Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Huh!” the older man snorted and turned his shoulder in such a way as to shut out his daughter. “I shall repeat it one more time. Now, about the mill. Will it be large enough to take produce from the other islands?”

  Ruark nodded, and the talk drifted into minutiae. Accepting a plate from Milan, Shanna dined quietly from a bowl of creamed fruit as she watched Ruark covertly from the corner of her eye. The manner with which he conversed on matters completely foreign to her fascinated Shanna, and she saw the intelligence that so intrigued her father.

  It was in the drawing room late that evening when Trahern expressed his hopes for the man, John Ruark.

  “As I have been more the merchant than planter in my years, Shanna, ‘tis not necessary to tell you I welcome a more knowledgeable mind to advise me upon crops and mills. Since Mister Ruark has been here, he has done much to increase our wealth. When I am gone, you will need someone trustworthy to guide you in such matters. You have been away much of the time, and as an old man I may not live long enough to teach you all you should know. Mister Ruark is capable of advising you, and I am hopeful you will allow him to.”

  Shanna shrank inwardly. That would be all she needed, for Ruark to be made her advisor, and should he ever be given the right of approval of her suitors, she would most certainly see out her days as a wasted widow.

  She sighed mentally, but the sound slipped out.

  “You seem distraught at my suggestion, daughter. Why do you dislike the man so much?”

  “Papa,” Shanna laid a hand on his and gave him a quick, rueful smile, “I only seek to be the mistress of my own fate. I have no intention of going in bondage to that one.”

  Trahern opened his mouth to enforce his mandate, but she leaned forward and gently placed a finger on his lips. Her eyes smiled into his angry ones, and beneath that steady gaze, the elder Trahern softened. Shanna spoke in not much more than a whisper.

  “Papa, I will not argue with you, nor will I ever speak on it again.”

  She placed a fleeting kiss upon his forehead and with a quick flurry of silk was gone. Trahern sat in his chair, his lips working as he wondered in amazement how it had become possible for him to lose an argument and yet enjoy it.

  Chapter 9

  THE WIND CHURNED UP the promise of a storm in small, confused whitecaps as the sun settled on the surface of the water and darkness invaded the day. Night descended with its cloak of black, and cooling breezes settled upon the island, stirring the delicate scents from the flowering vine at Shanna’s balcony. She gave herself a last, critical appraisal of her mirrored image, frowning slightly at the thought of having to appear witty and charming for their dinner guests when her mind was in such a turmoil. Everything displeased her, and even the flawlessness of her own beauty, regally gowned in rich ivory satin and costly lace, did not change her mood of discontent. Dispassionately she stared into the looking glass while Hergus affectionately smoothed the elaborately coiled tresses twined with ropes of pearls. Shanna gave a slight adjustment to the square décolletage edged with the same lustrous pearls. The gown was cut deep across her full, swelling curves until it seemed that only some strange sorcery held it from revealing the soft pink crests of her bosom.

  “You look grand,” Hergus beamed.

  Shanna’s was that rare beauty which was almost never at a loss. Even early in the morning, with her hair tousled and her eyes blurred with sleep, she wore a sensuality that would have stirred a husband’s heart to burgeoning pride if not open lust.

  The Scotswoman grunted disapprovingly. “Mister Ruark’ll be hard pressed to keep his eyes off ye, and there yer pa will be, betwix ye. Aye, ye’ll warm the man’s blood a mite.” Hergus gave a rather forlorn sigh. “But that, I suppose, is yer aim, choosing that gown when ye know he’s to be about.”

  “Oh, Hergus, don’t preach,” Shanna begged of the woman. “Ladies attend the French salons wearing much less than this. And I’m certainly not wearing the gown to please Mister Ruark!”

  “O’ course! Why should ye?” Hergus needled.

  Shanna set her hands on her hips and in exasperation faced the woman. “Out with it, Hergus. You’ve beaten about the bush ever since I bade you fetch Mister Ruark to the cottage. You might as well speak your peace.”

