Trahern spoke to the overseer. “And you say this fellow, John Ruark, it was all his idea?”
Shanna’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment the world seemed to stand on end. Of course it was him! Those shortened breeches!
The world was steady again, and she drew air in her lungs and calmed her trembling body, eyeing him surreptitiously. As he walked slowly along inspecting the results, sweat glistened on the firm muscles of his back, and his long, brown legs were straight and strong. . . . She could almost feel again the bold thrust of him between her thighs and blushed profusely at her own musings. Leaning across, she plucked at her father’s sleeve.
“Papa,” she pleaded. “I’ve been too long in the sun, and my head aches. Can we go back now?”
“In a moment, Shanna. I want to talk with that man.”
Her heart thumped in her throat. She could not bear to meet Ruark face to face. Not here! Not now! Not with her father!
“I’m terribly sorry, papa, but I feel most ill. A trifle dizzy. Can we please go?” she urged in desperation.
Trahern regarded his daughter for a moment in concern and then relented to her request.
“Very well. I can see him later. We’ll go.”
He spoke to his black driver, Maddock, and the carriage wheeled about, setting off on the route to the manor. Giving a long sigh, Shanna leaned back and closed her eyes as relief flooded over her. But when she opened them again, she found her father staring at her with an odd half smile on his lips. His gaze was steady, and she grew uneasy under it then began to squirm.
“Can it be, Shanna, that you are with child?” he questioned softly.
“Nay!” she blurted out. “I mean, I think not. I mean, the time was so brief. We barely—” She clamped her mouth shut.
“You mean you don’t know?” Trahern snorted. “ ‘Tis been time enough. Surely you know about these things.”
“I—think not, papa,” Shanna replied and read the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She gazed down at her tightly clenched hands as Trahern stared straight ahead, uttering no further words the entire way home.
Berta met them at the door. Her quizzical glance swept them both briefly and then settled on Shanna. Having had her fill of questions for the day, Shanna brushed by the housekeeper and quickly mounted the stairs to her chambers. This time she had the presence of mind to put away her clothes as was her manner, and, clad only in a light shift, she fell across her bed and stared at the treetops beyond her balcony. The French doors were set ajar to catch the cooling afternoon breezes, and an airy rush stirred the filmy silk tied to the heavy canopy over her bed. The sweet scent of the flowering vine twining over the railing swept across the veranda and filled her room with its heady fragrance and Shanna stared—and she stared—and she stared.
Some time later Berta’s knock sounded on the door. She announced the evening meal, and Shanna pleaded illness as an excuse. The sunset faded into darkness, and again Berta gave a gentle rap upon her door. This time Berta would not be put off and insisted that Shanna open the door. Admitted at last, the kindly old woman brought to the bedside a tray with a covered plate of meats and a large glass of cool milk.
“It vill settle your stomach, Shanna,” Berta urged. “Is dere something else I can get you?”
Shanna’s insistence that it was only a bit too much of the sun left Berta clucking her tongue and mumbling about the carelessness of “dis new cheneration” as she returned to the stairs.
Shanna nibbled at the food and sipped the cool milk. Becoming drowsy, she donned her shortened nightshift and slipped between the silken sheets. She was half asleep when somewhere in her mind came a memory of hands cupping her breasts and a mouth, hot and sweet, caressing the softness of them, kisses bruising her lips and searing downward the length of her throat, strong arms crushing her against a hard body, again that first burning thrust and then—
With a burst of fear Shanna came wide awake and then slowly eased back upon her pillow as she realized she was alone in the room. The familiar shadows stalked across her walls, but there was no help for the hollow ache within her. She drew a pillow close and nestled against it. Was it another trick of her mind when, just before deep sleep took her, she felt the hard muscles of a man’s back beneath her fingers?
