Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

Searching in the dark, Ruark struck a flint to flame, then lit a candle which blazed and illuminated the room. He rose and went around the bed, collecting her clothes from the floor. Shanna carefully pulled the sheet around her, sitting up on the edge of the bed, and her eyes avoided him as he handed her the garments.

  “Will you put your breeches on?” she requested softly as she stared down at her hands folded primly in her lap. She threw him a quick, furtive look and shrugged at his questioning gaze. “You seem so naked standing there.”

  Her gaze flicked down him then fled completely. She felt awkward, conscious of him watching her while he waited for her to continue. Pointedly keeping her eyes toward the window, she spoke in a rush.

  “I don’t think you are very modest. You—you seem so casual about it all.”

  Ruark’s brow twisted dubiously as he studied the heightened color of her cheeks. Would he ever understand her moods? But he relented to her request and donned his breeches.

  “Madam, as you should remember,” he said as he fastened them, “ ‘tis most difficult making love fully clothed, and I for one prefer it more intimate. I fear you’ll have to get used to seeing me in the altogether. A bride can only claim shyness for so long.”

  The green eyes were wide as they turned on him. “You don’t believe this can continue?”

  Ruark frowned at her. “And why, madam, should I believe otherwise?”

  Shanna came abruptly to her feet, dropping the sheet to the floor, and began dressing herself, oblivious to her own nakedness and its warming effect on Ruark.

  “This thing—last night—it just happened,” Shanna hotly insisted. “It must not continue, for your sake as well as mine. Can you not be satisfied that the bargain is done? Must you be a rutting knave who’s always lusting and never appeased? If you were a gentleman—”

  Ruark’s burst of laughter halted the flow of words abruptly, and Shanna spun around, her eyes flashing with indignant sparks.

  “How quickly you chasten me, as if you’re sorely set upon. You can hardly blame me for the whole of what happened last night, madam. And there you stand, all soft and tempting and naked. Then you rebuke me for staring. Fickle woman,” he teased. “You would taunt me and reject me like all those other men you’ve led about with your silken looks.”

  “Ooohh!” Shanna fumed and hurriedly snatched her garments on. “You’re despicable!”

  “Do you think so, madam?” Ruark took her in his arms, kissing her hair, her cheek, and caressing her lips with his own. He pressed her back upon the bed, and his mouth traveled downward to where her blouse left the higher curves of her breasts bare, then went lower still to venture the crest. Shanna held her breath, and the fires of passion again began to flare within her. A touch, a kiss, a look, and he could rouse her. What madness was this?

  “Your heart beats much too swiftly for you to claim disinterest, my love.”

  Her lips trembled as he claimed them fiercely with his own.

  “Promise to meet me later,” he breathed.

  “I cannot. Do not ask.”

  “I ask.”

  “Nay, I cannot. I must get home, Ruark. Let me go.” Shanna’s head swam dizzily beneath the assault of his kisses, and her voice became weaker. “Please—Ruark—”

  “You’ve set your mind to torment me,” he sighed.

  For a long moment his hungering mouth searched the sweetness of hers. Then quite suddenly he released her, bouncing off the bed with a quick display of rugged muscles. Her soft lips still throbbing from the demand of his, Shanna came almost reluctantly off the bed, having somewhere lost much of her desire to leave. Slowly she walked before him as they left the cottage, feeling his hand now and then brush a tumbled lock or lightly stroke her bare arm.

  They went through the darkness toward the manor. The birds were already awakening with the freshening breezes of the coming dawn and were testing their voices for their overture, sounding much like the first hesitant notes of flutes, oboes, and other woodwinds. Silent and introspective, Shanna strode beside Ruark. The damp grass was cool beneath her bare feet, and the trees sprinkled the two of them with raindrops as the breezes rustled the lush foliage. Staying to the deepest shadows, they quickly crossed the clearing to the house and were soon beneath Shanna’s balcony.

  “You’d best go back now,” she murmured. “I’ll go around to the stairs.”

  Ruark gazed upward toward the veranda. “ ‘Twould not be a difficult task getting you up if you’d care to venture this way.”

