Shanna (82 page)

The edge of the table caught Ruark on the back of the thighs, and he could retreat no further. With a shout of triumph, Gaylord swung a two-handed blow downward as Shanna cringed and smothered a scream. Ruark dove to one side, and the table, with a rending, splintering crack, fell in halves as the ax cut it clean through. As Gaylord struggled to pull the blade from the shreds, Ruark threw the firewood low at the shins of the man and snatched another piece. The ax swung in a short swipe at Ruark's belly, and the blow was barely parried with the short stick of wood. The ax swung again. Ruark leapt back to avoid the blade then crashed to the floor as his feet tangled in the wreckage of the table.

Gaylord's bellow of victory ended in a shriek of pain. He had seen the bright flash and jerked away, but he had still caught the point of the tiny dagger on his cheek and felt the red hot shock of it slash downward along his neck, laying open flesh as it went.

In his lust for blood, he had forgotten the lady, Shanna, again. Indeed, no lady She had freed herself and joined the fray with the silvered thorn, as fiercely protective of her husband's life as he of hers. Snarling, Gaylord flung wide his arms, and she was thrust away, the small dagger flying into a corner. But as Gaylord grasped the ax again, she returned to rake his lightly shirted shoulder with her claws. She finally gained his attention. His bony fist struck hard, and Shanna stumbled back as it caught her along the jaw. Dazed and reeling, she sprawled again upon the furry bed, her world suddenly gone black and void.

Now, it was the other beast Gaylord had ignored too long. A half-voiced, bellowing snarl sounded in his ear,
and the ax was snatched from his grasp as if from a child's. He recoiled and thought to see it flash, ending his life. And flash it did, but straight upward with such force the blade was half buried high in a timber of the roof, its handle quivering well out of reach. Gaylord's relief was short-lived, however, for he was seized in a vise that slowly crushed the breath from him. He was in the grip of a maddened beast who gave no quarter but slowly lifted him from the floor in arms of steel. Hurled halfway across the room, he rebounded from the wall and was immediately beset by punishing blows that took him from every side. He saw bared white teeth beneath dark-rimmed golden eyes in a snarling face that promised only death. Blows rained upon him, taking away his strength. He began to fear defeat and, worse than that, death. He raised an arm and weakly struck out but was attacked with such renewed savagery he stumbled back across the room and could only shelter his head beneath his arms. He fell to his knees and reeled as a hard fist struck him on the face. His hand was suddenly full of soft velvet and dimly he saw a woman's face above him.

“Stop him! Stop him!” he sobbed. “He'll kill me!”

Shanna struggled against the grayness that engulfed her, and through the buzzing in her ears, she heard a distant cursing mingled with a whimpering cry. She shook her head to free herself from the daze, and some vision returned. She saw Sir Gaylord at her feet on the floor, clutching the hem of her gown, begging for his life. Suddenly her mind was clear. What he had not given to others would be granted to him. Mercy. She stepped over the sprawling knight and caught Ruark's arm to her breast.

“Ruark,” she pleaded. “Let him have his day with the hangman.” She slipped a hand behind Ruark's head and, with the other, pushed his rigid body back. Stepping before him, she pulled his face close to hers and kissed his lips until his sanity began to return and she felt the stiffness of rage leave him. She knew she had won when he took her in his arms and lifted her against him in a fierce, crushing embrace.

Shanna was sitting on the stump, holding still while
Ruark applied a cool wet cloth to her bruised cheek, when Nathanial and the major halted their mounts before the cabin. Gaylord sat nearby on a rough-hewn bench, well wrapped in a length of rope.

The latecomers surveyed the scene that greeted them as George and the others joined them. Considering the unhinged portal, George chuckled down at Ruark.

“My son, you truly have a way with doors.”

Gaylord was put on a horse, and Shanna was lifted to Attila's back, where she perched in the arms of her husband. She would have traded no part of her world away. The door of the cabin was roped in place, and the party was preparing for the return journey when suddenly a shout rang out from the trail and a rattle of hooves drifted down to them. They waited in wonderment until an ancient mare with stiff legs and a spine-jolting gait came trotting around the bend. It could not be said which wheezed the harder, the gallant mare or her courageous rider. A string of jolted curses drifted ahead of them as the mare neared. Nathanial stepped down from his mount and mercifully assisted Trahern to the firm turf. Stripping the saddle from Trahern's mount, he laid it on the back of Jezebel, that mare of gentler gait, while George led the aging mare to the pasture and turned her out to graze in peace.

