Shanna (70 page)

Pitney chuckled and nudged Trahern with his elbow. “At least the good knight will not be your guest Someone else will have to feed him.”

Ruark snorted and rubbed the back of his hand against
his chin. “What makes you dislike these Beauchamps so much?”

Pitney guffawed aloud at the offhanded remark, drawing a chuckle from Trahern.

“If you will take to the carriage, sir,” Ruark said, “I shall see that your chests are properly loaded beneath Sir Gaylord's baggage. I've an idea that the Beauchamps should have sent two wagons along. But if all is right, we can be on our way.”

Trahern nodded, only too eager to get out of the rain, and Ruark walked back to the last wagon. As he was returning, Ralston paused with one foot on the step of the second carriage and met his gaze with cool contempt; then he gave a shrug and entered. Delaying only long enough to comment derisively on the comfort of Pitney's elbow, Gaylord followed Ralston into the coach.

Ruark tied Jezebel to the rear of Trahern's coach and tossed Shanna's sidesaddle into the covered wagon. When he leaned into the carriage, he saw Orlan examining one of the fur robes, blowing on it as he tested its richness and depth.

“Magnificent!” Orlan murmured. “John Ruark, I could not be more comfortable. Would that I were always served with such foresight Here I am surrounded by a small fortune, and the Beauchamps use them as lap robes. Remarkable!”

“We're ready, sir. Shall I give the signal?”

At the man's nod, Ruark glanced at Shanna and touched the brim of his hat before he withdrew and closed the door. He stood back and waved his arm. A sharp whistle sounded from the driver as he shook out the reins and cracked his whip over the lead team's head. The coaches moved forward and then lurched as they climbed the lane from the riverside. The drum of the horses' hooves settled into a rhythm as they loped easily through the streets of the small settlement of Richmond.

They traveled for some distance past open fields, before coming to a junction, where they swung off into a narrower track marked by a large tree with three bold cuts upon its trunk.

“Three Chopt Road,” Ruark called over the rattle of hooves and the whirl of carriage wheels, and at Trahern's
nod, he added, “At the next crossroads we'll stop at the tavern for a bite to eat.”

“Good man, that John Ruark,” Trahern rumbled in satisfaction as he settled himself back against the seat. “He's seen to our every comfort.”

Thick forests took over the land. The way was cleared wide to allow easy passage, but where the trees began, the growth was dense; even a man on foot would have found it nearly impassable. True to Ruark's word, when the caravan came upon another crossing, the drivers swung the carriages from the road and hauled up before a sprawling, many-gabled structure which a weather-beaten sign proclaimed as the Short Pump Tavern. A cheery-faced matron greeted them as the Beauchamp guests, and a table was swept clean and spread with a fresh cloth. No special place was made for Gaylord and with reluctance he joined Trahern, testily dusting the bench with his gloves before sitting. The three drivers casually took places at the far end of the table and gave no more than passing note of the knight's disdainful stare of disapproval. Mugs of warm spiced cider were passed around. Shanna sipped hers with only meager interest as she wondered what delayed Ruark. Her question was answered shortly when he came in carrying an odd musket nearly as tall as he, which he leaned beside the door. Coming to the table, he placed before Pit-ney the two huge horse pistols which once had threatened him.

“I found these in your sea chest,” he explained to the inquiry written on Pitney's broad face.

Doffing a beaver-skin coat which he had taken from the wagon, Ruark spread it to dry in front of the stone hearth, displaying a brace of pistols in his belt Gaylord found this too much to bear. He shot to his feet in outrage.

“Weapons for a bondsman!” In exasperation he faced Trahern. “Really, squire, I must protest You treat this bondsman more like a blooded lord.”

Sipping his cider, Trahern only shrugged. “If he protects your hide, what difference does it make to you?”

“Protects my hide? The knave'll see it bored through!” Gaylord flung out a finger to Ruark. “You! By what right do you bear arms?”