  Shanna peered at him doubtfully. “I’d likely break my neck.”

  “Trust me, love,” Ruark laughed. “You’re not very big. I can have you up in a moment.” He bent his knee slightly. “Turn your back to me, give me your hands, and put your foot here on my thigh. You can sit on my shoulder and you’re halfway there.”

  Hesitantly Shanna did as bade and was amazed at how effortlessly the maneuver was performed. When she paused on his shoulder, she glanced down, and the sound of her gaiety bubbled in the stillness of morn. She remarked rather risquély, “For a bondslave you always seem to give me a lift in my hour of need. I think I shall keep you around for your service.”

  Playfully Ruark nipped her buttock, drawing a muffled protest from Shanna and hastening her journey upward. With his hand under her backside and the other steadying her leg, he raised her up until she could grasp hold of the lower part of the balustrade; then he lifted her higher until she could put her foot on the vine and pull herself up the rest of the way. When she found firm footing on the balcony, Shanna gave a soft, pleased laugh at her accomplishment and bent over the railing to wave him off.

  “My thanks, sir dragon,” she called softly.

  Ruark chuckled lightly as he swept his arm before his chest and bowed. “Anything to be of service, madam.”

  He strode off with that slow, deliberate saunter that reminded her so much of a hunting animal. Fascinated, Shanna watched until she could see him no more. She turned languidly, lifting her hair high off her neck as she smiled to herself, her eyes dreamy and bright with a glowing radiance. She moved into the bedroom, tugging at the ties of her blouse, and froze as a figure stepped from behind the draperies.

  “Sir dragon, indeed!” The voice was heavy with displeasure.

  “Hergus!” Shanna gasped and tried to quiet the frightened pounding in her breast. “You scared me nigh free of my wit! Why are you about at this hour? And in my room?”

  “I was worried ’bout ye. I know how ye fear the storms so, and I come to sit with ye ‘til it passed. When I found ye gone, I waited, fearing yer pa might come, too. I was set to put meself in yer bed and make him think it were you there safely asleep, as ye should’ve been, had ye any sense.”

  Anxious to be alone with her own thoughts and memories of the hours passed, Shanna was not in the mood to argue with the woman.

  “I’m going to bed,” she firmly stated. “Stay if you will or go. It makes no difference. But whatever, hold your tongue. I won’t listen to you at this hour of the morning.”

  Brushing quickly past Hergus, Shanna crossed to the bed where she had left her nightgown. Dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, but she doffed her peasant garb, turning her back to Hergus who stood in a much aggravated stance, arms akimbo, and wore a much-perturbed scowl. For the first time in her life, Shanna felt awkward, even embarrassed by her own nudity with the servant present, though the Scotswoman had helped her to dress almost from her first breath. Was it just the magenta hue of the wakening sun that painted the rosy glow on her breasts and thighs, or was it a brand from Ruark’s body joining hers? At the flooding memory of the hours gone by, Shanna flushed with hot color and hastened to slip on the short gown.

  “I’ll go,” Hergus sighed unhappily. “But I will na be content ‘til ye cease yer foolery. Shameful ‘tis, sleeping with a man, letting him do what he wants with ye without the least of vows atwixt ye. Aaiiee, I knew ‘twould bode ill when ye were widowed so soon after ye wed, lovely thi
ng that ye be and hot-blooded—that I can see for meself. You and Mister Ruark, both of ye the same. Too many fires to cool.”

  Showing a small pout, Shanna plopped herself down in the middle of the bed and watched Hergus from beneath lowered brows as the woman picked up the discarded clothes, folded them and carefully put them away in the armoire. When the maid had gone, Shanna threw a last glare at the door. Then, presenting her back to it, she slid down between the silken sheets and drifted contentedly to sleep with the memory of strong arms about her and persistent lips against hers blending into her dreams.

  Chapter 10

  THE SABBATH CAME; one chapel on the island served those who felt inclined to meet together in worship. It was the custom of the Trahern family to attend the services, and this day was no different in that respect. The exception this morning was that Ruark was there. Passing into the church, he brushed against Shanna and by some strange instinct she knew who it was even before she turned. Her gaze moved, as if compelled, to the back of the trim, tall man clothed in forest green silk.

