Shanna (66 page)

“Well, Mister Hanks,” Trahern urged impatiently. “Out with it.”

The bondsman's face reddened as he looked again at Shanna. “Well, sir, I was out in me boat early, gettin' in a few good fishes for Miz Hawkins. She gives me a threepence or so for 'em. I drew the boat in to fix me lines and bait when I spies a bit o' color up by the bush. The tide was out, so I beached the skiff to see about it.” He paused and blushed darkly, lowering his gaze. He crushed the hat between his huge, calloused, square-fingered hands. “H'it were Miz Milly, sir.” His voice was choked. “She were dead, beaten bad and tossed in a tide pool.”

In the frozen silence he rushed on.

“Miz Hawkins 'as to be told, sir, and I ain't got the right words, it being her only young'un and all Would ye tell her, sir?”

“Milan!” Trahern bellowed, and the servant almost dropped a plate at the sound. “Send Maddock to bring my carriage around immediately.” He pushed back his
chair and all at the table rose with him. “Come and show us where, Mister Hanks.”

Numbly Shanna crossed the room, her mind tumbling over itself with the shock of Mister Hanks's announcement. Milly and babe, dead! What hellish being would do such a deed? This would be a terrible tragedy for Mrs. Hawkins to bear, and Shanna felt sick at heart as she wondered why so much trouble had to come to such a good woman.

In the back of Shanna's mind it came to her that her secret was safe once again, but that meant nothing now. She'd have gladly told her father herself if it would have made any difference in this matter of Milly's death. She had not really disliked the girl and certainly never wished any disaster to befall her. Her worrying seemed so trifling now.

Trailing behind Shanna, Ruark was just as stunned. The attempt on his life yesterday and now this murder of Milly—were they somehow related? It was a dark blemish on the happy, serene days he had enjoyed ever since Shanna had lowered all barriers between them.

“Shanna, girl!” Trahern's voice halted them. “'Tis best you stay here.”

“Mister Hanks is right, papa,” Shanna returned quietly. “Madam Hawkins must be told. Tis fitting a woman be with her. I will go to her.”

Both father and husband stared at Shanna, warmly gratified with her wisdom and understanding. Trahern nodded, and the room was emptied in a rush.

Milly lay face down in a shallow depression in the sand. At high tide it would have been a pool, but now the sun had whitened the sand until it seemed the unfortunate girl was but napping on the beach. Her clothes were torn from her until only a few meager shreds remained. Thin weals marked her body and limbs as if she had been thrashed cruelly with a narrow rod or staff. Huge purplish bruises swelled on her arms and upper body where a heavy fist or cudgel had smashed repeatedly into her. An ugly welt marked the side of her face and extended well into the matted hair. One hand still clutched tufts of salt grass, bespeaking her struggle to hold on as the tide ebbed. Her other hand was stretched out and near it was a crude “R” dug into the sand. The short leg of it trailed off and curled
under, ending where her fingers had buried themselves in a last desperate convulsive effort.

Ruark stared at her, his mind filled with the sight of another girl who had died in much the same manner. How could this happen so far away with an ocean between? How could it be?

Trahern bent near the girl and peered at the scrawled letter in the sand. “ Tis an ‘R,' he murmured then straightened to consider his bondsman. “Or it could be a ‘P.' But then, I can vouch for Pitney.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It could stand for Ruark, but 'tis my inclination to disbelieve that I am certain I could vouch for you, also, should the occasion arise.”

Ruark's throat was dry. The twisted body was all too familiar. He managed a hoarse, “Thank you, sir.”

“Or it could stand for Ralston, yet I can hardly envision him with a young girl like this. He much prefers heavier, plumper, older women. More solid and reliable. ‘Like England,' he says.”

Ruark raised his eyes and scanned the low bluff above the beach. A clump of brush showed broken twigs and higher up a strip of white cloth hung like a banner from a branch.

“There!” He pointed. “She must have fallen from up there.” He walked down a ways to a break in the bluff and scrambled up, followed in close order by Trahern and Pitney. Mister Hanks remained below and strolled out toward his boat, wanting no further part of the gruesome affair.

The three found a small glade heavily shaded by trees and hidden by shrubs. Its floor was a thick bed of springy moss, and here was written the rest of the tale. The moss was uprooted in chunks and tossed about, giving a sign of a fierce struggle. Pieces of Milly's clothing were scattered afar, and deep boot marks showed where she had been carried to the brink.