“By no one's right but my own, of course,” Ruark
replied calmly. As the knight drew himself up in victorious arrogance, Ruark continued chidingly, as if he lectured a willful child. “There are beasts, large, bold and of a dangerous bent, and highwaymen are not unknown, though rare. Then there are those heathen savages you spoke of.” Ruark smiled sardonically. “I saw no one else rushing to the fore to protect the ladies.” He grinned into the reddening face of the other. “But rest assured, Sir Gaylord, should you find such a man, I would be much relieved to surrender my arms to him.”

Ruark waited while Sir Billingsham sputtered into silence, and when he gave no further suggestions, Ruark took a seat in a space that had strangely opened between Shanna and her father.

The innkeeper set a steaming mug before him and the mistress of the house brought a huge kettle of stew and began filling plates. A young lad fetched a wooden platter piled high with golden loaves of bread and bracketed with dishes of mounded butter. Small crocks of honey and preserves were set out, and soon the meal was well entered with much enthusiasm by the hungry travelers. Shanna found her appetite more than it had been in weeks, and Trahern met each new taste with rich praise until the matron blushed her thanks. When he rose to leave, she pressed into his hands a gift of her own best plum pudding to eat along the way.

As Ruark took up his hat and coat, Ralston approached the door where he lifted the long rifle and ran his hand over the smooth, oiled stock of curly maple that bore an engraved brass plate.

“'Tis a fine weapon you have here, Mister Ruark,” he commented when the younger man came to fetch it. “A costly one. Where did you get it?”

Ruark looked down the barrel toward the two hawkish eyes sighting him, and his own narrowed. Shanna held her breath, for the rifle was pointed straight at Ruark's head, and the thin fingers caressed the trigger as if Ralston wished the gun were cocked.

“I must warn you now if you're not aware of it,” Ruark casually gestured to the piece. “'Tis loaded.”

Ralston smiled lazily. “Naturally.”

“Mister Ralston!” Orlan Trahern barked. “Put that damn thing down before you blow your own fool head off.”

At the command Ralston's smile faded, and reluctantly he relented. Ruark caught the rifle from him and beneath the cold stare of the other man, drew a soft cloth over the stock and shiny plate, carefully wiping away the finger smudges. The insult was small but direct Whirling on his heels, the thin man stalked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind him.

Three Chopt Road was long, in some places narrow, in others wide. Always the countryside varied. They trailed beneath high granite bluffs and teetered along rock-strewn paths on the brink of cliffs. The road plunged through valleys and jolted over logs laid to cover soft bottoms. In the late afternoon they passed a rare plantation and a few smaller farms with log cabins. A hand-hewn sign appeared by the roadside proclaiming a muddy crossing to be the Middle Valley Post Road. A small community blossomed here and beyond was a large house where a simple shingle swung in front, identifying the place as “Inn.”

The road-weary group were mostly silent over the meal of venison. They were content just to sit on a good, sound surface without being jarred or bumped or jostled, and conversation died away almost as soon as it was born.

“We've only three rooms to see you through the night,” the keeper explained. “The men will have to share two and the women the other.”

Gaylord glanced up from his plate and pointed to Ruark with his fork. “He can stay out in the stables with the drivers. That should leave Mister Ralston and myself in one and Squire Trahern and Mister Pitney in the other.”

Trahern's scowl gathered as the knight spoke, and the innkeeper shrugged apologetically. “I've no more rooms, but there's an old cabin out back that no one uses. Someone might sleep there.”

Ruark readily volunteered. Lifting his cup to his lips, he met Shanna's gaze over it. Then he rose, setting down the mug and swinging up his coat. “I'll see to Madam Beauchamp's horses, squire. I would suggest an early bed
as we'll see a good day's travel on the morrow, and it will be tiring enough.” He clamped the hat on. Turning, he leisurely sauntered across the common room to the door. “Good night.”

S
HANNA CHAFED
beside the snoring Hergus and wondered at the time. No noise of movement or voices came from below or from the rooms down the hall, but she had no way of making sure that everyone was asleep.

“Hergus,” she whispered and to her satisfaction received no reply. It was not likely she could test her father or Pitney by the same method. But another half hour, she guessed, might see them all in a good, sound slumber.

Cautiously Shanna rose from the bed and went to the chair where Hergus had laid open her case. A woolen cloak lay atop the one side, and in the dancing firelight she wrapped it around her and then pushed her feet into a snug pair of slippers. Rain still trickled down against the windowpanes, and the wind moaned drearily around the eaves. A cold, wet night, but it would serve her purpose well.