  Hergus nodded firmly. “Aye, and that I will. I’ve been with ye since ye were a babe, and I tended ye then though I weren’t any more than a babe meself. I watched ye grow into the loveliest thing a man can imagine. I’ve been with ye through the thick and thin of it. I’ve taken yer side when yer pa would have ye marry a name rather than a man. But I canna understand ye sneaking off like a little trollop, meeting Mister Ruark on the sly. Ye’ve had the best schooling, ye’ve had the best care. We’ve all wished the best for ye, even yer pa, stubborn man that he is. Can ye na see that ye need to marry and have wee ones? Oh, I can understand love. There was me own Jamie when I was a girl, and we pledged our troth, but he was impressed onto one of his majesty’s warships. Me folks died, and I had to find work to feed meself, and I never saw me Jamie again though it be a score of years since. And I can see why ye’re taken with Mister Ruark, handsome he is, and more of a man than any oo’ dared to court ye. But ‘tis wrong what ye’re doing. Ye know it. Give him up ‘fore yer pa finds out and marries ye off to some driveling lord.”

  Shanna groaned her frustration and strode across the room. She could not confide in the woman lest her father find out and have them all sent away for the conspiracy. But Hergus’s chastening pricked her.

  “I’ll speak no more of Mister Ruark,” she declared over her shoulder.

  The maid followed her, determined to talk some sense into the lovely head. “And what if ye’re carrying his wee one? Pray tell what would yer pa say to that? He’ll have yer Mister Ruark gelded, and ye willna have a word to say on the matter. Aye, ye’ll be the mother of his babe, but ye have na thought of that, have ye? Why?” Hergus persisted. “Ye’re hoping ye willna get caught with his seed. Ah lass, ye’re fooling yerself. He’s a bold man. He’ll plant his best in ye, and there ye’ll be plump as any melon and with no husband.”

  Shanna chewed her lip, fighting to stem the flow of words that threatened. It was rare she remained mute beneath a rebuke, for she could well wield a tongue lashing whenever she chose to anyone, the only exception being her father.

  “If he hasn’t done the deed already, ‘twill only be a matter o’ time before he gets ye with his babe. Will ye stop this foolishness afore ‘tis too late? If ye canna help yerself, then I’ll go for ye and ask him to leave ye be. Though I doubt that he will, stricken that he is with ye, him risking his life and not carin’. Nay, ‘tis best ye stop it now. He’ll be the one to suffer the most should yer pa find out.”

  Hergus pressed the heels of both hands to her temples and laying her head back, moaned to the heavens.

  “Ah, the shame of it all! And ye so newly widowed. Yer own poor husband barely cold in the ground, an’ ye’ve taken to foolin’ with a common bondsman! Oh, the shame of it.”

  “ ‘Tis done with!” Shanna cried and flung out her hand sharply. Was there no peace from this woman? “I won’t be seeing him anymore.”

  Hergus contemplated her mistress narrowly. “Ye say that, but do ye mean it?”

  Shanna nodded her head passionately. “Aye, ‘tis the truth. I won’t lie with him again. ‘Tis done with.”

  Hergus straightened, satisfied. “ ‘Tis best for the both of ye. Ye’ll find a man yer pa will let ye marry and have his wee ones. Ye’ll forget about Mister Ruark.”

  Shanna stared after the woman long after the door had closed behind her, wondering if this thing with Ruark were truly done with. Aye, that fire-breathing Ruark, so confident in his own abilities. He had known the secrets of her woman’s body better than she. How many unsuspecting maidens had he bedded to make him so knowledgeable? The vulgar cad! Was this the sugar she was meant to nibble from his hand? Did he think she would fly to nuzzle him gently when he whistled?

&n
bsp; Her mind rebelled. She was not some dumb beast to hold herself at any man’s beck and call.

  “Does he think to have some handy hold upon me,” she hissed to herself, “that I will come begging his favors like one of those simple doxies he found so willing in bawdy inns?” Suddenly she thought of Milly, who drooled with mouth agape, seeking any tiny tidbit of his attention. How many other wenches of the island had he entrapped?

  “Aye, bronze dragon, if you think to lead me on a leash, you’ll see the set of my own fangs upon your scaly hide.” Her eyes narrowed with venomous thought. “Come hither, my dragon Ruark, and I will show you what entrapments the thorny rose can twine. I will have you groveling at my feet before this night is out, begging some morsel of my kindness.”