Pitney's voice shook. “The filthy whoreson thought her dead and threw her into the sea. She would have gone out on the tide and disappeared without a trace. The poor lass. 'Twas an evil thing that was done here by an evil man.”

His gray eyes caught Ruark's, and for a long moment
the two gazes held unwaveringly. When Pitney spoke again, his tone was certain as he directed his statement to the younger man.

“I do not know of such a one who would do this.”

Trahern snorted. “Nor do I. 'Tis a beastly thing. Beastly.”

“Squire,” Ruark began reluctantly, and Trahern faced him with a quizzical stare. “I would have you hear it from me and now.” He had to squint almost into the sun to meet the man's gaze, but meet it he did. “Milly claimed she was with babe and needed me to wed her.”

“And were you the father?” Trahern inquired slowly.

“Nay, I was not,” Ruark avowed. “I never laid a hand on the girl.”

After a moment the squire nodded. “I believe you, Mister Ruark.” He sighed heavily. “Let's get the girl home. Elot will be along with a wagon any moment now.”

The barouche bore the men to the Hawkinses' house where Pitney excused himself and made off for the dramshop. Arrangements had been made for Milly's body to be tended to by a close friend of the fishmonger before the woman could see the abuse her daughter had suffered. Trahern and Ruark stood outside the humble dwelling and braced themselves for meeting the Hawkinses. The yard and exterior were a shambles. A pair of scrawny swine snorted in a corner beneath a haphazard shelter of boards while a dozen or so guinea hens scratched in the path.

With some apprehension the two entered the house. It was neat and clean, though painfully unadorned but for a single wood-carved crucifix hanging on the wall. Mister Hawkins lounged on a lopsided settee and did not even glance at them.

“The old lady's out back,” he grunted and sucked long on a bottle of rum, still staring off into the distance.

In back of the house, a roof hung on crooked poles giving shade but little hindrance to rain. Beneath it Mrs. Hawkins stood at a high table, her back to them. With a huge knife she cleaned fish, spilling the offal into a wooden barrel. Shanna sat on a stool to one side and met their eyes with a small shrug, though signs of recent tears still lingered in her own.

“Good day, gentlemen,” Mrs. Hawkins spoke over her
shoulder without pausing in her task. “Have a seat wherever. I has me work to do.” Her voice sounded tired.

Both Trahern and Ruark remained standing and stared at each other awkwardly, wondering what was to be said. The old woman worked on, though she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed loudly once in a while.

“She was an unlucky girl,” Mrs. Hawkins's flat voice stated suddenly. She braced her hands on the table and stood with bowed head. She could barely be heard now. “I pray she's at peace. She fretted overmuch about things she could not have and was never satisfied with what she got.”

The old fishwife turned to face them, her eyes streaming tears of sorrow.

“Milly weren't a bad girl.” She smiled and found a clean spot on the apron to wipe her face. “Willful sometimes, aye, that she were. Men gave her trinkets and coins sometimes, and she came to think they would give her whate'er she wanted. She made up stories about some o' them. Oh, I know, Mister Ruark, what she said about you and her, but I'm aware ye never touched 'er. She used to cry in 'er pillow cause ye wouldn't pay no mind to 'er. When I'd wash yer clothes, she'd sit an' moon over ye.”

“Mrs. Hawkins,” Ruark began gently, “were there any others who were—steady?”

“Many others,” the woman sniffed and blew her nose loudly. “But none that lasted. Oh—there was one lately, but I don't know who. She never would say and only met him at night, far away from here.”

“Mister Ralston never—” Trahern could not put it to words.

“Nay, not him. He always said she was cheap trash. Even hit at her once with that little whip o' his.” The woman laughed briefly. “Milly teased him. Called him old stick bones and sour face.”

The tears began to flow again, and the woman's shoulder shook with suppressed sobs. Shanna rose quickly and went to comfort her. Mrs. Hawkins was half a head taller, but the two of them put their heads together and spoke softly.

When Mrs. Hawkins calmed, she bent and kissed Shan
na on the cheek. “Go now, child,” she smiled. “Ye've done me good, but we would be alone now for a while.”