The moments dragged, and Shanna slipped from the room, crept down the stairs, fled across the common room, and was out Freel Her feet splashed through cold puddles as she ran, but her heart had taken flight.

The cabin was a dark shape beneath great overhanging trees, some distance from the inn. Timidly Shanna rapped on the rough wood of the door. Beneath her touch it creaked slowly open. No sound of greeting came from within, and Shanna pushed the door wider. Ruark was nowhere to be seen, though a fire hissed and crackled on the hearth, casting its warm flickering light upon the walls of chinked logs and the sparse and simple, rough-hewn furnishings. As the cabin was the only one behind the tavern, there was no doubt this was the one the keeper had spoken of. The wind and rain pelted Shanna's back and billowed her woolen cloak forward as if to urge her further into the shelter. Its chill breath swept between the folds, penetrat
ing the thin, delicately made batiste nightgown she wore beneath, and with its icy touch made the fire an irresistible lure. Gathering the wrap tighter about her shivering body, Shanna stepped within and turned to shut the door. She gasped as a dark shadow loomed before her. But the fear was short-lived, for the face beneath the dripping brim was the one she sought and welcomed.

“I hoped you would come,” Ruark said huskily. He came forward into the light, and his heel caught the door, slamming it shut behind him. The bolt dropped in place of its own, barring them against any intrusion. He tossed a large bundle he carried down before the fire, leaned his rifle beside the door, and sailed his hat off onto the wooden planks of the table.

“Good lord, I missed you,” he rasped and took her hard against him, heedless of the icy rain that clung to their garments. His mouth came down like the plummeting attack of a bird of prey and seized hers in a fierce, crushing, impassioned kiss. Shanna clung to him as the only solid thing in her reeling world. Their faces were cold from the wind, but their kiss flamed with the stirring heat of desire. Her cloak slid to her feet, and she was clasped tight against his damp furry coat, but she scarcely felt the chill that soaked through her gown.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, and tears of gladness sparkled in her eyes as he raised his head to stare down at her. His hands rose to hold her face as he searched its depth for truth. And Shanna repeated the words, with her heart, with her eyes, with all the feeling of a woman in love. “Oh, Ruark, I love you.”

Laughing with ebullient joy, he snatched her high, almost upon his shoulders, and spun her about until the sounds of their mirth mingled in a heady swirl. Carrying her closer to the fire, Ruark stood her there, smiling down at her. Very gently he reached out a hand to touch her cheek, and she caressed it with her own, pressing a kiss into his palm. In the dampened gown Shanna shivered, both from the cold and the overwhelming, near-to-bursting sense of contentment that welled up inside her.

“Here, we'll warm you. Wait a moment”

Ruark stood back, and her eyes followed him as if they were fed by the mere sight of him. His clothes were
strange to her—buckskin breeches that fit closely to the hard, muscular leanness of his thighs and a coat of beaver fur whereon bejeweled droplets clung; in the twinkling firelight, the droplets gleamed like a thousand rubied eyes. He was more the beast, the lean hunting cat, and she felt both pride and fear. This was his land, and he was free. No man would ever tame him, nor would she in her own mind ever name him slave again. She considered the the question her father had started and knew that if Ruark fled to seek his freedom, she would follow wherever he led.

With a tug at the ties, he shrugged the heavy coat from his shoulders and spread it around hers. Shanna snuggled beneath the beaver, still warm from his body, and watched as he added small sticks to the fire until it blazed high. Her gaze roamed the room in wonder, passing in question over the rope and wood frame of a bed that might have once served the occupants of the cottage, but not even a feather tick was in evidence.

Ruark saw where her eyes paused, and his own sparkled. “Have no fear, my love. I have been about this night to see that your comfort is well served.”

Shanna laughed and drew the coat close about her as if demure. “Beast! Now that I am trapped in your lair, I fear I shall find myself devoured for a tidbit.”

“Devoured?” Ruark pulled the tight, dark linen shirt over his head, and Shanna's breath caught in her throat as his naked torso stretched before her in the shifting light.