Morning gave her no answer. The pillow was just a pillow. But the night’s sleep had done wonders. She rose, bathed, and donned a cool gown of pale turquoise, standing still as Hergus laced her narrow waist tightly. With its square décolletage, the garment displayed the higher curves of her round breasts. She considered her reflection in the tall looking glass and idly smoothed her hair, which was swept tightly from her brow and caught in a mass of cascading ringlets. A petulant scowl puckered her brow as Ruark’s taunting words seared through her brain. Womanhood lacking? How so? Where does he find me lacking? In looks? In stature? In wit? Where? A reply was not to be gained from the mirror, and Shanna left her chambers to join her father in a late breakfast as had become their habit since her return.
It was Orlan Trahern’s custom to be up at daybreak, but most often now, unless there was other business pressing, he waited his morning meal upon Shanna’s company. It was usually a pleasant time, though few words were spoken. But as she descended the stairs this morning, Shanna heard voices from the dining room. It was certainly not out of the ordinary for the squire to entertain at the morning meal, and business was generally the topic. But somewhat wary of who visited, Shanna made her way more cautiously. It was Berta who forced the issue.
“Goot morgen, Shanna,” the housekeeper greeted brightly. “Ya’re feeling better today?”
Then her father’s voice came through the open door.
“Here she is. My daughter, Shanna.”
A chair creaked, and in a moment Trahern’s great hulk filled the doorway as he came to greet her. Taking her arm, he led her toward the fresh airy room where white lattice screens allowed breezes to flow through the windows while filtering out the sun and its heat.
“I’m sorry, child, but I wanted to speak with this man,” the squire apologized as he escorted her in.
Shanna halted suddenly as she saw the one mentioned, and she snatched her hand from her father’s arm. The color fled her cheeks, and her lips parted in surprise. Trahern returned to lift her hand again and consider her with a worried frown. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he spoke to her.
“Aye, a bondslave.” His tone was reproaching. “But I think ‘tis not beneath us to share a table with him. If you would be the mistress of this house, be a gracious one and greet all I summon here as my guest.”
“Come now, Shanna,” he continued more loudly, tucking her hand in his elbow and patting it gently. “Meet Mister Ruark, John Ruark it be, a man of some learning and of a good mind. He has done us well, and I must consider his advice on some matters.”
John Ruark rose to his feet and amber eyes smiled at her, touching her everywhere when Trahern turned to have a word with Berta. The blush returned quickly to Shanna’s cheeks, mounting high as she experienced again that sensation of being stripped naked by his golden gaze. She mumbled inanely through a greeting while her own regard passed disdainfully over the short breeches. They were clean, but no less objectionable to her state of mind. However, she was thankful for the fact that he had at least donned a shirt. With the straw hat put aside, she noticed for the first time that his hair had been clipped close to the nape. Short heavy wisps curled slightly about his face, accentuating the lean, handsome features. The mocking grin gleamed with startling whiteness against his sun-darkened skin. Grudgingly Shanna admitted to herself that his being a bondslave didn’t appear to have done him ill. Indeed, there was a health and vitality about him that was almost mesmerizing. In all, he was even more handsome than on their wedding day.
“My pleasure, madam,” he answered warmly.
Shanna gritted out a menacing smile. “John Ruark, did you say? I knew of some Ruarks in
England. Scurvy bunch they were, murderers and cutthroats. Filthy wretches. Are you perchance related, sir?”
The sweetness of her tone did not hide the sneer she intended. He met it with a flicker of amusement showing upon his lips, but Trahern harrumphed sharply and gave her a warning glare.
“You must forgive me, Mister Ruark. ‘Tis not oft I find myself entertaining a slave.”
“Shanna.” Her father’s tone was low but challenging.
If only a trifle, Shanna did relent and slipped into her chair. Ignoring Ruark as he settled again in the place across from her, she turned to the small, elderly, gray-haired black who waited to serve her. She bestowed her best smile upon him.
“Good morning, Milan,” she said cheerily. “Another bright day we’ll be having, don’t you agree?”
“Yes ma’am,” he beamed. “Bright and shiny, Jest like yourself, Miz Shanna.
“And what might you be having this morning? I’ve a juicy melon saved for you.”
