Shanna (81 page)

“Of course you have,” Trahern snapped with unusual rancor. “Tis marked on every one of his kerchiefs, his shirts and anywhere else he can put it It's a “B” for bastard.”

“Nay! Nay!” Pitney ranted. “I mean somewhere else, Something not so—aye, that's it. Milly's ‘R'! Twas no ‘R.' The lass could not read or write and only gave us what she saw. A ‘B' with a little curlique at the bottom, for Billingsham.”

Trahern lifted the paper and shook it at the major. “'Twas that knight of yours who killed Milly!”

“With all respects, sir,” the major replied calmly. “He is not my knight”

Pitney snorted. “I heard the tale from a young lieutenant in the dramshop on Los Camellos. It seems a horse stepped on Sir Gay's foot, and he fell against a Marshal as a mortar burst nearby. The Marshal gave him credit for saving his life and lauded the brave deed
until Gaylord was awarded the badge of knighthood.”

The major raised his brows and half apologized. “Such things happen in battle.”

“You'll see! You'll see!” the Scotsman raved, nearly beside himself. “He'll do your little girlie the same as he did mine, with his bloody little whip and his bloody big fist!”

The Scotsman felt a strange chill creep up his back. Raising his eyes from the paper, he met Ruark's stare and shuddered. The man's face was blank and his eyes cold and flat, shining with a light that seemed to come from somewhere in the depth of them. He gave no word, but there was death in every inch of him. The Scotsman had heard a story once of a mythical lizard who could stare into your eyes and draw the life from you. He looked away quickly, nervously, because that was the same cold feeling he caught from the other man, that same one who had been hung and yet stood here…Jamie shuddered again and reconsidered his religion most fervently.

Suddenly George stopped his pacing and came to them. “If a man's to go far with a captive, he would have to have horses, and the only ones about are down at the barn.”

He reached for his rifle as did Pitney, but as the other men were stirring into action, the front door was already swinging shut behind Ruark. They all seized weapons and raced after him, leaving the women to console themselves, Ralston standing undecidedly, and Orlan Trahern fuming in his chair. Finally the squire heaved himself up and braced on his staff.

“Aarrgh,” he snarled. “If you think I'll sit here with the womenfolk, you're daft!” He took a step with his crutch and another, and then, hurling the blackthorn staff flat upon the floor, he went after the rest, ignoring his bandaged foot.

George Beauchamp arrived at the barn in time to hear his son tersely questioning the sergeant.

“Horses, man! Who has taken horses today?”

“Only Sir Gaylord, sir,” the sergeant answered, bewildered. “He came down shortly before midday and ordered a horse to be saddled. He'd been out all morning and wanted a fresh mount Saddled it meself, I did. Then he took the little roan mare, too, the one with the scars
on her legs. Said he might need to tote some stuff.” The sergeant paused then added a bit defensively, “Said he had the master's permission.”

“It's all right, sergeant,” George assured the worried man.

It was the sudden sharp whinny and thud of hooves behind them that made the men turn. Attila pawed at the boards of a stall with his hooves then whirled and stamped and snorted.

George jerked his thumb at the beast and asked of the sergeant, “What's the matter with him?”

“Can't rightly say,” the sergeant shrugged. “He started fretting when Sir Gaylord came and got hotter when the man took the mare out.”

George raised a brow at Ruark, and their eyes locked in silent exchange for a moment. Ruark nodded and ran to push the barn doors wide, while his father went to the stall and motioned the rest of the men aside, out of the way. George loosed the latch and swung the gate wide. Attila snorted and came out, his hooves ringing on the bare stone floor. He tossed his head, saw the open doors, and turned toward them instantly. Before he could gather speed, Ruark seized a handful of the thick gray mane and swung himself up onto the broad back. Attila skidded to a halt and started to prance angrily until Ruark clamped down with his knees and gave a sharp whistle. The horse then knew his rider and, sensing they were about the same mission, leaped for the doors. Behind them, Nathanial and the major began shouting orders.

