Shanna (71 page)

Sneering, Ralston passed them. He was less than cautious of Shanna this chilly morn as he questioned offhandedly, “Did you sleep well, madam?”

Shanna did not pause. She smiled sweetly. “Indeed I did, sir. And you?”

He tapped his whip against his boot “Restless most of the night”

Without further comment Ralston walked away to where Gaylord chafed and grumbled, leaving the two to stare after him in bemusement.

“What do you suppose he meant by that?” Shanna asked, looking up at Ruark.

“That, my love, only he knows for sure,” Ruark replied, staring at the man from under his brows.

After Trahern seated himself in the coach, Pitney climbed in and took a place beside the portly squire, drawing a raised eyebrow from Trahern, who realized that the girth of the two could have been more evenly distributed. Orlan tapped the knee of his stalwart companion and spoke his piece.

“Watch your flapping wings, my good man. I can well imagine the bruises you put upon Sir Gaylord's ribs, and I'll have none of the same.”

The seating arrangement left Shanna to be handed in by Ruark. Gaylord, seeing the lass alone on the seat, made bold to join her, brushing the bondsman aside and setting his foot on the step to climb in, but Trahern's staff suddenly barred the way.

“Would you mind riding in the other coach?” the squire requested. “I would like a word with my bondsman.”

The knight straightened himself arrogantly. “If you insist, sir.”

Trahern nodded once and gave a small smile. “I do.”

Once upon the road, the conversation was mostly about the lands they passed and the wealth of the countryside.
The relentless motion combined with the brevity of sleep in the night past made Shanna drowsy. Her eyelids sagged, and with a stifled yawn she yielded to slumber, bracing herself back against the cushion, but it was a natural place in sleep to rest her head on her husband's shoulder, and soon she was snuggled close, her arm flung across his hips. Ruark welcomed her nestling weight, but under that more burdensome one of Trahern's stare, he shifted uncomfortably.

“Did you say you had something to discuss with me, sir?” he questioned, clearing his throat.

Trahern pursed his lips thoughtfully, regarding the sleeping face of his daughter. “In actuality little enough, but there was much I would rather not have discussed with Gaylord.” He paused as Ruark nodded and then inquired, “You seem distressed, Mister Ruark. Is she heavy?”

“No, sir,” Ruark replied slowly. A smile twisted his lips. “'Tis just that I have never held a woman with her father across from me before.”

“Relax, Mister Ruark,” Trahern chuckled. “As long as it goes no further, I will deem it your kindness to be my daughter's pillow.”

Pitney lowered his tricorn upon his brow and peered at the younger man from beneath it, which lent considerably to Ruark's unease. He began to sense the huge fellow knew more about them than either he or Shanna had ever offered.

At the noon hour they stopped alongside the road and feasted upon a box lunch packed at the tavern. Soon after, they resumed the journey. The teams labored up a long incline from the valley floor and the rolling foothills and green forest were left behind. Here the trees bore little hint of green but rather were garbed in a splendorous riot of color and only an occasional sheltered oak still raised its arms in summer color, or a rare tall pine or spruce.

Finally all the coaches stood in Rockfish Gap. A magnificent panorama spread out beneath them in all directions. The mountains ranged north and south, their brilliant autumn colors dimmed by the bluish haze that clung to the peaks. The sheer beauty of the view took one's breath away. Shanna stared in awe of the countryside, which was gilded with dark coppery hues and where the late after
noon sun touched, bright golds and brass. Even the memory of soft, misty evenings in Paris or the lush, tended fields of England dimmed in contrast with this wild untamed kaleidoscope of color before her. She respected the soft pride that rode in Ruark's voice as he drew their attention here or there. When she would turn, she would find him watching her closely, almost expectantly, as if he waited for some reaction from her. Then, at her wondering look, he would just smile while his eyes glowed with intimate warmth.

“The rains may have washed out or softened some of the roads,” he explained as Trahern climbed into the coach again. “I'll ride on ahead and leave sign for the drivers. They know the way and from here 'tis mostly downhill. I'll either join you again or be waiting.”

Tipping his hat, he strode away without pausing for a reply. A quick thud of hooves rang out, and he was gone.

