Shanna (65 page)

Pitney was giving careful attention to his food, and Shanna was as intently studying her own. She remembered too well when Mister Hicks spoke of Lord Harry and his secret handling of Ruark's hanging orders and wondered what game Ralston played.

Only one as familiar with Ruark Beauchamp as Shanna would have noticed his sudden preoccupation with the meal and the gradual hardening of his eyes. His nostrils flared slightly each time the hated name was mentioned, but otherwise he executed well his role of bondsman,
and it seemed as if this exchange were simply over his head.

With very great care Shanna questioned, smiling gently at Gaylord, “Lord Harry? 'eTwould seem I've heard
that
name before.” Her brows drew into a puzzled frown. “But for the life of me I can't remember—”

Pitney's comment was grunted. “I've heard of him. Some called him Hanging Harry. Got that with his liberal use of the triple tree.”

Gaylord was offended. “A malicious rumor!”

Shanna seemed bemused. “I've often wondered how a man must feel after he has sentenced another to be hanged for some offense. I'm sure your father sent only the well-deserving to their end, but it crosses my mind what a terrible burden it must have placed upon him. Had you knowledge of his affairs? I suppose he spoke often of them.”

“My father's affairs were much beyond me, madam. I gave them no heed.”

Shanna brightened. “Oh? What a pity.”

They adjourned again to the drawing room after dinner, and there Shanna was beset by Gaylord's close presence on the settee beside her. Over her fan she watched Ruark light his pipe by the French doors and, meeting his eyes, caught the almost imperceptible inclination of his head toward the portico. Fanning herself, she rose and complained demurely.

“'Tis a bit stuffy in here, papa. If you've no objections, I'll take a stroll along the porch.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Trahern nodded his approval, and Ruark was quick to offer.

“Madam, since the pirate's raid 'tis not safe for a lady to go about unescorted. I beg—”

“You're quite right,” Gaylord interrupted and, to Shanna's consternation, took her arm. “Please allow me, madam.”

Gaylord had turned the tables deftly, and this time Ruark was left standing while the other man smugly stepped past him with Shanna. As the knight closed the doors behind them, he sneered in the bondsman's face.

Pitney's huge arm halted Ruark before he could lay a hand on the latch, and he was shoved gently backward.
Ruark was not in the mood for foolery. The muscles in his lean jaw flexed tensely as he lifted his gaze to find a gentle smile on the older man's face.

“Easy, lad,” Pitney rasped in a low tone. “If there comes a need, I will see to it.”

His gray eyes flicked toward Trahern in a silent warning, and Ruark glanced behind him to see the squire turn away from the cupboard with a glass of rum and draw out his pocket watch. The man considered it a moment before looking at Pitney.

“Five minutes?” He left the comment hanging, and Pitney drew out his own timepiece.

“Less, I'd say, knowing the eager knight.”

“Bitters to an ale?” Trahern wagered.

“Aye,” Pitney answered and tucked away the pocket watch as he considered Ruark.

“You have not seen Shanna at her best.” He gave a nod toward the French doors. “Better men than he have tried. If you must fret, have a pity for Sir Gay.”

The room grew quiet, and only Ruark and Ralston showed emotions. Ruark was uneasy, while Ralston smirked in good satisfaction. Then suddenly from the porch a low enraged shriek came from Shanna. Ruark jumped, and Ralston lowered his glass in wonderment. In a hair's space it was following by a ringing slap, the beginning of a curse growled by Gaylord, followed by a shout—that, too, from the knight—terminated in a loud grunt.

Pitney consulted his watch and said to Trahern, “Ale!”

All of them including Ralston started for the door at once, but before any could touch it, the portal was flung open, and Shanna flounched into the room, holding the torn bodice of her gown shut with one hand while she flexed the other as if it pained her. Her beautiful face was aflame beneath her wildly mussed tresses.

Trahern halted his daughter with a hand on her arm, and his eyes carefully searched her for some sign of mistreatment. “Is all well with you, Shanna child?”

“Aye, papa,” she replied brightly. “Better than you can guess, but I fear our lordly guest has taken to adorning the shrubs with his manly form.”

Trahern stepped past her as Ruark doffed his coat and
laid it over his wife's shoulders. Shanna gazed at him softly as he took her hand to examine it.

