Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  A small sound intruded upon the quiet, and a door swung open. Ruark stared in amazement. It was Shanna, and her name escaped his lips in a whispered question. Like a pale ghost haunting the night, she came forward, clothed in a long, white, clinging robe, her hair wound with a ribbon in a single great fall down her back. Her voice was husky as she spoke.

  “Ruark Beauchamp. Knave. Rogue. Murderer. Hung by the neck. Dead. Buried in a grave. You have vexed me much these past months. You prattle of a bargain where I say there is none. But I will honor it and pay my debt so you will have no claim on me. This way I will be free. So, as you say, for this night until the first light of dawn, I will play your wife. Then I will have no more of you.”

  His abortive laugh ended in a snort, and Ruark stared at her in total disbelief. He wandered around the room and under Shanna’s regard checked the anteroom, the dining room, and even behind the silken draperies. He came to stand close beside her, and Shanna returned his stare as boldly as he gave it.

  “And your good man, Pitney?” he questioned. “Where is his lair this time?”

  “There is no one. We are alone. You have my word on it.”

  “Your word!” His laugh rang with a sneering undertone. “That, madam, almost frightens me.”

  Shanna ignored the sting of his comments and waved a slender hand in the direction of the bedchamber. “And would you search beneath the bed? Perhaps your manhood needs some recompense and bolster.”

  Ruark turned his back upon her beauty. It was in his mind to flee the place before the worst of his fears was recognized. But his feet were leaden, and the thought of her willing in his arms began to cauterize his mind.

  “I fear the game is entered once again,” he said harshly. “And I have survived so much that I am leery of what deeper fate you have in store for me.”

  Shanna’s laughter softly entwined him as she reached out and caressed his back, tracing the long swell of his lean muscles. Ruark’s knees went suddenly weak as her cool hand touched him and wandered with its soft, silken smoothness, stirring his emotions until they boiled with merry pain in the pit of his belly. He ground his teeth and moaned:

  “To hell with thorns!”

  He faced her suddenly, and her hand stayed to lightly rub his chest. Ruark’s nostrils flared, and his brow lowered angrily. He would see what her resolve would bear.

  Purposefully he reached out and loosened the frog at the top of her dressing gown. Shanna met his glare and only smiled softly as his hands worked downward until the garment hung open. She shrugged, and it fell to her feet, revealing a sheer, shimmering white cloth that resembled a gown of ancient Greece. One soft, lovely shoulder was temptingly bare while the other was bound with the same silken fasteners that had adorned her robe. The gown hid nothing from him, and Shanna saw the hard flint of passion strike sparks in the golden eyes as they moved upon her. Her full, ripe breasts swelled against the gossamer web that molded itself to her and to the pale, delicate peaks which thrust forward impudently. Ruark’s breath was ragged in his throat, and he could not still the tremor which had seized his body. He had already realized that beneath all her clothes Shanna was what every man dreamed of, a vision of incomparable beauty. Her skin glowed with the soft luster of creamy satin, and through the cloth he saw the inward curve of her waist, amazingly small in its unlaced freedom, the trim and seductive roundness of her hips, and the lithe grace of her limbs.

  “ ‘Tis my one intent,” Shanna murmured softly, “to be your wife in every way, whatever your desire.”

  Ruark’s long-starved passions flared high, smothering the anger and leaving only a small suspicion to nibble at the edge of his consciousness. This, too, he discarded. This night was fully worth the risk.

  Still, he was frozen in bemusement at her motives, and his eyes reveled in their freedom as they feasted hungrily on her beauty, seeking out every charm once hidden from him. Shanna felt devoured, and it took an effort of her will to remain pliant beneath his probing eyes.

  “Come,” she urged, and her voice did not sound her own in her ears. She tugged at his arm. “Your bath is ready, Master Beauchamp.”

  Ruark let himself be led like a dumb animal into the bedchamber where a large, massive tester bed occupied the far wall. A candelabrum sat on a table beside it, its flames flickering in the soft breezes that billowed the draperies at the windows. Beneath it, glasses and crystal decanters of several various brews waited. White, filmy netting was tied to the heavy, ornate posts of the bed, and he saw that the bedding had been folded down invitingly and the pillows fluffed.