Orlan Trahern ventured, “If you have a need, madam, do not hesitate.” He paused then added. “Milly left a sign in the sand. An ‘R' she traced. Do you know of any—”

Mrs. Hawkins shook her head. “I wouldn't worry meself about Milly's signs, sir. She never took ter writin'.”

A long, quiet moment passed before Ruark offered, “I'll come by tomorrow to fix the roof.”

There was nothing left to be said, and the three departed. The ride back to the manor was overlong and very quiet.

O
CTOBER WAS MIDDLE-AGED
, and the
Hampstead
was in port for a general replenishing before she would bear Trahern and his extensive entourage to Virginia. While his party visited the Beauchamps, the brigantine and the schooner would ply the coastal colonies in trade. Meanwhile, the mill grew like a well-nurtured mushroom. Each day saw its completion nearing, and a crude blade hammered out by the blacksmith was installed until a better one arrived from New York. In fact, several blades for different purposes had been ordered at Ruark's insistence, and it was a grand day when the
Marguerite
arrived with all of them aboard.

The gloom of Milly's death was set aside when Gaitlier and Dora came to the manor house and shyly announced their intentions to marry. After sharing a toast for the occasion, Shanna pressed them into taking a ride about the island with Ruark and herself, only to order the carriage halted before a small building, and there to introduce the prospective bridegroom to the school she had long ago urged her father to build. Gaitlier was ecstatic over the crates of books, slates, and other implements of learning Shanna had shipped home during her own years of instruction. Amid profuse and enthusiastic assurances that he would consent to be the island's schoolmaster, Gaitlier and Dora began to unpack the largess of materials and were left in a welter of happiness.

Amid this activity, Gaylord Billingsham became to all appearances entrenched into the lifestyle of Los Camellos. He did not seem overly affected by Shanna's rebuff and not at all inclined to relieve his host of his presence, however strained Trahern's graciousness was becoming. The knight's manners were polished; his arrogance subdued, if only a trifle; his benevolence almost monkish.

Only two major disruptions disturbed the normal life on the island. One occurred when Gaitlier opened his school for the first day. As acting governor, Trahern had decreed that all children between the ages of seven and twelve should be present and that the only excusals would be made by him. This brought a few objections as some of the older children were well ingrained into the families' economic system. It was not until he personally made an appearance at the homes and kindly pointed out the probability of increased earnings that the goal of having all the children attend school was met. Even then, it was a sad moment when it became known that most of the older children had not the slightest understanding of the rudiments of writing, reading, or ciphering. The older boys had somehow gained the idea that school was a place to have fun, and Gaitlier was soon ensconced as a beast with a hickory stick ever in hand. By the time the first week had passed, however, they were familiar with the proper decorum and began to look upon the small, seemingly meek man with a new respect.

Life on Los Camellos quieted and barely regained its ruts when the day arrived for the marriage of the schoolmaster. Since weddings were rare, this was an occasion seized upon for much revelry and celebrating. There would be dancing and feasting in the streets and with the prospect of various spirits being consumed without heed, Trahern declared the next day a holiday for the safety of all. The townsfolk had raised a small cottage across from the school and furnished it with donations from one and all. Pitney laid his huge hands to wood and built a tester bed the likes of which the island had never seen. Shanna and Hergus together took Dora in hand. The mistress of the manor gifted the young woman with a satin gown of gentle maize, and the Scotswoman washed and curled Dora's hair then painstakingly created a comely coiffure for her. The girl bloomed like a radiant flower under the careful grooming, and when vows were spoken, Ruark watched much in awe, for in that moment Dora was truly beautiful.

The night dissolved into a continuous round of merrymaking, and as Shanna stood with Pitney and her father on the brightly lit thoroughfare, the tumult of sound, sight,
and smell washed over her. Amid the press of village folk, she could feel her own spirits respond to the gaiety and excitement. Garlands and bouquets of flowers were everywhere, filling the eye with a riot of color. Bunches of pungent herbs scented the air, lanterns and torches gave an eerie, shifting, flickering light to the scene, and the roar of laughter and boisterous songs assailed the senses.

Shouting above the din, Ruark appeared beside Shanna and pressed a glass of champagne into her hand. As she sipped, the nose-tickling wine kindled a warmth in her stomach, and Shanna's reserve slipped a notch or two.