“Shall I avenge you, milady?” he questioned in a low voice without raising his eyes.

“Nay, my Captain Pirate Ruark,” she murmured. “Poor fellow, he's had his just reward. Look yonder.”

She swept the injured hand toward the doors as her father and Pitney pushed them open. Trahern seemed to choke on something as the dim light spilled onto the porch to illuminate the lanky shape of Sir Billingsham as he struggled to pull himself over the railing that bordered the walkway. Shreds of leaves and broken twigs clung to him, protruding from his rose-colored coat in random array. The knight set his feet on the porch and, unconscious of those who stared, paused to pluck the greenery from himself. He had succeeded only to a slight degree when he raised his head to find three of the four men who watched smiling broadly at him, while the fourth gaped in stunned astonishment.

Sir Gaylord was equal to the occasion. Lifting his jowly chin, he stared back at them with a haughty gaze and strode loftily past them as they made way for him, ignoring Shanna completely. Still in all, his bearing lacked something, for his gait had an odd half-step quality caused, no doubt, by his missing shoe.

Tugging the oversize coat about her, Shanna gave a small curtsy. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said and swept out of the room, turning her hand as if it still ached.

Trahern regarded his empty glass for a moment before he sighed almost sadly and went to pour two tall ales, handing one to Pitney. Ralston helped himself to a short brandy and tossed it off before he, half embarrassed, excused himself and left. Trahern poured a third ale and offered it to Ruark.

“Ah, gentlemen,” the portly man chuckled after a long pull at his own glass. “I do not know what I shall do for excitement when the lass is gone.” His chuckle gave way to rolling mirth, which infected the other two and left him gasping in his chair.

“I think I will retire. I am getting too old for all of this.”

He left the room to them and as he went down the hall
an occasional chuckle drifted back. Pitney refilled their glasses and nodded his head toward the door.

“A breath of fresh air, Mister Ruark?”

They strolled through the open doors and passed on down the wide veranda and admired the bright full moon, while John Ruark offered his large companion some tobacco from his pouch. To his surprise the man produced a well-browned clay pipe from his pocket and after a first puff of smoke nodded his appreciative thanks.

“Took the habit when I sailed on one of Orlan's ships,” he murmured. “Hard to get good tobacco 'way out here. But this is good. Aye, this is good.”

They walked on for a space in silence, leaving a fragrant trail of smoke behind them. They had almost returned to the drawing room doors when Pitney paused to knock the dottle from his pipe bowl.

“A pity,” the huge man commented as he tapped the pipe against his heel.

Ruark gave him a questioning look.

“A pity your brother, Captain Beauchamp, could not sail with us.”

Ruark's face went blank as he sought for some denial.

“My brother?” was all he could manage, for anything more would have been a lie, bold and open.

“Aye,” Pitney returned, watching him closely in the meager light. He pointed at Ruark's chest with the stem of his pipe. “And sometimes it tickles me mind that there is even more to Ruark Beauchamp than John Ruark lets on.”

Tucking the pipe in his pocket, Pitney went into the house, and when Ruark entered a few moments later, the room was empty.

The hour was late, and the moon was a swollen red ball low on the horizon. It seemed to squat there with ominous deliberation and gave no clue that it would become the pure silver goddess that fled across the sky and lent her name to stricken lovers. The streets were otherwise dark in the village, and Milly Hawkins shuddered as she strolled again by the appointed meeting place to find it still empty. Fretfully she paused and with a worried gaze swept the cobbled street in both directions. The skin
on the back of her neck began to crawl, and her spine tingled coldly. She had the distinct feeling she was being watched. She peered into every nook and cranny but saw nothing. Then she gasped in fear as a tall shadow detached itself from a deeper one and came toward her. Her hands trembled to her mouth, and she stared hard for a moment before sagging in relief.

“Oh, 'tis you, gov'na,” she giggled. “You gave me quite a start. Aye, 'at ye did. Ye're late.”

The man shrugged and offered no explanation. He wore a full black cape which hid his stature, with a high collar pulled up close beneath a tricorn drawn down to hide his features in the darkness. His riding boots were of soft black leather, as were the gloves which covered his hands, and he carried a quirt as if he had just left a horse. As he drew nearer, Milly gave him no pause.