Attila rounded the manor house and in an easy bound, cleared the gate beside the burned stable. Ruark let him have his head and only clung to his back, giving no guidance. They entered the copse of trees, and the gray skidded to a halt in the clearing. He paused but a moment, tossing his head, sampling the air, then was off again in a rush of hooves. They crashed through the brush and were out in the pasture, running like the wind. The smell of Gaylord was hot in Attila's nostrils, but more than that, the scent of the mare. They were both somewhere ahead. The air was cool and bracing. The stallion settled into an easy run, not straining but stretching out with each stride until his hooves barely seemed to touch the sod. The tall
oaks flew by in a brownish blur, and now they were on the trail. As Ruark saw the way, he began to guide the beast, and the two of them were as one, bent on a single purpose.

Gaylord chafed as he glanced back toward Shanna. Her sureness and composure were disquieting. He had a need to see her subdued, if only by fear. He dropped back beside her again, and the horses' pace slowed to a walk.

“Even a fool knows when he has met his master,” he began.

“And you, sir,”—her reply came with that same calm smile—“have at last met yours.” Shanna felt the weight of the small dagger against her leg. She dared not try to get it now. There would come a time, she assured herself silently. Forcing herself to relax, she stared straight ahead, afraid that some of her self-control might crumble.

Gaylord tried to reason with her. “I am not a cruel man, madam, and you are most beautiful. A small amount of grace upon your part might prompt me to find mercy in my heart. I but wish to share a moment of pleasure with you.”

“My pleasure, sir,” her soft voice mocked, “would be to never set eyes on you again.”

The bitch! How could she deny him so?

“You are helples!” he shouted and raised in the stirrups to his full height. “You are in my power, and I will do what I want with you!”

Shanna hid the shudder that went through her and laughed scornfully. “Sir? In a damp forest? You'll muss your clothes.”

“There is no one to rescue your” he bellowed.

And the reply came as soft as ever. “Ruark is coming!”

Gaylord shook the rifle at her in rage. “If he is, then I will kill him!”

Her fear was almost overwhelming, and she spoke to keep her lips from trembling. “Have I told you, sir, that he spent some time with the savages and learned their ways? He even won their respect. All of this when he was but a lad. Have I told you, sir, that he can pass through the forest like a shadow without stirring a leaf? Have I told you, sir, that he is a marksman? And when angered,
he fights like a savage. Indeed, is a savage.” She gave a short laugh. “The pirates could well attest to that They feared him, you know.”

From the corner of her eye, Shanna saw Gaylord glance back over his shoulder, and he scanned the trail ahead with a care unusual for one so bold.

“Have you ever thought, sir, how one man against so many could bring all of us out unscathed from the pirate's isle?”

They passed a high spot where the trail dipped down into the valley, and Gaylord halted his abbreviated column to scan the path behind them again. Shanna cocked her head to one side as if listening carefully, and suddenly the assurance she had given tongue to was oddly heavy within her. Sir Gaylord was watching her with angry suspicion on his face. She straightened and met his gaze squarely, nodding ever so slightly.

“Aye, Ruark is coming.”

Her words were little more than a whisper, but they seemed to enrage the knight. With a snarl he jerked the rope, making the mare prance. Shanna fought to keep her seat and frantically clutched the handful of mane, just as they charged full tilt down into the valley. They rounded the last bend, leaving black slashes where the racing hooves tore the soft moss to shreds. Gaylord hauled the mounts to a skidding halt before the cabin, gritting his teeth in pain as the mare half stumbled. He calmed the steeds and stepped down from his own, tying the mare to the hitching rail and flexing his shoulder as if he knew a persistent ache in it. He took the bags from behind Shanna, and unlatching the cabin door, threw them within. He returned, stretching his muscles, and walked about a bit, seeking his own ease before seeing to Shanna's. When it finally met his whim, he came to her. He untied one of her feet then went between the horses to loosen her other. He took some time with this task, and his long fingers unduly caressed her slim ankles and were wont to venture needlessly up her leg. Shanna held her breath, fearing he might discover the dagger.

Suddenly a rattle of hooves at the mouth of the valley drew their attention. For a moment the gray flank of the horse and the dark brown of its rider were visible through
the trees. Shanna's spirit thrilled with the sight, and briefly her eyes blurred with joyful tears, but she sobered as Gaylord snatched up the rifle. Chuckling to himself, he pulled back the heavy hammer and steadied the piece across the saddle of his mount, drawing a careful bead where the trail made its final curve.