  Shanna halted beside the tub which faced the room. A taper gleamed beside it, and its light silhouetted her through the gown, betraying the full measure of her beauty. As he stood close before her, her soft, green eyes lifted to meet his, he was almost overwhelmed by the nearness of her, the sweet, exotic fragrance that clung to her. Her breasts pressed wantonly against the gauze of her diaphanous gown, almost touching his chest. It was all Ruark could do to hold in check the urges that flooded him and to keep himself from simple rape.

  “I thought you might enjoy a bath,” Shanna murmured. “If not. . . .”

  Ruark’s eyes swept about the room, but he could find no place for assailants to hide and certainly not the broad, hulking Pitney. The draperies and windows were open, and the dense black yard and the jungle beyond lent only the usual night sounds to his ears, the twittering of birds and the occasional croak of frogs or chirp of insects.

  He returned his gaze to Shanna, who waited patiently for his answer.

  “Such richness might warp my senses.” He kicked of his sandals. “But I shall taste its fullness ‘ere my final doom descends.”

  Shanna smiled softly, and her slim fingers plucked at the fastenings of his breeches. “You do not trust me still.”

  “I remember our last encounter in England,” Ruark responded dryly, “and deeply fear that another such interruption might render me useless to any woman.”

  Shanna ran her hands down his lean ribs but kept her eyes carefully on his face as he tossed the breeches to a chair.

  “In the tub, my lustful dragon. Breathe not your fire aimlessly. I am here to see the bargain out. You need have no further fear of me.”

  Ruark lowered himself into the warm bath and relaxed a moment in the luxury of it. As his wandering gaze moved to her, Shanna gently caressed his shoulder and offered him a large snifter of brandy. Ruark drained the glass in a single breath and welcomed the burning distraction in his throat. Taking the empty glass from him, Shanna poured another draught and returned it to his hand. Her kiss was as soft and quick on his lips as a butterfly’s touch upon a rose.

  “ ‘Tis better if you sip it slowly, my love, and taste the fullness of it.”

  Ruark leaned back against the high rim of the tub and closed his eyes, savoring the feel of the warm water. His baths in the creek had been good enough for cleanliness, but they had lacked much in the way of comfort and relaxation. He opened one eye to peer at Shanna, setting the glass aside.

  “Wife in truth you be?”

  She nodded. “For this night.”

  “Then scrub my back, wife.”

  He tossed a sponge and leaned forward, awaiting her. Shanna came to him, and her hands were gentle, lathering the broad expanse. She was again reminded of a sleek, powerful cat as her hands lightly glided over him, and she could not help but marvel at the rugged strength that lay relaxed beneath her touch. Oddly content at the task, Shanna leisurely lathered his black hair, fluffed it dry, and brushed it into place. She massaged his neck and shoulders, dissolving any fatigue that might have been there. Ruark could remember no other moment in his life when such pure bliss had descended upon him. Then she ran her finger along his chin, rasping her long nail along the short stubble there. Shanna pressed him back until he lay again against the high back of the tub and, taking up a razor and soap, shaved him carefully and then stroked his face gently with a hot towel.

  “Is this
the way of a wife?” Shanna asked almost hesitantly. “I’ve had so little practice, I would not know.”

  Ruark’s eyes met hers, shining softly so close above him. He reached out to take her hand and draw her near, but she left him and wandered to the open window where she leaned against the sill and toyed with the tassels on the drapes. Ruark relaxed to finish his bath. He had seen the fleeting frown of bemusement that crossed her face and wondered what dire circumstance had brought the thornbound Shanna out of safety and to this end. Certainly no assault of his, for he had not been stirred to risk a flogging or worse in seeking her out.

  Shanna tried to quell the trepidation that had arisen, and she fought the flooding tides of coldness that surged within her. When she had met Ruark’s eyes, the shock was sharp, for she had suddenly realized the moment rapidly approached for which she had made this tryst. Would he seek his vengeance cruelly or with grace? Would she find pleasure or pain in his arms? It was too late to withdraw from this madness. How could she have believed a bondslave, a colonial who had already proven himself no gentleman, would respect her womanhood? How could she have cast herself in his grasp so recklessly?

