A goodly crowd had gathered around the Trahern carriage, and soon the squire was happily introducing his titled guest to the various shopkeepers and other personages of importance on the island. Sir Gaylord was forced to turn away from Shanna and left her side to acknowledge the compliments and salutations. Smoothing her gown, Shanna scanned the press of people for Ruark’s face. She saw him in the shade of the building, arms folded across his chest as he braced a shoulder against the wall. His hat was cocked forward, obscuring his face, but she knew that tall, lithe form. He was dressed casually, and, in the heat of the day it appeared the most sensible fashion. A white shirt, opened at the throat and ruffled at the cuffs, contrasted sharply with his bronze skin. He was as dark as any Spaniard and his lean, muscular build was accentuated by the close-fitting breeches and white stockings.
Shanna smiled in thought. The tailor must have waxed gleeful at the opportunity to garb such a handsome figure. Most of the men on the island who had money for the richer fabrics and latest styles were well past the prime of life. But Ruark had the good looks and the trim frame to complement the lowest garb, even those boldly shortened breeches. Still, Shanna felt a twinge of disapproval that these breeches should be so narrow in their cut and that Ruark should carelessly flaunt his manliness for the goggling stares of love-smitten girls. Yet she knew he was not one to be overly conscious of his appearance as the dandies of court were, or even this Sir Gaylord who was garbed in laces and velvets and seemed hot enough to burst.
Seeing Shanna momentarily alone, Ruark seized upon his chance and began to make his way toward her through the crowd. His haste and his singleness of mind, however, were his downfall, for suddenly his arms were full of the soft body of a girl, and he was abruptly knocked off balance. A sharp feminine squeal pierced his ears, and Ruark spun half about, grasping the young woman close to keep them both from sprawling headlong.
“ ‘Od’s blood, Mister Ruark,” Milly’s shrill voice giggled. “Ye’re a mite too sudden for a bit of a girl like meself.”
The apology stumbled lamely from Ruark’s tongue. “Uh, your pardon, Milly. I was in a hurry.”
Ruark would have extricated himself, but the girl held onto his arm, clasping it firmly against her small bosom.
“Aye, ‘at I can see, John.” Her familiar use of his name grated against his ears. Suddenly her voice sounded loud enough to carry across the island. “ ‘Twould seem of late ye’re always in a hurry.” Milly’s chuckle struck an uneven chord. “But no need to cart yerself away, John Ruark. ‘Ooever she be, she can wait.”
Ruark tried to hide his irritation. Twisting his arm in an effort to be free of her grasp, he glanced over her dark head toward Shanna who watched them rather tensely. Milly’s hand reached up to caress his chest, and her black eyes smiled into his invitingly.
“Oooh, John,” she sighed. “Ye’re so strong. Just looking at ye can make a tiny girl like meself feel weak and helpless.”
Ruark bit back a harsh speculation as to where her weakness might lie and attempted to pry her fingers loose from his shirt.
“Come now, Milly, I’m in a hurry,” he half growled.
Milly was insistent. “I packed a good basket of vittles with a leg of mutton, John. Why don’t ye come and have a bite to eat with us?”
“My regrets,” Ruark hastened to deny her plea. “The squire has bade me join them at his table.”
He almost freed his arm, but Milly had still another ploy to work.
“Oh,” she whined and leaned heavily against him. “I think I’ve bruised me foot a bit. Will ye ‘elp me to our cart, lovey?”
A broad shadow joined them, and they both glanced up to find Mrs. Hawkins standing before them, arms akimbo and a frown clefting her brow like the blade of an ax.
“Huh!” the woman snorted before either of them could speak. “Bruised foot, indeed! Well, I’ll help ye to the cart. Come along, ye shameless twit. Throwing yerself at Mister Ruark like that. Ye ought to be ashamed.”
Mrs. Hawkins took her daughter by the fat of the arm and, with a quick glance of apology to Ruark, led the girl away. Milly limped until her mother’s hand swung low with a loud whack, startling a yelp from the girl. The bruised foot forgotten, Milly did an amazingly spritely scamper all the way back to their cart.