“Well, gov'na, 'ave I got news fer ye. We got to 'ave an understandin' soon. ‘At Mister Ruark ain' no good ter me at all like ye said he'd be. ‘E's already got him a missus an' ye'd never guess who. Miz Shanna Beauchamp, 'ats who. Only she ain' no widow no more. She's Miz John Ruark, now. An' the fun of it is, the high lady told me 'erself.”

Milly paused to savor her news.

“Why, she ain' as good as me, beddin' a bondsman. Ain't got no taste atall. She's kept it a fair secret, though.” The girl chewed at a fingernail for a moment, and her eyes took on a gleeful gleam. “Comes ter mind, 'er pa don't know, either. What a foin blow he'll 'ave when I lets 'im in on it. Me ma, too. She's always pointin' out 'at high Miz Shanna and sayin' be like 'er. Well, I's better'n 'er.” Milly reached out and caressed the arm of the man, missing the pinched frown he gave her.

“I gots me better'n any bondsman. I best tell ye now, gov'na, ye've got to pay the due. I ain' takin' no seaman what's gone 'alf the time. I wants me a man 'round when I gets me heat up.”

The quirt began to slap softly against the top of the man's boot, but Milly did not notice as she bestowed her best smile on him.

“O' course, I ain' one ter tie ye down, and if'n ye roams
a bit I ain' goin' ter howl 'bout it. Not so long as ye comes back.”

The man slipped his arm around her and began to lead her down the street Milly reveled in this unusual affection and misread his smile completely. She leaned against him and slipped her hand inside his cloak.

“I know's a quiet spot down by the beach,” she murmured, a suggestive look in her eyes. “ Tis a hidden place with soft moss ter pillow me backside.”

In the shadowed street the echo of her light laughter dwindled.

The next day broke clear and cool, with a sharp edge to it that could almost be felt. At the first hint of dawn Ruark and Shanna awoke, and with a parting kiss, he made his way quietly to his own chamber where he shaved and dressed to await the manor's first stirring. He lounged on the bed, listening to Shanna move about her room then rejected the idea of returning. Hergus scolded her enough without adding more kindling to the woman's fire. It was a nightly occurrence now that they shared a bed even if it was only to lie in the comfort of each other's arms until sleep would descend upon them both.

Making his way to the small dining room, Ruark poured himself a cup of coffee. The pungent, nutty taste of the brew had captured him, and he welcomed the steaming warmth of it on this rare chilly morn.

Milan had set out a platter of meats and small oatcakes, and at the man's invitation Ruark was just seating himself before a liberal plate when Trahern and Shanna entered the room together laughing. The father wondered at the change in his daughter. In the past few weeks she had grown rosy-cheeked and lighthearted and ever since her escapade with the pirates she appeared to have lost much of her starched formality. The frequency of her biting comments had faded until she almost seemed a different person, a warm and gracious woman whose charm now rivaled her beauty. Trahern chuckled to himself, accepting the good fortune without question. The smell of buttered griddle-cakes filled his nostrils, and he hurried to his chair, leaving the seating of his daughter to Mister Ruark, as it seemed the man's wont, anyway.

A ring of hooves sounded out front, and in a moment Pitney blustered into the house, rubbing his hands and savoring the aroma of the food. He tossed his hat to Jason and joined the others, dragging a chair back from the table for a seat.

He met the amused stares of father and daughter and rumbled, “The floor of me house was much too cold this morn for a man of me age to be stumbling about.” He glared about as if daring anyone to question his honesty. “Besides, I finished a table for Mister Dunbar, and he had said he was coming here to see Mister Ruark 'bout that mule of his. Seems the man wants to buy it.”

Pitney accepted a plate from Milan and set about easing his appetite. The meal was taken by all with light banter as a side dish, and the mood was generally cheerful. But it was not to remain so for long. Milan had renewed Ruark's coffee when a shout was heard, and a banging fist jarred the front door. Jason let in a bondsman from the village who came on bare feet directly back to the dining room. At Trahern's side the man stood nervously turning his hat in his hands as he gave fleeting glances at Shanna as if her presence held back his flow of words. “Mister—uh—yer lordship—Squire Trahern—” The man's tongue stumbled in haste.