  A splash sounded behind her, and Shanna glanced around to see him rising from the tub. It was too late! Too late!

  Ruark had heaved himself up and seized a towel, catching Shanna’s stare and glimpsing the full naked fear within her eyes before she managed to hide it. A betrayal now, he wondered? Would she flee? Or summon a heavy escort? Ruark waited. He was absolutely vulnerable.

  Nervous now, Shanna turned her gaze away from the rather frightening sight of the naked man and went to wait beside the bed. Ruark watched her warily, toweling himself dry, then moved toward her. Her eyes wavered beneath his direct stare, and her shaking fingers entwined. She was suddenly like a small girl in a fully bloomed woman’s body.

  Shanna summoned all her determination to speak, but her voice still came thin and weak.

  “Ruark, ‘tis my will that this be out. ‘Tis my will that the bargain be met. I know you have cause to hate me, but, Ruark,”—her lower lip quivered, and as she stared up at him, tears welled within her eyes—“please don’t hurt me.”

  Ruark lifted a finger and wiped away a tear that traced slowly down her cheek, then murmured wonderingly, “You’re trembling.”

  He turned and hurled the towel in a corner. Shanna flinched and braced herself for his attack, but instead of being assaulted, she heard a chuckle coming from deep inside his chest.

  “Do you really think me a beast, madam, some dragon come to rend you upon your pallet? Ah, poor Shanna, dream-struck girl. This time of love is not a time for taking, but a time of giving and for sharing. You give me this night as I gave you my name, freely, of your own accord. But I warn you now you may find something here that will bind you more eternally than anything else in your life.”

  Did he mean a child? Shanna frowned and turned her back to him. It was a consideration she had scarce let herself dwell upon. What if—

  Ruark’s arms slipped with infinite care about her, and she forgot all. His face brushed against her hair, stirring from it the sweet fragrance of the red jasmine, frangipani, until his mind reeled with the heady scent of it. Ruark knew he must be gentle lest her fear destroy the moment, but it took an extreme exercise of will to court her with care. Shanna stilled her doubt and overcame the tension and resistance of her body by reminding herself repeatedly that he was, at least for the night, her husband and that come the dawn it would all be over, and she would be free of him.

  Lifting her heavy golden hair aside, she offered him her shoulder, and his long fingers nimbly worked the silken frogs until the gown was free and slid to her feet. Her skin contrasted against the darkness of his like a translucent pearl upon a bed of warm earth. Once more his embrace enfolded her, bringing her back in close contact with his lean frame. Shanna felt the hard, manly boldness of him, and she closed her eyes as his searing lips slowly traced along her throat and shoulder. His hands caressed her, leisurely arousing her, stroking her breasts, and moving downward over her belly. A warm tide of tingling excitement flooded her. She was cold and hot and shaky. Her mind whirled giddily, and she forgot to repeat her reminder. The whisper of a sigh escaped her as she leaned her head back upon his shoulder, spilling her hair over his arm. She lifted her face to meet his, her trembling lips slackened and parted as his mouth possessed hers. He turned her to him, and they came together like the forging of irons, their kisses now savage and fierce, devouring as tongues met and their mouths slanted across each other’s with hungry impatience. His hand wandered down her back, pressing her hips tighter against him. His passions raged voraciously within him, and the fire in his loins was raging out of control.

  Ruark bent a knee upon the bed, pulling her with him, and they were tumbling on the sheets. His open mouth, hot and wet, seared her breasts, and his white teeth lightly nibbled her curving waist and the smooth silken skin of her belly. Shanna closed her eyes, panting and breathless, pliable beneath his caresses. His eyes aflame and lusting, Ruark lowered his weight upon her, parting her thighs, and pressed deep with her. Shanna moved to welcome the hard thrust, her woman’s body reacting instinctively to this new, indescribable, budding, splintering feeling that built with pulsing leaps and bounds deep with her. The pleasure mounted so intensely she wondered wildly if she could bear it.

  It was magic, a stunning, beautiful, expanding bloom of ravaging rapture that made her arch against him with a fierce ardor matching his. The wild, soaring ecstasy burst upon them, fusing them together in the all-consuming caldron of passion. Clasped tightly to him as if he would draw her into himself, Shanna felt the thunderous beating of his heart against her naked breasts and heard his hoarse, ragged breathing in her ear.