“That would be nice,” she smiled.
As he set a cup of tea before her and moved away to the sideboard, Shanna dared to meet the amused regard of Ruark across the table.
While the men’s conversation drifted across many topics, Shanna sipped her tea, listening quietly as Ruark expressed himself in bold opinions in response to the squire’s questions. He quickly took up a quill and made sketches when needed. He acted not as a man who was a slave, but as one who was a valued peer. He leaned with the squire over stacks of drawings which covered their corner of the table and explained in detail the mechanical workings of designs. Shanna was anything but bored as she listened. She realized he was clever, as keen-minded as her father, and he seemed no stranger to the workings of a plantation. In fact, as the conversation progressed, it became evident he could teach his master much.
“Mister Ruark,” she interrupted in a pause as Milan refilled their cups. “What was your trade before you became a bondsman? Overseer, mayhap? You are from the colonies, are you not? What were you doing in England?”
“Horses—and other things, madam,” he drawled leisurely, a slow smile coming as he gave her his full attention. “I worked with horses quite a bit.”
Shanna frowned slightly as she pondered his reply. “Then you must be the one who tended my horse, Attila.” No wonder the stallion was not skittish of him. The wily beggar had taken care of him. “You mean you train horses? For what, sir? And why were you in England?”
“Mostly for riding, madam.” He shrugged. “And some enjoy the sport of racing their mounts. I went first to Scotland to select breeding stock.”
“Then you were trusted by your squire to know good blood stock when you see it?” she persisted.
“Aye, madam, and that I most certainly do.” The lights gleamed golden in his eyes as he lightly measured her form. The insinuation was clear. Her father’s gaze remained on her, so he missed the slow perusal and the nod that followed it.
Squire Trahern sipped the tea, pursing his lips as he savored the spiced warmth of the brew. “I sent my daughter there on much the same mission, but she only returned as a widow with an empty cradle. I didn’t even get to meet her young man and that eats at my heart. Having seen so many swains refused, I was in great suspense to see her final choice.”
Shanna spoke to her father, but her eyes were on Ruark, and she smiled behind her cup of tea. “There’s little I can tell you of him, papa. But ‘twas only fate that decreed I was not to bear his offspring. You see, Mister Ruark,” Shanna directed her remarks to him openly, “my father sent me to find a worthy husband who would sire sons for his dynasty. Such was not to be the way of it, despite my efforts. Yet I have no doubt that I shall find another man, perhaps more clever of foot so as to avoid the same end as he.”
She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly to emphasize her last words and stared straight into the amber eyes which dipped momentarily to acknowledge her riposte.
“In truth, Madam Beauchamp,” Ruark’s tone showed concern and he spoke in earnest, “I can only agree that such a fine man could no doubt have made your life far richer. Still, I find that what is called fate oft has the workings of most worldly hands about it. Sometimes a whim or fancy, a base desire, can deny the best-laid plans. My own case for example. Though I was in dire need, my best opportunity was denied by the very one who sought the bargain.”
“Aye, I have suffered much because of that one,” he continued musingly. “Yet justice, though oft delayed, will usually find its end. I have debts to pay, not the least of them to your father. Still, there are other debts owed me to which I look forward with great anticipation.”
Shanna recognized the threat in his statement and with some display of anger retorted, “Sir, I find your reference to justice ill-advised, for you are obviously the victim of it and are where you belong. My father may welcome your advice, but I find the presence of a half-naked savage at my breakfast odious!”
At her vindictive burst, the squire lowered his cup and stared at her, missing Ruark’s leer which belied the soft apology in his voice as he replied, “Madam, I can only hope you will change your mind.”
Daring no further words, but with turbulent emotions roiling within her and darkening the green of her eyes, Shanna came to her feet and stalked out of the room.
It was only after Ruark left that Shanna dared approach her father, and she did so apprehensively, for she could not name another bondsman who had gained the squire’s interest as much as this colonial. Trahern was in his chamber study going over some accounts Ralston had prepared when Shanna strolled into the room, her hands folded behind her back and the look of angelic innocence on her face.