  Her determination set, her goal in mind, Shanna readjusted the neckline of her gown again and dabbed a touch of fragrance in the deep hollow between her breasts and behind each earlobe.

  “Perhaps I will let him touch me,” she mused shrewishly, and, at the thought, a hot, searing excitement shot through her breasts. “Aye, I will wander on the porch alone and knowing the lusty wretch, he will join me on some flimsy excuse.” She savored the imagined scene, and a slow smile curved her lips while her eyes sparkled like those of an impish elf. “I shall appear willing—for a time, then grow annoyed and reject him. Then he’ll plead for some kinder consideration.”

  But first, she would shame him to the core for his savage garb before the officers of the Spanish frigate that was in port so he would never wear those disgraceful breeches again without remembering the shame he had to bear. Cloddish colonial. She would teach him a stern lesson on the simple grace of the genteel!

  At her father’s breakfast table, he had comported himself well enough, but this would be the first time he would attend a dinner, a formal occasion. Ahhh, no doubt the young ladies would find him attractive. There would be women enough to admire him, for most of the ship captains of Los Camellos had sailed, and their wives and older daughters would be attending. But the matrons were generally older than he and their daughters somewhat giggly. But then, there was no accounting for tastes, and he had gone after that wench at the inn quickly enough. He might enjoy another virginal conquest or two.

  Shanna passed through the formal dining room, gazing over the table arrangements. The room was aglow with the dazzling, dancing lights of myriad candles, setting asparkle the crystal prisms in the chandeliers, as well as the goblets and china on the long table beneath them. Bouquets of flowers gave off a delicate fragrance that seemed to be magnified in the soft breezes lightly laden with the promised scent of rain sweeping in through the open windows. It had long been the squire’s custom to treat the people of his island, when they dined at the manor, with all the decorum of lordly peers. Sometimes it was just overseers and their wives, but they would have a feast set before them worthy of royalty. Tonight there would be an assorted group; though Ruark was to be the only bondsman in attendance, a few of the senior overseers had been invited. When dining at the Trahern table, one never knew just who their seating companions might be, and it could just as easily be a slave as a duke.

  Shanna paused outside the drawing room and her eyes swept the guests within. The French doors were set wide to catch the coolness of the night. A small group of musicians played chamber music, the strains of which floated above the low buzz of voices. The guests were dressed in their finery, the Spanish officers resplendent in their uniforms, the ladies beautiful in silks and satins and wide voluminous skirts. There was a well-dressed stranger with his back to her who reminded her briefly of Ruark, but Ruark was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had had the common sense to excuse himself from this gathering.

  Trahern approached his daughter and smiled with pride. “Well, my dear, I had almost begun to despair of your joining us, but as usual you have saved the best for last.

  Shanna laughed brightly at his compliment. Then as he led her into the room, she spread her fan before her face and spoke behind it.

  “Papa, you did not tell me there would be other people here.” She gestured over her shoulder toward the stranger. He would be the first site she would taunt Ruark with, she thought cleverly. “Would you introduce him?”

  Trahern stared at her with an odd look in his eye, and Shanna realized the room had slowly grown quiet as they entered. Glancing around, she saw that all eyes were upon her. The men stared with great appreciation, while the women gazed at her with a bit of envy. A few of the matrons cast worrisome glances toward their own suddenly plain, flat-bosomed daughters and greatly wished that Shanna Beauchamp would find herself another spouse and leave the rest of the men to be duly snared by the lesser-endowed maidens.

  Shanna nodded graciously and smiled a greeting and then, in the manner of a hostess, turned to welcome the new—

  “Ruark!” The name burst from her lips, and surprise showed on her face for the briefest moment before she could contain herself, fluttering her fan nervously as she felt his eyes wander down her in that slow regard, unclothing her. He wore a deep hue of blue which accentuated his tall, lean, broad-shouldered frame. A bit of lace fell over his brown hands from the cuffs of a snowy white shirt, and the dark silk stockings and finely tailored breeches showed the narrowness of his hips and the long, firmly muscled legs.

  “I was certain you had met,” her father’s voice came from her side, and from the sound of the underlying mirth Shanna guessed he was enjoying himself.