The sweet smell of savory foods drifted on the gentle evening breezes and mingled with the tangy spice of newly tapped ale and rum. Bondsman, servant, freeman alike joined the celebration. Pitney strolled with Trahern to the refreshment tables to sample the feast. Shanna found her hand in Ruark's when they were following the newly wedded couple in a rigadoon. Shanna's considered self-control slipped again as a fresh glass of sparkling fluid was thrust upon her by one of the townsmen. Breathlessly she drained it and then gave herself in renewed abandon to the dance. Her happy laughter blended with Ruark's, and her head reeled giddily from the effects of the champagne.

She saw Ruark's dark face before her, white teeth flashing and eyes that burned golden whenever they touched her. Her heart hammered wildly, taking up the intoxicating excitement of the festivities, and the stricture of months of duplicity was stripped away to give her spirit flight and freedom, if only for the moment Space and time ceased to matter. Gaylord had no chance to intervene, and Shanna gave no heed to the pompous knight angrily directing her father's attention to them or of Hergus's frowning disapproval. Here, in the midst of the crowd, she was alone with Ruark, seeing him, feeling his nearness, and she was ecstatic. Never had she known such carefree bliss. She laughed and danced to her heart's content, and the champagne helped quench her thirst Its conscience-cooling clarity seemed to lend a vivid buoyancy to her mind, and her head grew as light as her feet.

The squire was enjoying himself as much as his daughter, for his good Welsh blood had a taste for fun
and regalement. By damned it did, and the fact had ceased to surprise him that he enjoyed seeing the daughter he had sired in the company of his favorite bondsman. The lad was as adept at the dances as she and the lean, powerful grace of his body complemented her trim womanliness.

Orlan Trahern had often watched his daughter at past affairs such as this, surrounded by posturing dandies and the eager-to-be-rich. He had seen her for her own amusement tease and torment each man, leading him on the chase and then crushing his vanity against her open disdain. These many months since her return from England, it had been obvious that she had held herself in check, as was a widow's proper way, and he could not fault her revelry now. Orlan smiled to himself in retrospect At least she had overcome her dislike for this Ruark and apparently could accept him as a man if not her peer.

With a worried frown, Gaylord watched the dancing couple from Trahern's side. “What do you intend to do about this, squire?” he demanded. “In England 'twould be a scandalous moment for a bondsman to so handle a lady. This fellow should be reminded of his place. I would not usurp your authority, but were I the governor here, I would see that the man gives proper respect to your daughter as well as to the other ladies present.”

Pitney cast a doubtful glance over his shoulder at the knight before exchanging a wondering look with Trahern. Orlan rocked on his heels as he sampled a morsel from a tray of warm breads.

“You may well have noticed, sir, that my daughter demands respect in her own manner.” He sipped his wine, considering the knight with an amused smile lightly resting on his lips. “I have learned of late to trust my daughter's judgment in many things, perhaps more so than she does herself. Still, if you are strongly bent to educate the lass, you are welcome to try.”

Gaylord straightened his gold satin coat with a jerk and stretched his long neck above the lacy jabot “Should Madam Beauchamp accept my proposal and become my wife, I would in no way offer her less protection than I do now from such as that one. Tis my duty as a knight of the realm.”

As he swaggered away Trahern turned to Pitney with a chuckle. “I fear the good fellow learned nothing in the bush. I hope the damage will not be costly.”

Ruark's laughter died as a large hand rudely clapped down upon his shoulder, and he was whirled about to face the sneering Sir Gaylord. The bride and groom shared a look of surprise, while Shanna stared in disbelief, amazed at the audacity of the man.

Gaylord's blue-gray eyes ranged coldly over Ruark. “'Twould seem that I must constantly remind you of your place. It is with the rest of the servants and slaves. I insist that you leave Madam Beauchamp alone. Do you understand me?”

Ruark lazily bent his gaze toward the long fingers crushing the silk of his coat. He was about to comment when Shanna snatched away Gaylord's hand as if it were something distasteful. She faced the knight, her cheeks flushed, her eyes snapping green fire. For the sake of caution, the man stepped back a pace, remembering the firm crack of her slap against his face.

“Sir, you intrude,” she charged incredulously. “Have you cause?”