Ruark chuckled in amusement as he witnessed the haste of Milly’s flight, but he sobered as he turned back to Shanna. She stared at him with a quizzical quirk playing about her lips and a wondering dip to her brow. Ruark knew her well enough to read the storm warnings and hurried forward to allay her wrath. Alas! Such was not to be his luck, for with a shout of greeting Trahern rushed to intercept him, and Ruark was swept aside by Trahern’s bulk just as he reached Shanna. Again Ruark found his arm clasped in another’s grip and, much to his chagrin, he was steered by Trahern back toward the mill. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Sir Gaylord return to Shanna’s side. The knight took her elbow and bent low over her shoulder to whisper some witty comment in her ear.
“Now, Mister Ruark,” Trahern was saying, “let’s get this mill opened and allow these good people to get to their feasting. My daughter will cut the bunting, but I’d like for you to share in this moment.”
Ruark lost the rest of what the squire said as Shanna’s laughter rippled behind him. The sound of it bit at his heart like vinegar in a thirsty man’s throat.
In a salute to King George, tankards of ale and rum and various other brews were raised while the women chose a mild wine to sip. Dedicating the mill led to a series of other toasts, and by the time Shanna was led to the wide doors fronting the place, spirits were high. She was not unaffected by the gaiety, but her elation stemmed from an entirely different source. A few tiny sips of wine could hardly make her so heady with joy. She could not fathom the reason for her own buoyant emotions as she moved to where the bunting was secured, but the realization abruptly dawned when she gazed at Ruark standing with her father. This mill was Ruark’s achievement, and it was ecstatic pride she felt at his accomplishment. Tears suddenly brightened her eyes, and she smiled until the unbidden moisture subsided. Laughing happily, she yanked hard on the hidden rope that held up the mass of bunting. The knots slipped, and the many yards of colorful cloth fell with a multitude of flutters to the platform.
Ruark’s hand joined hers to push aside the heavy bolt, and before this vast audience they both sought hard to ignore the contact. Their eyes met briefly before Ruark stepped away to open the doors, and Shanna was the only one who knew her blush was not completely from the excitement of the moment.
When the doors were flung wide, the people stared into the gaping storeroom which in its emptiness gave more the impression of a cathedral. The noise of the crowd died to a low murmur of amazement; then their attention was drawn away by a shout from the milling gates. Two of the wagons were already being backed into place above the hopper that guided the cane downward. Another shout rent the air, and a team of oxen were prodded into movement in a circular path, setting into motion a great cog above them. It meshed with a large spoked wheel which rotated a shaft that in turn ran into the building. The man who drove the oxen waved to another beside the bin who bent his back to lay a huge lever forward. A loud thump was followed by another, and then the rollers began to turn with slow, ponderous majesty. A heavy rumbling seemed to tremble the very ground, and it caused a feeling of exhilaration in Shanna’s breast. Her heart swelled almost to bursting, and she felt like laughing and crying at the same time. A buzz of voices rose from the people as they watched the first cane taken into the rollers. Restlessly they waited until the lever was moved again, this time ceasing the motion. The rumbling stopped, the oxen were halted. The sudden silence lasted for what seemed to Shanna a very long eternity—then a rattling came from inside the mill. Slowly, one at a time, four great hogsheads of juices were wheeled out onto the platform to be viewed and sampled by all who cared to do so.
It was a crowning achievement. That which would have taken a score
of men most of the afternoon had been done in the time it might take one to sip a cup of tea. A loud, boisterous shout of approval rang from the onlookers. Even Ruark smiled, until Sir Gaylord crossed the platform, stepping between him and Shanna, and took her outstretched hand.
Since the mill was something entirely new to the island, the villagers were allowed to view the interior for themselves now that the actual crushing of the harvested cane had been demonstrated. For many weeks the townsfolk had wondered at this thing being constructed in the hills above their hamlet and now, at long last, their curiosity was to be appeased. They were filled with awe at the ingenuity which had brought it into being, and more than a few were somewhat contrite, because they had once slapped their thighs in uproarious disbelief when informed that the production of the mill was limited only by the speed with which the cane could be dumped into the hopper and that what had been a long tedious month of backbreaking labor could now be handled between Sabbaths.