  “Ho, Mister Ruark,” the squire called jovially, and Ruark faced them as if surprised to find himself so near the Trahern family. Shanna marveled at his coolness. He was so casual about it all that no one, except perhaps Hergus who stood beyond them several paces looking back, could have guessed he had maneuvered himself so with deliberation.

  Ruark returned the elder’s greeting before his regard passed to Shanna, feasting for a brief moment on her beauty as she stood in a shaft of sunlight, gowned in pale green lawn. She was as tempting as any confection he had ever set his eyes upon. She smiled at him coolly from beneath the wide brim of her hat.

  “Why, Mister Ruark, I do believe you’re becoming civilized. Wearing clothes and coming to church? I can hardly believe my eyes.”

  A roguish grin twisted his mouth. “I didn’t want to shock the minister unduly with my meager garb.”

  “Oh?” Shanna responded. “I didn’t think anything bothered you, Mister Ruark. You’ve certainly shown no hesitancy wearing those dreadful breeches in the village where all the girls gawk at you. If you were modest, ‘twould seem that the village is the place to begin so you’d not abuse innocent minds overly much.”

  Trahern leaned on his cane, eyeing the two, and wondered if their discussion would dissolve into more biting barbs. He could not understand his daughter’s irritation with the man.

  “Madam,” Ruark said, spreading a brown hand over his lacy white jabot and seeming to make mockery of a humble apology, “I do not mean to abuse the innocent mind.” His eyes met hers squarely. “Nor do I wish to overly confuse the simple mind. But I have always respected a man of the cloth and give due credence to words and vows spoken in a church.”

  Shanna’s eyes narrowed slightly. So, the rogue! Now that the bargain was done, he would claim her by right of wedlock. Well, so he might think, but she had other things in mind, and she would not play wife to any bondsman.

  “Sit with us, Mister Ruark,” Trahern invited, trying to avoid a public scene, and caught his offspring’s glare for his effort.

  “I’m sure Mister Ruark will much prefer sitting with Milly Hawkins,” Shanna replied tersely. She waved her fan in the direction of the young woman, who craned her neck to watch Ruark over her mother’s shoulder. “She seems to be agog over your new clothes, Mister Ruark.”

  Briefly Ruark glanced in the girl’s direction, and Milly was suddenly aglow, a wide smile of pleasure beaming on her face.

  “Why, thank you, squire.” He directed his words to Trahern, ignoring Shanna. “I would enjoy that very much.”

  The squire preceded them, a low, muted chuckle setting his belly to shaking. His hands folded behind his back, Ruark walked along beside him and nodded as Trahern spoke. In the family box, Shanna quietly took a place beside her father and mostly ignored Ruark as she found herself again the object of Hergus’s shaming frown.

  The chairs in the Trahern box were massive, with tall backs, and were spaced close together so all the carved wooden arms touched, except for the one belonging to Orlan Trahern himself. He sat slightly apart in order to give his bulk adequate room. The remaining chairs and those smaller ones placed before them, obviously made for children, were reserved for Shanna and her anticipated husband and offspring. Shanna would have choked before she would have revealed to Ruark that the chair he chose was the one intended for her spouse. He had already claimed too many of his husbandly rights for her peace of mind. Watching him askance, Shanna saw Ruark’s eyes take in the smaller seats and sweep the three large chairs that were occupied by them. Since there was a second row of chairs behind them for guests and she sat between her father and him, there was only one conclusion to be drawn. Shanna saw in his knowing grin that he well accounted for the chairs.

  Dropping her gaze, Shanna surreptitiously studied the hand resting near her own. It was dark against the dazzling white of his ruffled cuff but clean, with nails neatly trimmed and given some care, out of character for an ordinary bondsman. Yes, John Ruark was a man totally different from any she had ever come across. Though known as a bondslave, he could pass as a peer in any circle of nobles and lords.

  “How is it that you never found a wife in the colonies, Mister Ruark?” Shanna asked deliberately. “Is there a shortage of women there?”