Dusk was gathering over the land as the mostly jovial party neared the manor house, and no one noted that Attila with his double load chose to lag far behind the rest Indeed, it was questionable whether any hand guided him, since both his riders seemed much occupied with each other.

The returning party went directly to the barn where George pointed out a heavily planked stall intended to contain the occasionally errant stud or bull. It was little used. A small table and a stool were placed within, along with a pile of fresh straw and several blankets. The ropes were stripped from Sir Gaylord, and he was thrust into his stall-cell. Glaring about him, he rubbed his wrists then sneered at his captors.

“You may abuse me like this if you will, but as a knight of the realm I can be tried before no less than the high tribunal of His Majesty's court in London.”

“Perhaps,” Major Carter replied musingly, “that will be up to the magistrate in Williamsburg.”

“I will have none of your bumbling colonial justice!” Gaylord snarled. “My father will see that I am cared for.”

“The same, of course.” The major rubbed a finger along his chin. “Lord Billingsham has come to the colonies to—uh—improve the crude system, I believe he said. He has taken the bench in Williamsburg and will be the first to hear your case.”

Gaylord's mouth gapped open, and his eyes grew dim and distant. He seated himself on the stool and stared at the blank wall, seeming not to hear any further comments. His lips moved briefly, and the whisper was barely heard.

“Old Hanging Harry.” His shoulders sagged, and his air of arrogance deserted him.

A moment later George entered the manor and stalked through the room directly to the brandy decanter. Close on his heels came Nathanial and Jeremiah, their broad grins warning of good news, while Pitney and the major assisted a ruffled, bone-weary Trahern to his chair. He plumped down and stared at the muddied, grass-stained wrappings of his injured foot, once more propped on its hassock. Bringing up the rear, Shanna and Ruark strolled in with their arms entwined and happy smiles on their faces as if the day had borne nothing but blissful togetherness.

The uproar of relieved laughter and shouts filled the house until it fair danced on its foundation. The tale was told, then retold, and each added his own part until it was complete. Backs were pounded, hands clasped, toasts proposed and properly completed, and in the darker cornes the heroes were welcomed home in a much quieter fashion. Only Orlan Trahern sat in his chair in a dour mood and sipped from a rum and bitters Pitney had managed to prepare. It was into this riot of congratulations that Hergus bore a tray of tidbits to whet the appetites of the starving men. Her shriek of recognition was earsplitting.

“Jamie! Jamie Conners!”

The Scotsman turned and stared at the woman who called his name, as did everyone else in the room.

“Hergus?” he said slowly, his eyes widening in amaze
ment “My Gawd! Hergus! Me own true love!” He burned beneath the slow regard the surprised woman bent on him.

“Humph, a score of years ye been gone and not a word! Ever!”

Hergus presented her tray and a warm smile to Pitney and her stiff back to Jamie, as she recalled in a rush the multitude of wiles she had watched Shanna use on various suitors. Her love had strayed and ere there would be a reconciliation, his price would be dear.

“I—I—” the poor man stammered, “I found no trace of ye when they finally let me go.”

No answer came as Hergus calmly served the others from the tray. But as Shanna caught her eye, she could well read the slow smile and lowering of eyelids. At the moment Shanna almost felt sorry for Jamie, but she saw something new in Hergus, both soft and firm at the same time, and guessed that with proper retribution the Scotsman might regain what he had lost.

Shanna stepped to her father's side and gazed down at him for a moment At the glowering frown she gently asked, “Does your foot pain you, papa?”

“'Tis not my foot that aches as much as another part,” he snorted. “It took a dire threat to put me atop a horse, but should the very earth crumble beneath my feet, I will not straddle another. Now I cannot find comfort either standing or sitting. I would hie myself to my bed to find aught of ease.”

Shanna began to chuckle and could not stop, though his scowl grew deeper as he glared up at her.

“Oh, Papa, 'tis the worst of it that you should have done it for me.” She bent and kissed his brow.

“Bah!” Trahern shifted in his chair as if to ease some ache and spoke to Ruark who had come to stand beside Shanna. “I hurt in every bone, and she chortles like some half-wit. Beware, my son, ere she drive you harried and haunted to your grave.”