“May I escort you within, Madam Beauchamp?” Sir Gaylord requested. “I’ve a bit of curiosity about the thing myself. Must have been an Englishman who brought the idea into being.
Shanna smiled in amusement, recognizing the typical English mind. If it was good, it had to be English.
“I’ve already been given a most splendid tour of the place by our bondsman, Sir Gaylord. I’m sure Mister Ruark will be interested in your deduction, but he’s from the colonies, not England as you surmised.”
“Egad! You don’t say he was the one—” Gaylord was clearly astonished. With arrogant poise he sniffed lightly, against his handkerchief. “Ah, well, for a simple brew I suppose one might rely upon some basic common knowledge in the building of a brewing house. Myself, I cannot abide the stuff. I prefer a good wine to that beastly concoction. No gentleman’s brew.”
Shanna smiled like a cat that had just ensnared a rat. “I must inform my father of your findings, sir. Actually, he finds the drink quite tasty.”
Sir Gaylord folded his large hands behind his back and appeared to grow museful. “Perhaps your father would be interested in a more sound investment, Madam Beauchamp. My family has acquired a shipyard in Plymouth, very promising ‘tis, and with your father’s wealth—”
Again the knight blundered like so many others before him, but Sir Gaylord hardly realized what lay behind Shanna’s sidelong glance. Instead, he had suddenly become fascinated with the advantage his height gave him. Standing head and shoulders above Shanna, he had a very pleasurable view of what lay beneath her demure bodice whenever he chanced to look that way, which now was rather often. The higher swell of her creamy breasts was a tantalizing sight for any man, and Sir Gaylord most certainly enjoyed this treat.
Seeing where the knight’s perusal wandered, Ruark was anything but jovial. He hid his churning anger behind a brimming tankard of ale, tipping the mug and drinking the fluid down until the last drop was tasted. After witnessing this feat, Shanna peered at him questioningly, but Sir Gaylord moved between them again, taking her arm. Bending low over her with some inane comment, he casually led her away from Ruark’s presence.
Ruark had no time to react, for his own arm was seized in Trahern’s huge paw. As he was tugged along, he heard a flow of eager words begin with:
“Now as to the sawmill. When do you think—”
Ruark was unaware of what he replied, for in his memory the rest of the conversation was covered by an angry haze through which he saw only the back of the swaggering Sir Gaylord.
Trahern left him as a train of wagons arrived from the manor. The squire’s flock of servants spilled out of the conveyances and began to set up a long row of tables which were quickly covered with hogsheads of ales and beers and smaller kegs of selected wines, sweet and dry, red and white. A last cart was opened and still-steaming sides of lamb, roast pig, fowl of all sorts, and seafood were all laid out with a vast assortment of delicate sauces to complement the meats and to tease the palate. The ladies of the island brought forth their own preparations to add to the feast. As Shanna led Sir Gaylord to inspect the dishes, he spread his hands in surrender and chortled lightly.
“Gracious, I am overwhelmed by this abundance on such a tiny island. Why, surely this must rival the outings in England of my own good kinfolk.”
He missed the glare of several ladies and took Shanna’s amused smile as encouragement. Trahern had come upon them in time to catch his last statement and hastened to offset the error of his remark.
“Ah, Sir Gaylord, ‘tis only that you have not tasted this magnificent fare the ladies have contributed, else you would agree that in all the world no simple outing could rival this one.”
Ruark had followed slowly along, halfheartedly selecting another ale to sip as he regarded the posturing Sir Gaylord. The knight dabbed repeatedly at his forehead with a lace handkerchief and seemed generally to be suffering from the heat. Ruark was not above hoping the man would collapse from it. But at least with Trahern’s close presence, Sir Gaylord held his gaze to something less appealing than Shanna’s bodice.
“I say there, John Ruark.”
Ralston hailed him with his riding crop and came toward him, glancing briefly over his darkly clad shoulder toward the Trahern party. Ruark paused to wait for the man, though his eyes, beneath lowered brows, never left that bit of pink almost hidden by the tall, lanky form of the knight. Ruark was not aware that Shanna returned his perusal, gazing past the Englishman’s arm as she smiled and nodded at the man’s senseless chatter. Ruark only saw Sir Gaylord again lead her away to the end of a separate table where the servants were placing their plates.