It was another of his many mistakes that Gaylord turned his back on Shanna. As the hooves thundered near the curve, she raised her foot and struck the mare's outward side with all her strength. With a sharp whinny Jezebel leapt away from the blow, and her movement caught Gaylord between the mounts, crushing the breath from him. The rifle shot upward like a misdirected arrow and sailed in a neat arc into the brush just as Ruark came racing around the bend on Attila's back.

The mare caught a blow with a sharp elbow in the ribs and pranced away, leaving Gaylord to stumble out from between the two horses, gasping for breath. He looked up to see a huge gray stallion, eyes red, nostrils flared, ears laid back upon his head, charging straight for him, and a man crouching on the heaving shoulders like an avenging spirit.

Gaylord forgot the rifle as a chill went up his spine. Snatching Shanna roughly from the mare's back, he dragged her to the cabin and shoved her through the door. With arms still bound, she stumbled across the dirt floor and sprawled upon the bed. Stepping in, Gaylord slammed the door and was reaching for the heavy bar when the whole of it, hinges, hasp, and all, was torn loose and crashed in upon him.

Ruark had launched himself from the gray's back feet first, all the speed of the charge behind him. His legs were half numbed by the blow, but he rolled on a shoulder and came to his feet ready to fight.

“Come on, bastard,” he growled. “If you want my wife, you'll have to kill me with your bare hands! No burning stable this time.”

Gaylord was no small man, and now the heat of the battle was upon him. He flung the stout door off himself and lunged to his feet, pawing for the pistols which were no longer in his belt but lay, instead, outside, beneath the horse's hooves. The knight had only time enough to real
ize his loss before Ruark attacked. A howl of rage broke from Gaylord's lips to answer the snarl of Ruark. At last, Billingsham could openly battle this bondsman who had plagued him from the first With a thud, the two men met chest to chest, and their arms locked in a test of sheer strength.

Even through his righteous wrath, Ruark was amazed at the power of his antagonist Their breath whistled through clenched teeth, and the tendons of both strained with their efforts. Gaylord's feet slipped on the dirt floor as he was slowly straightened and bent backward. He had no choice but to give way or be flung on his back. He tried to dive to one side, but Ruark held on. They crashed as one to the floor in a cloud of loose dirt, and to Shanna's eyes, became a thrashing welter of twisting arms and legs.

Shaking with her own emotions and her anxiety for Ruark, she lifted her skirts and clawed for the hilt of her dagger. Her bound hands were almost numb, but she managed to loosen the knife and tuck the hilt between her knees. Frantically she began to saw the ropes against the blade.

The two men rose on their knees. Ruark thrust his head beneath Gaylord's chin and clasped his arms about the narrow ribs of the knight, hugging him like a bear until the other's spine was bent to the breaking point. Gaylord moaned beneath the pressure then suddenly twisted aside. The hold was broken. They teetered and fell and again were obscured in a cloud of dust.

The knight's flailing hand touched a smooth, hard length of wood, and he snatched its weighty length up. A small, cured pelt of an animal clung to one end, but he had no time to shake it off. Laughter wheezed from his laboring lungs as he rolled above Ruark and brought the stick across the bondsman's neck, leaning all his weight on it Ruark caught the wood, and the tendons stood out in his neck and arms like taut cordage as he strained to hold the piece from choking him. The staff moved upward ever so slightly and Gaylord shrieked his dismay. Ruark's knee worked beneath the knight's belly and lifted some of the weight away. His foot slid beneath the knight's hip, and he heaved, hurling Gaylord over his head and away from him, releasing the staff as Gaylord sailed over him. The
fur pelt came free. Then the realization dawned on Ruark with sudden clarity that the end of the smooth stick bore a wide double-bladed head. It was the as he had left in the cabin.

Shanna gasped, and Gaylord chortled in high glee, shifting the double-bladed weapon in his hands as Ruark scrambied to his feet Ruark seized a length of firewood to defend himself as the knight moved forward. Ruark could only move back as the keen-edged blade threatened him in the narrow confines of the cabin.