Ruark and I that you do not understand, Hergus. But I fear 'twill all be out if Milly has her way.”

“What does Milly know?”

“Much, I'm afraid,” Shanna replied ruefully.

It was one thing for Hergus to criticize her mistress's actions, but an entirely different thing for another to raise voice in anything but praise of her charge. Her loyalty lay firm on that account.

“Then the twit better hold 'er tongue.”

Shanna glanced around in wonder, and Hergus shrugged.

“Yer pa is in the parlor with Mister Ralston, Mister Pitney, and that Sir Billingsham. I canna rightly see even Milly pokin' in on the squire an' his guests. And ye'd best hurry yerself along. He come 'round some time ago and was asking for ye. I'll tell him ye're back, but I wouldna dally were I the one.”

Hergus lightly dusted an immaculate curio shelf and flicked her fingers free of imaginary dirt as she turned her gaze to Shanna again.

“I overheard Sir Billingsham asking where ye were off to. He found yer horse in the stable, but ye were gone without tellin' him where. I guess he figures yer pa should be keepin' close watch o'er ye.” The woman pon
dered on. “Maybe yer pa's beginning to wonder about ye up here with Mister Ruark only a few steps away. But then”—Hergus sniffed loudly—“I suppose he feels he can trust ye. Such a pity ye betray him.”

Shrugging off the maid's barbs, Shanna began to disrobe. But with her body still flushed and rosy with passion, she could not bring herself to part with her shift The servant took the bint and left with a last comment flung over her shoulder.

“I'll be back to do yer hair.”

Securing the heavy tresses on top of her head, Shanna sank deep into the scented water and began to wash, idly dabbing the soapy sponge along her arm and shoulders. It was a leisurely bath, and her mind was occupied with dreamy thoughts. Leaning back in the ornate tub, she closed her eyes as the heat relaxed her. She was close to drowsing when she heard a gay whistling in the hall outside her sitting room. She smiled softly, knowing it could only be Ruark, and grew giddy with the memory of their afternoon together. The canopy high above his dark face had glowed with an aura of light that pervaded the cottage. With the curtains drawn about the bed, their naked bodies had been suffused with the radiance of daylight shining through the white drapings. His amber eyes had moved over her with a thoroughness that had left her breathless and trembling. Then his hands, with their slow, intoxicating gentleness, had followed, bringing soft sobs of pleasure from her. His kisses had fallen where they would, branding her with their fire. With a low laugh he had caught her to his hardened frame and rolled upon the bed until she lay full length upon him, their limbs entwined, their mouths eagerly blending. His lean fingers had threaded through the shimmering gold of her hair, catching it at the soft nape, and his lips had traced a molten path down her throat.

“Shanna. Lovely Shanna,” he murmured huskily. “Your splendor blinds this poor beggar. How beautiful you are, my love.”

Tremulously she had brushed a kiss upon his cheek, her feelings too strong for words.

The illusions vanished abruptly as Hergus called through from the sitting room, gave a quick knock
on the bedchamber door, and entered. Hastily Shanna rose and snatching a large towel around her, stepped behind the dressing screen to dry herself.

Hergus took umbrage at this and chided, “Ne'er ye mind about the fact I swaddled ye when ye were a babe and helped ye to dress for years. Since ye've taken with yer bondsman, a body would guess ye only trust him to see yer blessed skin. 'Tis not right that ye should strut about in front of 'im in yer altogether then be so flighty and shy before me whose known ye almost as well as yer own ma.”

Shanna gave a worried look toward the French doors, blushing lightly. If Ruark had heard her pacing the floor, then he most certainly overheard this exchange. Donning her shift, she stepped from behind the screen and gave the servant a warning frown as she firmly presented her with a brush.

“If you've come to do my hair, proceed. Otherwise, I'll find a task worthy of your good nature, such as emptying chamber pots in the morning tide.”