“John Ruark.” Ralston demanded his attention in a curt tone and grew red-faced with anger as Ruark responded slowly, finally turning to meet the cold, penetrating glare. “I suggest, Mister Ruark, that you try to keep your yearnings under control, though I well understand the cause.” Ralston gestured casually in the direction of Shanna. “Remember that you are a bondsman and do not think you can exceed your status while I’m about. ‘Tis long been my duty to turn riffraff away from the Trahern door. Indeed, you seem to lack for duties. I suggest you see the pressings to their proper disposal. ‘Twill be a shame for the juices to be lost, for this first should become a selected brew.”
“With due respect, sir,” Ruark’s tone was measured and tightly controlled, “the master brewer approved the laying of every stone and has established his skill. ‘Tis unseemly that I, with less experience in the matter, should oversee his work.”
“ ‘Tis more than apparent to me, Mister Ruark,”—the title was a sneer—“that of late you presume too much. Do as you are told and do not return until the labor is done.”
A long moment passed as haughty glower met carefully blank stare. Then Ruark nodded and strode away to do what he was bidden.
When all the guests were seated at their plates, Shanna found Sir Billingsham at her side and, gazing around the table in wonderment, she noted that Ruark’s plate had been pushed to the foot of the table, far away from his usual place near her father, and that his trencher was as yet unattended. She was quick to note Ralston’s arrival, and the smug smile playing about his normally taciturn lips.
Seating himself at the middle of the table, Ralston gazed with obvious satisfaction at Ruark’s empty place. “For once,” he thought, “that rogue is where he belongs, doing what he should, laboring that his betters might take their ease.”
Lifting his eyes, the agent found Shanna staring at him with a frown gathering on her brow. Hastily Ralston bent his attention to his food, neither marking nor caring that it was not the simple English fare he favored.
Ruark’s day had reached its zenith with the success of the mill. Thereafter, it began to sink with a series of rapid plunges to its nadir. However, that point was not reached until later in the evening, when, returning from his errand, he overheard Madam Hawkins and Mister MacLaird discussing the advantages of the squire’s daughter marrying a lord. He listened for a while and then turned away
in disgust, only to find himself again an unwilling eavesdropper as Trahern expounded upon the touted virtues that a knight might present as a son-in-law. The low ebb was truly found when Ruark overheard the captain of the frigate and the marine major discussing Sir Gaylord’s decision to journey to the colonies with the Traherns. He had even made arrangements for part of his baggage to be taken to the manor, while the greater portion would be carried on the frigate to Richmond to await his arrival there with the Trahens. It was their premise that the knight was looking for a worthy wife and had settled his sights on the squire’s lovely offspring.
The handwriting was not on the wall, but it blazed furiously in Ruark’s mind. The scene was set for that mincing, foppish knave to be proposed to Shanna for a husband. As Ruark drained his cup for the twelfth time, he growled to himself that even she had not seemed too displeased with the gentleman, indeed had been most gracious the entire afternoon.
Ruark made no excuses as he withdrew from the gaieties. Snatching up a large, full flask from the table, he sought out his old mule, mounted its back, and sent it plodding down the hill.
As usual Shanna was the center of much attention. The officers of the frigate came to pay their compliments and lingered long, enjoying the fresh draught of feminine pulchritude after long weeks at sea. Musicians mounted the platform and played for the pleasure of the crowd. A young marine captain led Shanna through a rigadoon, encouraging the other officers to ask for the same favor. The evening should have made her gay, as Shanna had always enjoyed dancing and the lighthearted company of men. However, this evening there was a strange note of discord in her pleasure, and when the rare moments occurred in which she could be alone, Shanna puzzled at her own mood. Events began to drag out interminably, and she became wearied with the tedium of them. She postured and smiled graciously through it all, but her relief was immense when her father finally suggested that the townsfolk be left to enjoy themselves and formed his entourage for departure. For Shanna, it seemed the ride back would never end, and even the breathtaking view of the moonlit surf failed to stir her. Upon their arrival at the manor, she quickly excused herself from Sir Gaylord, drawing a frown of disappointment from the man, and sought the peace of her own chambers.
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