“If I knew that as fact,” Ruark laughed, “I would change no small whit of it.”

Shanna took her husband's hand and squeezed it lovingly, then sat on the arm of her father's chair and rested her own arm about his shoulders.

“I am beset with beasts in the two of you.” She smiled
softly to belie her words. “A dragon on my left and a hoary bear on my right Am I ever to fear your fangs?”

“Keep her with child, lad!” Trahern chuckled, his mood easing. “ 'Tis the only way. Keep her with child!”

“Much my own thoughts, sir.” Ruark met Shanna's eyes, and their love glowed in unspoken communication.

Ruark was at the window, watching the gray streaks of dawn spread across the sky. Lying in bed, Shanna, too, was wide awake. He came back and slid beneath the covers.

“You're cold,” Shanna told him.

“Warm me.” They snuggled close together.

“It's been almost a year,” she murmured.

“Aye, and with each dawning,” he whispered in her ear, “the sun has come to part us. But no more.”

A moment of silence passed as they nestled in each other's arms. Ruark traced a curl where it fell across her arm.

“Have I slain your dragon, my love?”

“Slain my dragon? Nay, and I will hear no more such talk.” Shanna slipped her arms about his neck. “Let the devil take the shiny knights. Come, Dragon Ruark, breathe your fire and warm me. The day is just beginning for us.”

O
RLAN
T
RAHERN
sat in the small church on the island of Los Camellos and listened to the minister's voice droning on from the pulpit. His mind was not on the sermon but drifted to other topics.

The island seemed lonely of late. There was something missing. Life here moved on as usual, slowing in the heat of the day, hastening when the harvests of cane and timber called. It accommodated the rush of the mills, and the new wealth was liberally disbursed to be enjoyed by all. It was what he had always dreamed of, but now the edge was gone from the achievement.

He thought of his daughter and her husband. The babe would be born by now, but weeks would pass before he received word of it. He glanced toward the small oil painting of his wife, Georgiana, which hung near his church box and knew she would have thrilled at the prospect Indeed, she would have insisted they go to be with Shanna at her labor. He could almost see his wife smiling back at him with her ever-tolerant, knowing gaze.

He had of yesteryear considered his blood to be aged and thin, but now it quickened with the fervor of youth as he imagined the wealth of new markets that waited a knowing hand in the colonies. More and more he longed to be out in the marketplace with a wad of credit slips in his purse and a shipload of merchandise at the dock. He yearned to elbow his way through a throng and hear the jargon of barter, the rhythmic song of an auctioneer, and to feel the lift of that moment when a good bargain is struck. He wanted to whet his mind against the sly half truths of the seller and hone his appetite with a taste of the same on a wary buyer.

Even Pitney had grown restless of late and spoke often of leaving the island to seek out a fortune in the new
land. Trahern guessed that the man had fallen in love with the vast spaces and found life here now narrow and restrictive. A ship had been sighted as they were on their way to church, and Pitney had gone down to the docks to meet it, a fire of adventure beginning to glow in his eyes.

“By God, it is a tempting thing,” Orlan Trahern thought “And in my journeys up and down the colonies, I could stop often to see my grandchild.” His eyes went again to the painting. “I'd come back here, too, Georgiana, often, and I would ever cherish the memories we set to seed here.”

The minister had finished his sermon and was calling the congregation to its feet for a song when he paused and stared speechless toward the rear of the church. Before Trahern could turn, a huge hand gripped his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Pitney grinning down at him.

Trahern frowned and began to rise. Then a small, blanketed bundle was thrust gently into his arms. He had barely time to see the dark hair before another one was placed in his other arm. He looked back and forth between the two, seeing the black hair and a hint of green in the baby blue of their eyes.

The squire's jaw dropped. He raised his gaze in wonder to meet Shanna's brightly beaming visage. “A boy and a girl, papa.”

“This was news no letter could bear,” Ruark smiled. “We were overdue a visit, anyway.”

Orlan Trahern was speechless. He stared down at the twins again and could not for the life of him bring forth words to express his joy. He looked up at the painting on the wall, and his voice was choked and broken as he whispered:

“More than we ever dreamed, Georgiana. More than we ever dreamed.”