S
HANNA'S SLIPPERED FEET
were a blur flitting down the curving stairs, barely seeming to touch the steps. She was like a young girl again, fretful of her tardiness, flushed and breathless and, in her haste, heedless of the display of trim and shapely ankles that flashed beneath her lifted skirts. Hergus had barely contained her curls with a ribbon before the full realization of time struck Shanna. If there was any one thing that consistently roused her father's ire, it was the needless delay of his meal.

Jason stood tall and erect at his post beside the front portal. He seemed to study the far wall, an intense frown pulling his dark face into heavy folds. He gave no notice to Shanna in her immodest haste. As in the days of her youth, Shanna felt his reproof and halting, dropped her skirts and smoothed her teal blue gown, then lifting her head proudly, continued down with a poised aloofness that drew his regard and won a smile of approval from the black man. He stiffly bowed.

“You look mighty fetching this evening, madam.”

She gave a gracious nod. “Thank you, Jason.”

From the drawing room her father's voice boomed out. “Berta! Go see what's keeping that girl! 'Tis half past the dinner hour.”

Shanna eased somewhat as there was still a touch of good humor in his tone. She moved to the door and took a deep breath, feeling much like Daniel before the lion's den. But if Milly had found a chance to tell her father, Shanna reasoned, by now she would have been facing a raging snarl. Summoning an outwardly serene smile, she entered the room and paused as the men rose to their feet Pitney was already standing beside her father, and they turned together, each with his own choice of libation in his hand.

“Gentlemen, do be seated,” Shanna begged softly as her gaze traveled about the room.

Ruark had garbed himself handsomely in his royal blue finery, and his lithe, powerful grace made the long, gangling form of Sir Gaylord seem much like an uncoordinated giraffe as they stepped forward simultaneously. Ralston gave her a brief nod which sufficed for an acknowledgement of her presence.

“I am sorry I'm late, papa,” Shanna murmured sweetly. “I didn't realize the time.”

Trahern brushed aside his daughter's apology. In the face of her almost girlish radiance, he could do naught but consider that there was, after all, no harm done.

“I am sure the gentlemen will regard the wait well worthwhile, my dear. We were just discussing the voyage to the colonies.”

“Is it much like England?” Shanna charmingly presented the question to Ruark. “I suppose 'twill be cold.”

“Cold? Aye, madam,” Ruark smiled and could not suppress the glow that came into his eyes as he beheld her beauty. “But I think not entirely like England.”

“Gracious, no!” Gaylord piped in. He indulged himself with a bit of snuff, taking it from the back of his hand, and delicately applied a monogrammed handkerchief to his pale nostril. His blue-gray eyes watered as he sniffed. “A savage land, hardly fit for a lady. Crude forts, untamed wilderness. Heathens, the lot of them there. I dare say, we shall all be in constant danger.”

Ruark arched a dubious brow toward the man. “You seem an authority, sir. Have you ever been there?”

Gaylord bent a cold, withering glare upon the bondsman. “Did I hear you speak?” The inflection in his voice carried a tone of amazement, as if he could not believe he had been addressed by a common slave.

Ruark managed to subdue his mockery and with feigned chagrin replied, “I really don't know what made me do that.”

Gaylord tossed his head, missing the twist of sarcasm in Ruark's tone. “Be more mindful of it then. ‘Tis odious enough having to share the same table with a bondslave without being interrupted by such.” Feeling his power
over the man, Gaylord sneered. “And bear it in mind, my good fellow, I think there is much of the knave in you. I do not believe you innocent of the pirate's scheme to spirit away Squire Trahern's treasures, no matter the rumor, and if I were he, I'd keep a wary eye on you while you're in this manor. Mayhap you now seek a more valuable reward.” His glance dipped only slightly so as only Ruark noticed it was directed toward Shanna. “A rogue will stop at nothing to gain gold for his purse.”

Ruark stiffened at the slur, and his eyes hardened as he met Gaylord's taunting stare. Ralston smirked as he saw the darkening of Ruark's brow and could not ignore the opportunity. He joined the two. His eyes swept the younger man contemptuously as he directed his remark to Gaylord.

“'Tis most unseemly that a mere bondslave should question an honorable knight's knowledge.”

Gaylord drew himself up to his full height and struck an arrogant pose as he realized the truth of Ralston's thinly veiled suggestion.