The drivers shook out their reins, clucked to the teams, and the coaches began to move again. A quick series of sharp bends, and they left the ridge to ease out across a low shoulder, then traveled southward as the way straightened out in a slow curve around the hip of a mountain. They crossed a narrow trail where a small tavern and a trading post squatted beside the road. Further on, a wider road crossed, and here the coaches slowed to make the turn, now heading northward along the mountains. The horses galloped loose in the traces as if the coach were only a light weight behind them. The brake shoes whined as the coachmen rode with one foot on the long brake lever and slowed the headlong plunge as the hard-packed road dipped ever lower into the valley.

Wide fields began to show on the left where the valley fell away. Shanna's heart rose in her throat as the carriage dipped and careened downward almost on the horses' heels, and now the fields stretched out on either side. Still the valley floor rolled with hills and vales, a copse of woodland here and a broad field there.

Suddenly a horse was dashing alongside them, and Shanna recognized the gray of Attila. The coachman talked and sang to his team, slowing the carriage to a halt. As Trahern leaned out the window, Ruark reined Attila close.

“We're almost to the Beauchamps', sir. Only a short distance further. I was wondering if Madam Beauchamp would care to ride the rest of the way on horseback.”

Trahern turned to ask his daughter, but Shanna was already pulling on her gloves. She leaned forward from the door, and Ruark swept her from it, onto Jezebel's back. Soon the caravan was rushing on. The two riders led the way, and, as Pitney could see from his window, they drew ever further ahead.

“The vigor of youth,” Trahern sighed and leaned back, bracing his feet upon the opposite seat.

Pitney raised his jug of ale in silent salute. “Best arrive soon.” he mumbled. “There's only a wee drop left.”

The way was open and the sun warm. The pair left sight of the coaches and were on their own. Where the trail was smooth, they ran far apace, but as the way roughened, they had to slow their mounts to an easy trot Surreptitiously Shanna gazed at Ruark's profile. He seemed absorbed in the countryside and studied it as they passed. He rode easily and looked both the part of a gentleman and a woodsman in the soft buckskin breeches and fitted waistcoat, his white linen shirt and tied stock. He was handsome, and her eyes glowed with love and pride as she watched him.

The Beauchamps' red brick mansion rose immense and tall between oak trees whose trunks would have taken three men to girdle. Shanna stared in amazement, for it was one of the largest homes they had seen since landing. There were wings jutting out on either side, and the main portion had a roof steep and dormered, brack- eted with tall chimneys. As they neared the house, ex- cited cries came from within, and in a moment the front door burst open, and a young woman hurried out onto the small portico.

“Mama! Here they come!”

A flood of people swarmed out at the urging, and as Ruark lifted Shanna down from Jezebel's back, Nathanial descended the steps and came forward to take Shanna's hand and lead her away from Ruark.

An older couple had come to stand on the lawn and
beside them stood a tall, dark-haired woman and a younger boy whose grin nearly split his face.

“My father and mother,” Nathanial announced as he brought Shanna before the elders. “George and Amelia Beauchamp.”

Shanna sank into a respectful curtsy, and as she straightened, the older man smiled down at her, looking her over carefully through wire-rimmed spectacles. A handsome man he was, tall, lean, black of hair, and broad of shoulders, ready with a quick smile.

“So this is Shanna.” There was a note of firmness in the gentle drawl of his deep voice. He nodded in approval. “A pretty lass she is. Aye, well claim her as a Beauchamp.”

The older woman, with brown eyes and gray-streaked auburn air, was more reserved and considered Shanna for a long, uncertain moment before she gave a quick, worried glance at her eldest son. As if with decision, she sighed and took the girl's hand in both her own.

“Shanna. What a beautiful name.” She searched the sea-green eyes and finally managed a smile. “We've much to talk about, my dear.”

Shanna puzzled at the woman's manner, but she had little time to muse upon it, for Nathanial drew the tall, dark-haired woman to his side.

“My wife, Charlotte, the vixen!” he grinned, slipping an arm about her narrow waist to hug her close. “You'll meet our brood of children later.”

Charlotte laughed and extended her slender hands toward Shanna. “I fear the name Madam Beauchamp will draw too much attention here—or none as the case may be. May we call you Shanna?”

