Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Ruark gathered the reins to tie them to a hitching rail. His own anger sounded in his voice. “If you must ride this damned beast, madam, you might do so with more care for your safety. If you ride out to dawdle and daydream, then find yourself a gentle gelding.”

  The rebuke did not sit well with Shanna and was even more rankling because she knew he spoke the truth. Attila was not what most young ladies would have chosen for a genteel mount. The animal was spirited and eager and needed a firm, attentive hand on the reins.

  “Is my father such a harsh taskmaster that he must set you to laboring on the Sabbath?” Shanna snapped. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to look over a few things without the workmen here.” Ruark took hold of her, his long fingers slipping about her narrow waist, and as he stood close beside the horse, he let her slide down against his nearly naked frame until his eyes gleamed devilishly into hers. “Until you appeared, my love, I was certain my day was lost.”

  He set her feet to the ground and bent to kiss her. But casually, as if oblivious to his nearness, Shanna swept off her hat, placing it between them.

  “And pray, sir, how have I saved it for you?” There was a coolness in her voice that she struggled hard to maintain. She stepped away from him, tossing her hat on the horn of the saddle. Where his body had touched, her own burned, and she could still feel the pressure of his fingers on her waist. “I came only to see the progress of the mill. Had I known you were about, I would have sought a different pleasure.”

  Ruark grinned and stretched out a hand to smooth her hair. “Ah, love, do you still fear me?”

  Shanna straightened indignantly and pushed his hand away. “ ‘Tis only that I prefer not to be mauled and ogled as you seem to have a penchant for doing. The completion of the bargain has hardly cooled your lusts.”

  “Aye, love, not very,” Ruark confided lightly as he drew her to him. “Indeed, it has done much to stir them.”

  Shanna placed her riding crop pointedly between them, but Ruark’s strong, possessive fingers clasped her tightly, and she could not still the tremor that passed through her body.

  “Try to restrain yourself, Ruark,” she cautioned. “I did not come to lie with you, only to view the mill. Now I wonder if ‘tis safe to stay. You seem never appeased.”

  Ruark’s eyes burned like golden embers behind his dark lashes. “Aye, you tempt me sorely, Shanna.”

  His gaze touched a quickness within her, and Shanna quickly averted her eyes. No one before Ruark had ever set her to trembling for any reason, much less with a look or mere words. What was there about this colonial that aroused her so? There had been other handsome men, some most dashing and daring who had gallantly begged for her hand. They had bored her. There had been those whom she considered intelligent, but she had admired their minds and little else. There were young men she had thought much in need of maturing, yet the idea of having an old man as her husband and bedding him repulsed her immensely. Ruark had both youth and an agile mind, and just the memory of his lovemaking filled her with a delicious excitement, leaving her breasts almost aching for his caresses and her loins hungering for the consuming heat of his passion.

  Greatly disturbed by the path of her mind, Shanna drew away. Was she some hussy that she must crave his amorous attentions all the time?

  “Will you show me the mill?” She glanced away then peered up at him. “And will you behave?”

  “I’ll show you the mill,” Ruark lightly replied but made no vow to the latter question.

  Slowly they strolled along as he pointed out and explained the construction. Shanna was familiar with the operation wherein the cane was fed into the wheels of a small mill mounted on the bed of a wagon and then taken to the fields where it was needed. But she stared with some awe and amazement at the structure that was being raised in the sheltered vale.

  The three huge rollers had been set in place to await whole wagonloads of cane, and there was a mammoth vat to catch the juices. Two wings extended outward from the crushing mill, one being fitted with large copper boilers to cook the thin syrup into treacle, while the other was to house fermentation vats and a brass distillery which would turn out the various rums—the black to replenish His Majesty’s ships with grog and the light brews which would grace any table.

  Part of Shanna’s mind followed Ruark’s words while the rest of her attention centered on the man. Here, she thought, he was in his element. His voice bore an edge of authority, and his manner was sure and confident. He stood out on a beam barely wide enough for his foot and strode casually to the middle of it as he explained and pointed out the workings of the mill. From every angle, Shanna saw him: from behind as he preceded her along a narrow walk, from above as he reached up to lift her down an unfinished flight of stairs, from the side as he swept his arm outward to show her the easy simplicity of his plan, from below as he climbed up a ladder to a lofty platform high above the works.