  Time seemed to verge on eternity before Ruark raised his head. Shanna lay back upon the pillow, staring up at him with wide, searching eyes, amazement etched in the beauteous visage. The amber eyes held her softly as he whispered:

  “Doth the dragon so comport, my love?”

  His lips pressed upon hers gently, tenderly, and Shanna gave quick answer, returning warm, fleeting kisses as she breathed, “Aye, my dragon Ruark, my ferocious beastly man, you demanded the bargain met, but the payment was not all yours.”

  Ruark smoothed her rumpled hair and traced his mouth along the slim column of her throat, tasting the exotic fragrance that seemed so much a part of her, that haunting scent which had plagued him in the gaol every wakeful hour, every moment of his dreams.

  “Are you regretful, love?” he questioned huskily.

  Shanna shook her head, and oddly it was no lie she gave him. All the qualms she had expected, and the quirks of gnawing guilt she imagined would torment her, were not there. More frightening to her was the strange sense of rightness she felt being in his arms, as if here was where she was meant to be, like the sea on the sand, a tree on the earth. Aye, that feeling of contentment disturbed her more than guilt ever could.

  Willfully Shanna set her mind on a different path. It was the fulfilling of her word that satisfied her conscience, naught else. Her arms looped about his neck and were like silk sliding against him. She laughed softly, lightly nibbling at the lobe of his ear, touching it with her tongue.

  “Has your sense of justice been appeased, milord?”

  Ruark’s parted lips played upon hers as he gave reply. “Aye, wench. For the tortured nights I’ve lain awake thinking of you, for the days I could not rout you from my mind, for the torment I’ve suffered, knowing you were close and not being able to see you, touch you. Aye, I have tasted of the rose.” His brow furrowed. “But like the lotus, deep within this flower is a seed which entraps the mind.” His eyes searched her face. “The night is far from over, Shanna.”

  Gently she rubbed her fingers across the harsh lines of his frown, smoothing it away.

  “For this night,” she murmured, “I am your wife.”

  Shanna drew his hand to her lips and slowly kissed t
he lean, brown knuckles while each gaze warmed and played within the depths of the other’s eyes. She showed small perfect teeth in an impish grin before sinking them teasingly into the back of his hand.

  “For all the hours you’ve tormented me, my dragon Ruark, I’ll see some gallant knight to my rescue. You have abused this maiden sorely in her distress.”

  Ruark cocked a dubious brow. “Do you think me, then, to be the terrible dragon of your dreams, madam? Am I to be put away by your silvered knight? And truly, madam, have I abused you so sorely? Or is it that I’ve dared to treat you as a woman and not some lofty wench on a pedestal, a virgin queen no mortal man can touch?”

  Shanna’s eyes gleamed as she stared at him from beneath lowered lids. “Then you at last admit I am a woman, Mister Beauchamp?” she queried.

  “Aye, you’re a woman, Shanna,” Ruark replied hoarsely. “A woman made for love and for a man, not made for dreams of knights and dragons and damsels in distress. If I be your dragon, Shanna, then let it be known your knight in shining armor will have no easy task subduing me.”

  “Do you threaten me, monstrous dragon?” The sea-green eyes were wide and watched him almost fearfully.

  “Nay, Shanna love,” he whispered softly. “But then, neither do I believe in fables.”

  He moved against her, his body rousing, responding to the softness of hers. His open mouth sought her lips, parting them, twisting, burning, devouring, slanting across them as if he could not get enough of the dewy sweetness. Their breaths merged and became one. Shanna lost her last touch on reality. Her world careened crazily beneath the savage urgency of his demanding kisses, and she was swept along in the violent storm of his passion. His hand slipped downward, capturing the soft fullness of a breast before his mouth followed. Shanna caught her breath as the wild flooding pleasure shot through her again. His hot, greedy kisses covered her naked flesh, and in the flickering candlelight, his hair shone with a soft sheen of black satin against her pale skin. Her own hair spread out in shimmering waves across the pillows, and her eyes took on a strange, deep hue of smoky blue. She was his again, and she reveled in the sweetness of bliss.