  At my expense, she mused, but Ruark would not escape that easily.

  Renewing her smile, Shanna swept forward gracefully, presenting her hand as Ruark stepped to her.

  “Mister Ruark.” Her tone was as bright and shiny as a new coin, and she ignored the slight tremor of pleasure that went through her as he caught her fingers. “I did not recognize you in your finery. I had grown so used to your breeches.”

  Ruark’s smile was dazzling and his manner debonair. He showed a fine leg before her in a courtly bow and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, touching his tongue upon it lightly. Shanna gasped and snatched her hand away. She reddened as she realized they had the attention of the entire room. Ruark straightened and gave a lopsided grin to her congealed smile. With an effort Shanna composed herself as the squire, giving her a frown of warning, joined them.

  “ ‘Twas a gift from your father, Madam Beauchamp,” Ruark commented as if asked. His voice caressed the name like a treasured possession, and his eyes dipped momentarily to her breasts. In that brief glance, Shanna felt herself almost branded. Demurely she spread the lace fan across the low cut of her gown, now wishing she had worn something that would have given her more protection from him.

  “On such short notice,” he continued, eyeing her, “I suppose ‘twas the best that could be done with a bit of thread and a bolt of cloth.”

  “Bah!” Trahern burst in. “If that be so, then my tailor has cheated me.” He spoke as if pained as he continued, explaining to Shanna. “This man pleaded poverty until I offered to pay for a brace of suits; then I checked his account. With his miserly ways ‘twill not be long before he owns the island.”

  Ruark chuckled at the chiding. “ ‘Tis easier to save a coin than to earn another to replace it.”

  “And ‘tis my art to know a bargain, Mister Ruark,” Trahern replied. “Rare enough that I am bested in that game. You may count yourself one of few.”

  “Your pardon, sir.” Ruark’s tone was soft in answer, but as he looked at Shanna his words seemed only for her. “But I am one of one.”

  It was as if he clearly announced his intention of being the only man in her life. Beneath his stare Shanna bridled and laid her hand upon her father’s arm.

  “With your leave, papa, I shall see to our other guests.”

  Both men watched her go, and each was troubled in his own way.

  “I cannot fathom this young generation,” Trahern fussed. “I fear they do not have common sense.”

  He halted a passing servant and bade the
man fetch rum and bitters for both himself and Ruark.

  Shanna had placed herself as far as possible away from Ruark and smiled her thanks as Milan brought her a cup of tea. As she sipped it, she mentally regathered her scattered forces. She had lost the first encounter but was far from ready to yield the battle. She espied Madame Duprey with her husband, animatedly chatting with several of the Spanish officers. Aye, Shanna thought, she would launch her campaign here. Let the fool Wyvern know that she was not chattel he could claim exclusively.

  Shanna took another sip of her tea then set it aside, spreading her fan before her as she approached the group.

  “Dear Fayme,” Shanna smiled. “How lovely you look.” And indeed, Madame Duprey was beautiful. Shanna could not understand Jean’s infatuation with other women when such a rare jewel waited at home for him. Shanna thought Jean looked a trifle nervous, and well he should, the cad.

  “Shanna!” Fayme greeted her brightly with that intriguing accent of hers. “And how perfectly wicked you look!”

  “Why, thank you,” Shanna laughed and nodded to the Spanish men who were all smiles and teeth and roaming eyes. “Won’t you share the company, Fayme?”

  Fayme tossed her head back with careless grace. “Ah, Shanna, we will talk of ze less fortunate. Ho-ho, but you are not one of zem. But seriousment, I was so sorry to hear of your misfortune.” She sighed heavily. “Ah, so soon a widow! But come, let me present you to zese men. Zey do very eager to catch your eye.”

  The officers and their captain responded with zealous enthusiasm and long-winded compliments as to the beauty of the women on Los Camellos.

  “Shanna,” Fayme spoke in a pause. “Oo’ eez zat man over zere? Ze ‘andsome one oo’ kiss your hand?”

  Shanna knew well the one. “Mister Ruark, my father’s bondsman.”

  “Such a man!” Fayme exclaimed, causing her husband’s eyebrows to raise. “And a bondslave you say?”