  Silently Shanna followed him, sensing the pride he took in his labors. It came to her that he was a man who did not know how to do less than his best. He committed himself to every goal and pursued it to an exacting end. Her wonder grew as she studied him, and her curiosity grew apace.

  Surely there is more to him, she mused, than a simple bondslave. The answer came of its own accord in her mind. Of course, she had always known that. He never was a slave to any man, nor, for that matter, to any woman.

  Shanna’s mien grew thoughtful. She tried to imagine what kind of home gave birth to a man such as he and what sort of a hand had nurtured him.

  Ruark’s soft chuckle shattered her imaginings, and Shanna looked at him questioningly. His eyes were on her, and they twinkled with tiny golden lights of amusement.

  “I fear I’ve been too detailed in my tour.” His smile was only slightly apologetic. “But at least you will be able to answer any questions one might ask of the mill.”

  “I’ve seen parts of the mill before and listened to others describe it. ‘Tis truly a marvel.”

  Shanna leaned back against a timber as much to steady herself, for the height was dizzying, as to brace her mind, because the door she was about to open with her words might hide many sorts of spectres.

  “And what do I answer when people ask me of you, John Ruark?” She plunged on, though his brow raised at her change of topic. “I know so little of you. What of your family? You spoke of your father this morn. Does he know of that affair in London?”

  “I hope not. Nay, I pray not.” Ruark stared into the distance, his countenance troubled. “His strength would be sorely tested if those rumors reached his ears and he thought me dead. Would that I could spare him that.”

  “What of your mother?” Shanna persisted. “Do you have brothers? Sisters? You have made no mention of them.”

  Ruark faced her with a smile threatening at the corners of his lips. “How can I boast of them, Shanna, when the lot of us are only cloddish colonials?”

  Shanna took the chide in stride and despaired of gaining more knowledge of him. Wistfully she moved her gaze outward to the green-swathed hills that shouldered around, closing in the mill site. A blue haze hung on them as a cloud thrust deliberate billows upward as if drawing in its breath repeatedly and expanding itself until it could exhale all in a sudden storm. A pair of sea eagles wheeled in wide circles beneath the clouds, riding upward on the currents of air until they entered the white mists. A few moments later they plunged out with folded wings on the other side of the hill. They seemed to play at the game of riding the cyclone currents of the storm until they were hurled free of it

  With a gay laugh Shanna turned to bring Ruark’s notice to the strange antics of the birds but found his attention boldly measuring her softer parts. When she had relaxed against the timber, she had presented him a daring profile of her round bosom straining against the cloth of her bodice. And Ruark was a man to enjoy all sights, though of late he was bent to limit his observations to Shanna whenever she was around.

&nb
sp; Immediately Shanna straightened herself and faced him squarely, waiting until his gaze rose to meet hers. Even in church that morning, she had felt herself the prey of that hawkish stare.

  “Your eyes betray the path of your mind,” Shanna accused him brusquely. “ ‘Tis rude to stare so openly, and most slanderous to do so in church.”

  “I was but admiring you.” The amber eyes glowed, and his grin was almost taunting. “You were the most beautiful woman I saw there, and like most of the other men I was but admiring beauty.”

  “You are more bold than others,” she scolded. “I feel ravished every time you look at me.”

  Ruark’s grin grew almost into a leer. “You read my thoughts too well, madam. Frequently I have fantasies of you naked in my arms.”

  “You’re a rogue! A lewd, evil-minded rogue!” Shanna cried, her cheeks flushed and hot. “I despair of what will come from all this. And what if I’m with child? ‘Twould be disastrous!”

  “Only if you make it to be, love,” Ruark replied smoothly.

  “Oh, you!” Shanna raged. “What care you of my dilemma? I’d have to face my father, while you no doubt would find some safe haven to protect your precious back from a flogging!”