“Of course.” Shanna was completely taken with the easy friendliness of the woman and accepted the feeling as mutual as the slender fingers squeezed her own.

“Jeremiah Beauchamp.” Nathanial gestured to the grinning lad. “My youngest brother. At seven-and-ten, he's only just now appreciating the fairer gender, so don't mind if he gawks a bit You're the prettiest thing he's seen in a long while.”

A dark blush stained the youth's face but still the grin
remained. Like his father, he was tall and reedy but bore the auburn hair and brown eyes of his mother.

“'Tis a pleasure, Jeremiah,” Shanna murmured sweetly, offering her hand.

“And this is my sister, Gabrielle.” Nathanial gently chucked the chin of the girl who had rushed out, and she bobbed vivaciously “You'll meet her twin, Garland, later.”

“I think you're just too beautiful for words,” Gabrielle exclaimed. “Have you really been to Paris? Garland said it must be an evil place. How do you manage to make your hair stay like that? Mine would be down around my shoulders by mid-morning.”

Shanna responded with gay laughter and spread her hands at the rush of questions.

“Gabrielle!” Amelia placed an affectionate arm about the girL “Let Shanna at least catch her breath.”

“Our son has been remiss in his duties,” George said. “He should have brought you to us long ago.” His face took on a sparkle of humor. “Welcome to The Oaks, Shanna.”

Just then, the two mud-splattered and begrimed coaches careened into the lane and skidded to a stop before the manor. The steeds, sensing an end to the journey and smelling the pastures of home, had outdistanced the heavier wagon, which was nowhere in sight Ruark threw down the steps of the first and opened the door. Trahern heaved himself from his seat and laboriously climbed down, as Nathanial came forward to greet him. Pitney had also descended and renewed his acquaintance when Sir Gaylord joined the group.

“Gaylord Billingsham,” he named himself and almost daintily extended his hand. “Knight of the realm and gentleman of the court. I sent you a letter some months ago when I learned Squire Trahern would be traveling here.”

“Aye, I remember,” Nathanial responded. “But 'tis no time to speak of business. Let us see to the amenities.”

Guiding the gentlemen to his parents, Nathanial began the introductions. It was not felt by anyone but the knight
when he was presented last, or at least nearly so, for Ralston was the only one who followed him.

The sun had touched the hilltop to the west, and the day was growing darker. It was the senior Madam Beauchamp who put an end to the conversations that were beginning on the lawn.

“Good sirs and ladies,” she chided. “‘Tis unseemly that we should take a chill when a fine, warm house is close at hand. Come.” She took her husband's arm and caught Shanna's with her other. “We shall have a table set after a while. The gentlemen would no doubt enjoy a libation before we eat, and I, for one, am cold.”

Amelia led them all within, and soon the men were enjoying well-aged brandy. A light sherry sparkled in Shanna's glass, but she took care only to sip a tiny bit, for since Gaitlier's wedding her stomach had formed a slight aversion to intoxicants. Her eyes smiled at Ruark, who had trailed along and stood watching from just inside the door.

Gabrielle sidled close to Nathanial and nudged him with her elbow then inclined her head toward Ruark. “Who's that?”

“Oh, of course.” Nathanial seemed embarrassed for a moment “This is—ah—John Ruark, another associate of Squire Trahern.”

“Oh, the bondslave!” Gabrielle spoke over her shoulder with childlike innocence. “Mama? Should he be in the house?”

Shanna held her breath in shock. Would the Beauchamps take offense? She had not even considered it.

Gaylord did not miss the exchange. “A bright young lass, quick to grasp the nuances of class. She would go far at court.”

He caught Shanna's cold glare but smirked at his own cleverness.

“Hush, Gabrielle,” Amelia Beauchamp sternly commanded.

The young woman stared boldly at Ruark, who returned her regard with a frown that hinted of violent thoughts. Gabrielle's voice came just loud enough to be heard as she spoke aside to Nathanial.

“How could anyone be so witless as to let themselves be sold for money?”

Gaylord was, as usual, ready with an explanation. “A lower class of people, young lady, unable to handle the simplest affairs of life.”