“Nay, not devoured, love.” He reached out and traced a long tress where it curled over her shoulder. “This is the magic cup filled for lovers at the table of the gods. The more often it is tasted, the richer the nectar. Wealthy kings have beggared themselves trying to draw the limits of this treasure. This is a thing that must be shared, but it can never be devoured in selfish greed.”

Shanna touched his arm, her eyes caressing his face in fond possession. “I am nothing but selfish with you, my darling.”

Ruark's mouth pressed lightly upon her lips. “And 'tis so with me, lovely Shanna.”

Kneeling, he plucked at the ties on the bundle and then straightened, kicking the lot. It spilled wide open, blossom
ing like some weird, unearthly flower. A pallet formed of rich, luxuriant furs—glossy reds, tawny golds, thick dense roans and blacks, nothing but the choicest of them all.

“Where—”

“'Tis mine,” Ruark said in answer to her unfinished question. He gestured casually. “I fetched it from the wagon.”

“But how came you to have them? And those clothes you're wearing. They're yours, aren't they? Made for you—the fit—”

“Aye, 'tis so.” He paused to grin up at her, kneeling on one leg and resting his arm across the other thigh. “My family learned I would be passing here, and they sent them, tis all.”

“Your family?” Shanna moved a space closer.

“Shortly, love,” Ruark smiled, “and I will take you to them.”

Again he was crouched on the furs, spreading them, smoothing them, setting one aside for cover. In that instant Shanna's vision of a savage formed in her mind and he was it, half-naked, gold and bronze before the fire, hair pulled back to a knot at his nape. Those who thought they could bring this man to heel were fools, whether Gaylord, Ralston, or even her father.

Ruark came to stand before her, a red- and black-hued shape, dark as any savage, and the wild beating of her heart gave evidence of the fact that this new glimpse of Ruark Beauchamp excited her beyond anything she had ever known.

The heavy coat was taken away, and his fingers were at the ties of her gown, slipping it from her shoulders. Shanna closed her eyes in ecstasy as his hands slowly followed its descent, cupping her trembling breasts and stroking her smooth velvet hips. In the warm, wavering glow of the fire, her skin shone with a golden luster, shadowed and highlighted, even lovelier than he could remember. There was a radiance about her he had never noticed before, something different, but he could not name it.

“How lovely you are,” he breathed, almost in reverence.
“I could not have believed it, but you have grown even more beautiful. What sorcery has love performed?”

Shanna smiled softly into his eyes. “No sorcery, my love. Your eyes deceive you. You have fasted long and would relish plain porridge for a dainty dish.”

“Eh, no plain porridge this,” he said thickly and bore her down to the furry pallet. Ruark's hands shook as he set aside his own garments. Then he gathered her close. Her soft breasts were a brand against his chest, a dream fulfilled, a release from the longing torture of the sea voyage. Her silken thighs opened to his questing hand, and his wandering caresses brought soft, breathless cries of trembling joy. His kisses came upon her mouth, warm, devouring, fierce with love and passion, then traced lower to spread their heat over her quivering breasts, which thrust forward eagerly in anticipation. Shanna closed her eyes as the bliss of his greedy mouth swept her every nerve with intense excitement. She felt the bold urgency of him against her, and then he was a flame within her, consuming, searing, setting fire to her until the rippling, molten waves flooded her with almost unbearable pleasure. She heard his harsh breathing in her ear, the hoarse, whispered words of love. His heart beat wildly against her naked breast, and beneath her hands the hard muscles of his back tensed and flexed with manly vigor. Then they were caught together in a shimmering, surging, swelling tide of rapture.

The rain beat upon the oiled skin stretched across the windows, and the wind howled like a banshee in the night, but in the aftermath of their own storm, Shanna and Ruark lay peacefully content. They faced the hearth, her back pressed against the solid bulwark of his chest, his knees tucked behind hers, as they watched rekindled flames ea- gerly lapping at the flanks of a log. Their voices were hushed and lazy, yet seemed to echo in the silence of the cabin. Their hands raised before the shifting, flickering fire, and they gently entwined slender fingers in a knot of love. Ruark's lips nibbled at the soft flesh of her shoulder and sank warmly against her creamy throat, then paused to taste an ear lobe.