  “No shortage, milady. Indeed, there are many beautiful women there.” He grinned as his eyes met hers with warm communication. “Though none to equal yourself, madam. ‘Twas only that work held me much in hand and permitted little leisure time for me to pursue a lady’s company. It sorely plagued my father as he believed I was too dedicated to a single life of toil. But then in England, a sweet young thing quite firmly caught my fancy. Someday I hope to convince her that I would be a fit husband.”

  “There’s room enough for a large family here,” Trahern commented, gesturing about to the chairs. “But alas, I have yet to see the pew sufficiently filled. Should she ever find a fit husband, ‘twill be a miracle.”

  Shanna gave little heed to her father’s gibe and pointed glance and refused to acknowledge even hearing Ruark’s comments.

  “I am still young,” she said primly. “And I will no doubt mother many children for your old age, papa.”

  “Huh,” Trahern snorted. “I am already old. Find yourself a hearty man, and hurry, daughter, I pray thee, hurry.”

  “Papa!” Shanna gave a quick smile to her father which he accepted more as a grimace of irritation. “I’m sure we are boring Mister Ruark. Indeed, he seems to be lacking sorely of rest.”

  The squire peered past his daughter at his bondsman, who was hiding his mirth behind what appeared to be a pained yawn.

  Saved from further aggravation by the call to worship, Shanna gave a special prayer of gratitude for the promptness of the minister. Throughout the service, however, she was ever aware of the presence at her side. As the harpsichord played and the congregation sang, the deep richness of Ruark’s baritone roused a tingling within her, and she could do little more than mouth the words to the song herself.

  It was only after they had left the small church that Shanna finally drew an easy breath and relaxed a bit. The strain of having to guard each glance and of trying to appear unaffected by Ruark’s nearness while at the same time displaying a polite, albeit somewhat strained, facade for the benefit of her father had proved much unsettling. In the barouche on the ride home, she could only question her own sanity at ever taking Ruark Beauchamp as husband. He was like a beast of the wilds, caught and tamed to all appearances but dangerous to the unwary. Her once firm belief that she could control him was rapidly being replaced by a nagging fear that she had made an awesome error.

  Shortly after lunch, feeling in need of strenuous exercise to tire her mind as well as her body, Shanna ordered Attila saddled. She sought out her father in his study to invite him on the outing.

  “There is naught about a piece of leather strapped to the back of a horse,” he snorted derisively, “tha
t appeals to my sense of ease. I have not the least desire to have my backside pounded around this island whenever you are wont to venture out.” But to soften his words, he added. “Go and enjoy yourself, girl. Pitney will soon be here to see me to another game of chess.”

  Thus Shanna rode alone up the hill toward the site of the crushing mill. On one of the narrow streets of the village she passed Ralston, but as he paused and tipped his hat in greeting, Shanna pressed her steed into a faster pace, ignoring the man and spurring on the stallion along the road to the hill.

  The day was pleasant, almost cool, with gusts of wind that billowed out the skirt of her dove gray riding habit and loosened tendrils of hair about her face. As she drew near the construction site, Attila began to prance a bit beneath her, tossing his fine head and lifting his legs smartly as he sidled along the road. Shanna was an experienced equestrienne, yet this afternoon she gave little heed to the animal whose nervousness on any other day might have been a warning to her. A tinkling of a bell and a rustling in the bushes alongside the path proved to be a goat loose from its tether. It darted onto the road in front of them and shot away, making Attila rear in fright. Pawing the air with his forefeet, the horse jerked his head against the bite of the bit. Caught off guard, Shanna felt the reins snatched from her hand. She had to struggle to keep from falling. The stallion came down free of restraint and was set to run. He had taken only a single lunge when a sharp, clear whistle split the air. Attila halted with a bounce that brought Shanna’s teeth together with a click, then, as sedately as a weanling colt, the horse began to trot along the path toward the mill.

  The horse responded in that manner for only one person. Ruark! Clinging to Attila’s mane, Shanna glanced about in search of him and saw him waiting beside a partially raised wall of the structure. Once again he was clad in the brief breeches, his lean, brown torso contrasting sharply against the bleached whiteness of the garment. At the sight of those pants, Shanna could have screamed her ire at him.