“Do you suppose we’ll be having rain before the day is out, papa?” she inquired, staring out through the open French doors toward the dazzling blue sky. If any had taken serious note of her topics of conversation, they might have raised a question over her apparent concern with the weather this day.
Trahern grunted an answer, but his attention remained on the open pages of the account books. Deep in thought, he frowned and scanned the figures before him, hardly aware of his daughter taking the chair beside his desk.
“I wonder if Mrs. Hawkins might have caught some lobsters in her traps today. Perhaps I’ll ask Milan if we might have them for dinner. Would you like that, papa?”
The squire cast a glance toward his daughter that barely acknowledged her presence and returned to his task. Shanna was not to be so easily dismissed. She leaned forward and peered over his arm at the work he was attempting to complete.
In a small voice, she inquired, “Am I interrupting anything, papa?”
With a sigh Trahern pushed back his chair and faced her, clasping his hands together over his paunch and nestling his head down between his shoulders like a wary hawk.
“I see I shall have no peace until we have discussed whatever you’re here about. Get on with it, girl.”
Shanna smoothed her skirt and made a small shrug.
“Ah—this man, Ruark, father,” she began hesitantly, unconsciously slipping into more formal address. “Is he really the sort to do any good here on Los Camellos? Can’t we get rid of him some way? Trade him? Or sell his papers perhaps? Anything to get him off the island.”
Shanna paused and glanced up to see her father staring at her, his lips pursed as if he were lost in thought. Before he could answer, she rushed on.
“I mean, Mister Ruark seems so bold and arrogant for a bondsman. Indeed, it is as if he were more acquainted with being a master than a bondslave. And his clothes! Why, they’re simply ghastly! I’ve never seen a man prance about half naked like that before. And he doesn’t even care what people might say. And there’s another thing. I’ve heard it rumored that most of the young girls in the village are simply agog over him. You’ll probably be supporting several of his brats before the year is out.”
“Huh,” Orlan Trahern grunted. “Perhaps we should geld the stud to protect the ladies of our fair paradise.�
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“Good heavens, father!” Shanna rose to the bait like a half-starved flounder. “He’s a man, not a beast! You cannot do that sort of thing.”
“Ah, I see.” Trahern’s voice was slow and ponderous, and he rocked in the chair to emphasize his words. “A man! Not a beast! So fine of you to admit that, dear Shanna. So fine.”
Shanna almost relaxed back in her chair until she realized that her father’s eyes were hooded, and his tone had been strangely flat, a sure sign of simmering anger in him. Her mind flew as she tried to recall what she had said, and her breath almost stopped as she braced for the approaching storm. She jumped as his hand slammed down onto the desk, quivering the quill in its well.
“By God, daughter. I’m glad you admit that!”
Trahern leaned forward, grasping the arms of the chair as if he would hurl himself from it.
“I own his papers, and he shall serve me as a slave ‘til ‘tis paid. I know not what his sin was, but I recognize that he has a good mind and indeed a deeper understanding of this plantation than I do. I may know markets and trading, but he knows men and how to get the best out of them. He has proven his worth to me in the short time he’s been here, and I respect him more as a man than you ever could. He is not a beast to be broken or trained to some simple task. He is a man to be worked and used where best he fits, and I will wager whatever you choose that he will pay for himself a hundred times over. To that point,”—he shuffled the papers on the desk, throwing one which was covered with sketches and figures into her lap—“he has suggested a large cane mill and a distillery combined which should increase both the syrup and rum production ten times or more. ‘Twill take fewer men than now work the fields.”
Orlan tossed another sheet of paper at her.
“After that, he has suggested a dam on the river to drive the wheel of a sawmill so that we might cut our own trees into lumber and sell the excess. He has already given a dozen ways to save men and animals. Aye, my high and mighty daughter, I do value him highly and I will not see him put away like some animal because he does not meet your high standards of comportment.”
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