Over her shoulder, Shanna caught her father's attention and inclined her head toward Ralston with a slight frown. His nod was immediately forthcoming.

“Mister Ralston,” Trahern called. “Might I have a word with you?”

Ralston scowled and reluctantly left the two. He had just begun to enjoy himself, and this was a game he loved to play. Still, he could not disobey his employer. As he drew near, Orlan Trahern lowered the glass he sipped from and frowned in mild reproach.

“Mister Ruark is a guest in my household.” His voice was low so that only Pitney could hear. “I must see to the peace and tranquility of my home. I insist that you, being only a paid servant yourself, treat my guests with equity.”

Ralston reddened and grew rigid with indignation. “Sir? Do you fault me in front of others?”

“Nay, Mister Ralston.” Trahern's smile bore little humor. “I only remind you of your station. Mister Ruark has proven his worth. Do not disprove yours.”

Ralston suppressed an urge to reply in heat. He had grown accustomed to the rich apartment he maintained
in the village and was well aware of the reaches of Trahern's wealth and power but considered the man would hardly miss a few hundred pounds here and there, and, thus, in his years with the squire, Ralston had laid away a goodly sum for himself; his accounts would not bear any close scrutiny. He also knew that Trahern would, with his commoner's petty vengeance, seek punishment if the shortages were found out.

With the fine skill of an experienced diplomat, Shanna had taken it upon herself to allay further confrontation between Ruark and Sir Billingsham. Placing herself between the two men and bestowing a warm smile to Ruark, she presented her back to him and spoke directly to Sir Gaylord.

“Kind sir.” Her pitying eyes gave her words the taste of purest honey. “'Tis indeed a shame we are so far from London and you can find none of your peers to lend good rhetoric to the conversation. It must be a pain to you to hear the common and mundane discourses of earthly things so prevalent out here on the—frontier.”

The knight heard only the soft warmth of her voice and was captivated by the distraught beauty of the visage before him. He began to feel as if he had harmed her in some way as she continued.

“I, too, have heard the lofty ideals vividly expressed in the court and know the loneliness you find in your lordly pursuits. You must remember, though, that all, even my father and myself, are of common extraction here and temper your judgments with mercy. Why,”—Shanna laughed as if incredulous at her thought—“you would not ban my good sire and myself from your company, would you?”

Sir Gaylord was equally incredulous. “Of course not, my dear lady. Your father is governor here and you, as his daughter, are most”—he sighed longingly—“attractive.”

“Good.” Shanna tapped his arm with her fan and leaned close, saying confidentially, “I can say of my own knowledge that Mister Ruark was forcefully taken from this island against his will. I beg you to understand why I must treat him with some deference,” she looked aside to Ruark and smiled wickedly.

The knight could only mumble his agreement, though he still struggled with her reasoning.

“You are so kind, sir.” She curtsied gracefully and gave her hand to Ruark. “Let us see to our dinner, then.”

Shanna looked back over her shoulder toward her father. “Papa, are you ready to eat?”

“Most certainly!”

Trahern chuckled deep in his chest and, realizing he had just witnessed a setdown in the softest feminine way, could almost feel pity for the blundering numbers who had fallen in her wake. With a strange sense of pride, he watched the poised deliberation of his daughter as she walked beside the bondsman. They made a splendid pair, the two of them. And what fine children she would bear him if they—

“Bah! Madness!” Trahern shook his head to shed the thoughts. “I have cast the die too well. She would never deign to wed a bondsman.”

Shanna slipped easily into the slow, considered movements which gave her an air of cool aloofness. Her hand rested lightly on Ruark's arm, and she smiled into those gleaming amber eyes. The two of them led the procession into the dining room where Milan had begun to chafe at the delay, seeing only the ruin of delicate flavors as the cook tried to keep the dishes warm. At Shanna's entry the small man's face suddenly beamed, and he clapped his hands together as a signal for the young boys to bring the food. At last dinner was to be served.

“Sit here, Mister Ruark,” Shanna directed, indicating the chair near her own which was placed at the end.