  Ruark peered at her closely. “Have you some indication you’re with child, Shanna? Perhaps the month has been overlong with you?”

  Shanna shook her head with a small, irritated jerk and tumed away from his seaching eyes, somewhat embarrassed. “Nay, not yet.”

  Ruark reached out to touch her shoulder. “Then soon, mayhaps, love, and you’ll be more at ease.”

  Shanna pulled away from his soft caress. “Must you pry into my very life?” She bristled more than a mite. “Am I to have no secrets from you?”

  Beneath his fingers, the smooth coil of hair at her nape tumbled to freedom. Ruark lifted a copious lock of her hair and inhaled the delicious fragrance that wafted from it. He murmured close to her ear, stroking the silken locks.

  “From your husband, nay, my love. If the seed has already taken, we can only accept the fact.”

  With true anger Shanna whirled to face him, and Ruark knew he had pressed too far. “Oh? And what would you do if I were with babe, my bumptious knight, my gracious lord and master?” She sneered. “Will you take the child from my loins and name it yours?”

  “Of a certainty, madam,” Ruark assured her. “But therein lies the problem.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Should we name him after John Ruark, admit ourselves lovers, and then be wed? Again? Or should we name him after Ruark Beauchamp, as is his right, and then confess the lot—that we were married from the first—and throw ourselves upon your father’s mercy?”

  In outrage Shanna stamped her foot. He was making a jest of it all and laughing at her. Oooh, how she loathed him! Vehemently she longed to set him back upon his heels.

  “You are crude,” she railed, magnificent in a high rage, her eyes flashing hot sparks. “You’re a barbarian of the lowest sort! You banter with my pride and toss about my honor lightly. You would spirit from me the very thing I have thus far labored to have, my right to take the husband of my choice.” She threw up a hand to emphasize her words then jerked it down to glare at him. “Am I, then, to bear your bastards meekly?”

  The stony silence finally penetrated through her consciousness, and Shanna’s heart leapt almost fearfully as Ruark’s thin, hard fingers slipped through her hair to the nape of her neck, curling in the soft mass until her head was pulled back and she stared up into his face. The muscles in his jaw flexed tensely while the amber eyes, cold with rage, bored into hers.

  “They’ll not be bastards, madam. You are my wife.”

  Shanna started and shook her head in denial, trying to struggle free. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists as if by sheer dint of will she could deny his words. “The bargain’s done with!” she gasped breathlessly. “You agreed!”

  “Then what of the vows?” he snarled. “Do you think they were lightly spoken to be discarded at your will?” In the face of her stubborn refusal, Ruark pressed on jeeringly. “Do you honor that which was sworn on an altar less than that in a lowly cell? How do you explain that you’re a widow when I’m much alive and in a good state of health, to which you can well attest?” His words became cruel, insulting. “Have you found my vigor wanting, madam, that you must take another husband, spreading yourself beneath him to sample the delights he might give you?”

  Shanna stared at him aghast, and Ruark laughed caustically.

  “Might, madam. I said might. Mayhap ‘twould be your lot to wed some well-named but poorly able lord and spend the rest of your nights yearning for a real man. Or would you beckon me then to please you when your fine lord cannot?”

  The bright hue of Shanna’s cheeks and the flashing of her eyes gave mute evidence to the effect of his savage, cutting words.

  “You beast!” She snarled the words slowly, raising her quirt as if she would lay it across his face. “You would set me to your ends and deny my say in the matter. You are frivolous when there is little to be lost by you. You could as well flee and leave me fat-bellied with child!” She tossed her head away from his hand. “As men are, you are free to your every whim.”

  “Free!” Ruark gave a derisive snort. “Nay, madam, I am a bondslave, and if my master should choose to sell me away, I would have little choice in the matter.” He leaned close before her now, and his voice rose as he chafed under the lash of her words. “And flee? Be a renegade all my life? Madam, let me assure you I will not!”

  “Aye, a renegade you truly are,” Shanna stormed, throwing her arms akimbo. “But I have all to lose.”