The villagers had paused to gape at them. A low, questioning murmur rose from those nearby, and even Sir Gaylord recognized the angry buzz of it. The knight was out of his element, for Ruark had earned his niche in the tiny world of Los Camellos, and Gaylord Billings-ham was a foreigner and disliked by most.

Gaylord spoke in a more reserved tone. “Madam, I only seek to insure this man gives proper respect to you. You may feel obligated to him for saving you from the pirates. But 'tis my duty as a gentleman to guard a lady.'s reputation.”

It was ludicrous to Shanna that this clod should feign worry over her honor in the presence of others while in private seek to win her with bungling caresses. She laughed with bright amusement.

“I assure you, sir, I am no proper lady” Looking up into Ruark's amused regard, she giggled. “An improper one, perhaps.”

Taking her husband's glass, she passed it with her own
to Gaylord. “Will you find a place to set these, sir?” she requested sweetly and slipped her hand into Ruark's, signalling the musicians to begin again. “I should like to dance with my slave.”

Ruark grinned leisurely into the reddening face of the knight “Another time, perhaps.”

Tucking Shanna's hand in the crook of his arm, Ruark led her away from the silently raging man. The slim stems of the two goblets snapped, and without a word Gaylord whirled on his heels and stalked away.

The dances livened and grew uproarious as individuals gave their own interpretations of the various steps amid the clamorous approval and the rhythmic clapping of hands until, breathless and exhausted, the couples settled themselves to feasting and drinking to nourish their high spirits. Shanna ever found a glass of champagne in her hand, thrust there with hearty and jubilant coaxings to drink up and be jolly. Lightheartedly she sipped, and her laughter sparkled with Ruark's deep chuckles. Finding room at one of the trestle tables, she crowded in beside him on a long bench. The close contact was not unrewarding. In fact, Ruark much enjoyed the arrangement. Her thigh was pressed to his beneath the table, and her shoulder overlapped his. The intimacy provided him with an excuse to place his hand on the bench behind her, and as the lanterns gave off only a meager light here and no one stood at their backs, it was only natural that he indulge himself with a fond caress or two for he found it hard to keep his hands from her.

The dark-haired beauty, Madame Duprey, and her captain husband sat further down the table and were much involved with each other after the Frenchman's long absence from home. Even Shanna was inclined to feel less scornful of the man as he bestowed loving kisses upon the nape of his spouse's neck and along her shoulder.

“How sweet,” Shanna smiled aside to Ruark. “I think he actually does love her.”

“Ah, lass, not half as much as I love you,” Ruark breathed near her ear. “I am near bursting my breeches for the want of you, and you can only sing me praises of another man's devotion. Am I to starve with this feast before me of rosy breasts and silken loins, feigning some
indifference to the succulent fruits? I long to taste the apple of your love and would most greedily devour it.”

“Shhh,” Shanna giggled, leaning against him. “You're drunk. Someone might hear you.”

Assured that in the din his words would be unheard by any other than she, Ruark grinned lazily. “Aye, I'm drunk, but only on this nectar that is more heady than any wine I've dared to drink. I have a fever in my blood, a fire only you can quench. I feel it throbbing in my loins. Ride with me, fair damsel. Ride upon this horny dragon, and I shall set to flight any dreams of knights. A kiss, a soft caress, a gentle word, and like a moth I change my scaly armor for the softer coating of man. Ah, love, have care for this great beast. He lumbers in your wake like some poor, plodding soul begging just one glance, some sign of recognition from his adored one. Your gilded locks wave like a gonfalon on an airy breeze, and I think that now the fair damsel will turn and look at me and see me not as a monster, but as the one who would gladly kiss the soles of her feet Ah, Shanna, my

Shanna, be merciful to this besotted beast Take me to your soft breast and release me from this scaly weight.” Shanna was suffused with a warmth and tenderness she could neither fathom nor explain. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny her dreams as frivolous, a fantasy once held dear by a young girl but outgrown, like porcelain dolls. This was real, the hard feel of Ruark's thigh against her own, her arm against his lean ribs, this cacophony of sight, smell, and noise that surrounded them yet, at the same time, shielded them from prying eyes. He was her lover, whether husband or not, and she gave herself freely to him whenever the moment was ripe. She had stopped denying him. She had ceased calling herself widow. She had come out of mourning, and strangely her spirit thrilled with the awareness of him.