Ralston left open the place opposite the bondsman for Sir Gaylord and took a seat across from Pitney, nearer Trahern. If there was trouble to be brewed, he was the master brewer, and he would see this mixture to its best fermentation.

The conversation at the beginning of the meal was somewhat stilted. Gaylord could only gaze at Shanna, and when her attention was diverted, he allowed his eyes to dip appreciatively to her breasts where the stiff bodice pressed the swelling curves into a most tempting display. Annoyed by the knight's lustful perusal, Ruark had to hold tight rein on his own manners. Ralston, unusually verbose, directed his words to the squire.

“I've noted that the
Good Hound
has been brought in to clean her hull. Do you intend, squire, to take the schooner
along to the colonies, or do you plan to use her here for trade around the islands?”

Trahern paused in his eating and gestured to Ruark. “Ask the lad there. It belongs to him.”

Ralston and Gaylord both turned to stare aghast toward Ruark, who casually stated the situation.

“Gentlemen, it is permissible by English law for a bondsman to own property. I gained the schooner in a fair battle, as Madam Beauchamp will attest.”

“This is preposterous!” Gaylord declared. It nettled him sorely that a slave should have a vessel while he, a titled gentleman, was still trying to gain financing for a shipyard.

“However so,” Ruark grinned, “the schooner is mine and shall remain mine unless I choose to give it up for my freedom. But then, I think 'twould take me longer to earn the price of a ship than to pay my indebtedness. The
Tempest
will be loaned to the squire for the voyage in return for the price of seeing her made fit A fair enough exchange as we both see it”

“The
Tempest?”
Ralston queried arrogantly.

“Aye, I've renamed it,” Ruark replied leisurely. “Of late I've come to enjoy storms as they seem to bring me naught but good, and I deemed it only fitting.”

“My daughter has an aversion to them,” Trahern commented absently, missing the spreading color that had risen on Shanna's face with Ruark's statement “No cause as I could see, but it started when she was a little thing.”

“Perhaps I'm outgrowing that, papa,” Shanna returned softly, not daring to meet her husband's gaze. “After all, it was a storm which enabled us to escape the pirates.”

Her father accepted this with a mouthful of lobster then swallowing, muttered, “Good. 'Tis time. You'll be having children of your own someday. Wouldn't do for you to put that fear in them.”

“No, papa,” Shanna agreed meekly.

“And what of the pirate's treasure on the schooner?” Ralston sneered. “Does that belong to Mister Ruark also?”

“It did,” Trahern stated, raising his eyes to his man. “But all that which was not mine he gave to Mister Gaitlier and Mistress Dora for the years they spent in service to the pirates.”

The agent's eyebrows raised in surprise. “Generous of the man, considering he could have bought his freedom.”

Ruark ignored his tone of derision. “By right it was theirs, and I saw it as fair payment from the pirates.”

Gaylord held his silence. He could not understand giving even a small wealth away. Ralston dismissed the subject. He knew such foolish deeds would tend to endear the lady more to the bondsman—and perhaps that was Mister Ruark's ploy, Ralston mused.

“Madam,” Ralston addressed Shanna directly. “Are you aware Sir Gaylord's father is a lord and magistrate of the English courts?” He cast a glance awry to Trahern to see if the man was listening and grew piqued that the squire should appear disinterested in the conversation and, instead, savor his favorite dish.

“Indeed?” Shanna presented an inquisitive gaze to the man on her left. “Lord Billingsham? I never heard his name mentioned while I was in London. Has he been a magistrate long?”

Gaylord daintily dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin before looking at her earnestly. “I can think of no cause, madam, that might have presented such a fair lady as yourself before him. He judges evil men, murderers, thieves, miscreants of all kinds, and you are far too delicate a flower to be found where those would roam. He has sent many a scoundrel to Tyburn's triple tree, and for the sake of caution he has elected to be known to those rogues only as Lord Harry.”

Ralston watched Ruark closely, expecting some reaction from him, as he guessed it may have been more than coincidence. His target only met his gaze for a moment, shrugged casually, and continued with his meal.