  “All to lose! Ha!” he snorted then bellowed into her face as he bent nearer. “And what more can I lose but my neck? Do you think I value it so little that I lightly regard your state? Do you think I seek the hangman for a godfather?”

  Shanna’s voice shrilled. “I think you’re a pompous ass!”

  “And you’re a much coddled brat!” Ruark roared. “Methinks I shall do what your father didn’t and turn you across my knee for a good backsiding.”

  The green eyes glared at him threateningly. “You touch me, Master Ruark Beauchamp, and I’ll flay the hide from your naked carcass!”

  They stood high above the half-constructed mill, nose to nose on a narrow platform which trembled beneath their rage, but neither took notice. The small storm cloud broke free of its mooring on the hill and sailed straight across the valley, leading a whole flock of its kin toward them.

  “You jackanape!” Shanna choked beneath those smirking amber eyes. “You senseless clod! You brutish dolt—”

  There was a blinding flash of lightning close above their heads. In the next instant the deafening, crackling sizzle of thunder encased them in a volley of sound. Shanna started violently, and in sudden panic she fell against Ruark, half turning, her hands clutched at his bare arm, her fingers biting deep, and her eyes wide with fear. Close on the heels of the fading roar, another charge of lightning seared the air, and Shanna, pale and shaking, could only cringe like a frightened child. Ruark had thought there was little in the world that could stir her to such a fright. She had shown such courage in the face of diverse difficulties. His anger dissolved rapidly, and he placed an arm about her shoulders, holding her trembling form close as he led her to the ladder. The first chilling drops of rain were already pelting them, and the wind rattled the loose boards beneath their feet.

  “Have a care, Shanna,” Ruark warned above the gusts. “The place is high and the way steep.”

  The wind swept any reply from her lips, and Shanna had to gasp for breath itself. She eagerly began the descent after Ruark. By the time they reached the landing, he had to shout close by her ear.

  “The overseer’s hut. That shack over by the road. Run!” He pushed her ahead of him, and, lifting her skirts, Shanna dashed across the platform, down the steps, and across the cleared yard to the simple shanty he had indicated. Gasping for breath, Sh
anna fell back against the door. Ruark was a step behind her, and he bent close above her to give her some shelter from the now brutal force of the rain as he fumbled with the latchstring on the door.

  A jagged flash crossed the sky, and a rolling crash of thunder boomed in their ears. Shanna shuddered fearfully, hiding her face against Ruark’s chest and huddling close to him, her long fingernails digging into his naked back. The awesome peal faded, and after a long moment Shanna drew back and gazed up at Ruark, not caring that streams of water ran down her face. There was an odd look in his eyes as he stared down at her. Slowly his head lowered, and his lips parted as they met hers. The rain drummed his back unheeded while his mouth leisurely savored hers. His hand on the latch moved, and the stubborn door opened easily now as if welcoming them into the sheltered dark interior. Sweeping her into his arms, Ruark strode within, pushing the door shut with his shoulder.

  The wind howled, the thunder roared, the lightning flashed and the hut shook—whether from the storm within or the storm without the two of them gave it no mind. In the aftermath they lay close together on the narrow cot which served as an occasional bed. Shanna’s clothes were draped over a chair before a fire that crackled and spit on the small cooking hearth, while outside a light rain still fell. Beneath the patter on the roof, they were silent in each other’s arms, much subdued, their emotions for the moment spent.

  Her cheek against his sturdy brown shoulder, Shanna lightly stroked the furry expanse of Ruark’s chest and the bare skin of his arm and ribs. The languid contentment of the moment refused to be disturbed. She had not meant to tumble into bed with him so willingly, but now that she was here she could gather no urge to leave.

  Shanna propped on Ruark’s chest to stare down into his face, meeting his warm regard. Her soft breasts were like velvet against him, and it was sweet, delicious torture to have his skin seared by the pale peaks.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Shanna inquired softly, tracing the tips of her fingers across his lips.

  Ruark cocked a wondering brow at her. “Why, Shanna,” a lazy smile tugged at a corner of his mouth, “I’ve told you before that you are my only love.”