“I'll build you a mansion,” he breathed.

Shanna laughed. “This cabin will do—if you are here
with me.” She wiggled onto her back so she could look up into those soft, begilded eyes and read the gentle love that smiled down upon her. “Stay with me always. Never leave me.”

“Nay, love. Never again. I love you.”

The corners of her mouth curved softly. “And I you.”

Ruark smoothed her tumbled hair across his arm and nuzzled his face into the fragrant curls, breathing in the sweet scent of her.

“I think I've loved you forever,” Shanna confessed in wonder. “When the scales of blindness were lifted from my eyes, I saw you not as a dragon, but as the one I would have chosen.”

“You did choose me, remember?” Ruark grinned.

Shanna giggled and snuggled closer against him. “Aye, that I did.” Then in sudden seriousness she murmured, “You know the way here as if you followed the trail before. Where is your home?”

Ruark stretched lazily, flexing a bronzed arm in the air. “Wherever you are.”

Shanna's eyes were soft with love as she gazed at him. “And will our home be like this?”

“A cabin in the wilderness?” He smiled and whispered, “Months on end alone together? Would you fret upon that, my love?”

Like an eager child Shanna shook her head. “Oh, nay, but never leave me.”

Beneath his searching hand, she lay soft and pliant, meeting his kisses with gentle ardor.

“Would I leave my own heart, the very breath of my life?” Ruark asked hoarsely.

“And what of children?” she whispered.

“We'll have a dozen,” Ruark assured her. “Give or take a score.”

Shanna laughed. “Is it enough to begin with one?”

“Oh, one or two.” His caresses grew bolder. “Whatever the market bears.”

“But of this one—would you be amiss if we had a girl?” Ruark paused and the silence grew—and grew. Very gently he drew back the cover, revealing her body to the warm light of the fire, touching her taut breasts and the smooth belly.

“That is what is different,” he smiled.

“Are you sorry?” she breathed, watching his face.

“Nay!” He grinned wide, covering her with the fur again. “How long?”

“Were I to guess,” Shanna drew a breath, “I would say the pirate's isle.”

Ruark chuckled suddenly. “More good comes from that with every passing day.” He leaned nearer and said soberly, “I need you, Shanna, love.” He kissed her softly. “I want you, Shanna, love. I love you, Shanna.”

He was caressing, searching, and again their passions bloomed. The fire reddened, the coals grew dark, and the long night passed with a swiftness little noted.

It was still dark when Ruark escorted Shanna back to the inn, but the first rays of the dawning sun were slipping further up on the horizon. All was still within the common room. A hound lazily rose from the cold hearth and sought a softer place on a braided rag rug, giving them no more than a disinterested glance. They eased their way up the stairs and parted at the chamber door with a last, fierce kiss that would have to suffice the day long.

Moments fled, and it was quiet again. Then the door at the end of the hall opened wider, and Ralston strode out of the room he shared with Gaylord, his storklike frame clothed in a long robe. Pausing before Shanna's door, he smirked thoughtfully to himself and tapped his cheek.

“Madam John Ruark it might be, milady,” he mused derisively. “But soon you will feel the prick of being a widow again. This I vow.”

The rain had cleared, and the sun had made its debut with a frosty nip that stung one's cheeks and nose. Shanna waited with Ruark in the shelter of the doorway as the carriages were hitched and brought about. Her father and Pitney were still inside the tavern, finishing the last of their coffee, while Gaylord stalked in circles a short distance away from the young couple in an effort to drive away the cold. Shanna's hands were clasped deep in her muff, and she huddled in the fur-lined velvet cloak. Though she knew it would be a long day before they arrived at the Beauchamps, she had taken special care with her appearance. The royal blue velvet gown with its frothing of
old lace at the throat did her uncommon beauty full credit Her hair, dressed high beneath the deep hood of the blue cloak, gave her an air of dignity and sereneness, and as Ruark's eyes feasted upon her, he could only wonder at the variety of women he had glimpsed in this small, trim form, from bold, seductive temptress to the quiet, cool, graceful lady she now portrayed.