Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  The surging pain in Ruark’s head made him aware of the slow rolling motion of the floor beneath him. It seemed to rock him in a cradle, and through his muddled senses he heard only an odd creaking. His world expanded, and he realized he was gagged and bound tightly with a musty sack pulled down over his head and shoulders. The rough flooring beneath him became a small boat. He recognized the squeaking of oarlocks and the slow lap of water against the wooden sides. There was only this and heavy breathing from close-by, and he realized he was being rowed out to sea, for what mischief yet he could not perceive, but he had a fair guess it stemmed from Shanna. He jeered bitterly in the dark void of his confinement. She could not even hear him out before she passed judgment.

  “I guess ye’ve done it this time,” Pitney’s voice rasped, and Ruark became aware that the man was muttering to himself. He lay still, feigning unconsciousness, and listened at the rumbling words that threaded through his aching brain. “I cannot drop ye to the fish, and mayhap this here will be worse for ye, but she said to get ye gone, one way or the other, and I’d better do it ere she find some other way to be rid of ye.” A long pause of silence mingled with the creaking of oars, then a heaving sigh. “If ye’d only had the good sense, lad, to leave the filly be. I warned ye once, but I guess ye forgot. I’ve been too long seeing the lass safe to let her be taken against her will, even by you.”

  Ruark cursed in his mind and tried to loosen the ropes about his wrists, but they were tied hard and fast. There was only futility in struggling anyway. He could not imagine Pitney taking away his gag to listen to him, not when Shanna had convinced the man of her plight.

  The rowing slowed, and a voice hailed the boat. Pitney called back, and several moments later Ruark was thrown over the huge man’s shoulder and carted onto the deck of the ship where he was unceremoniously dumped. Ruark held back a groan and remained motionless, though it seemed his whole body throbbed with the pain in his head. He could not catch the words in the exchange of voices, but he heard the clink of coins as a fair sum was counted out. A heavy thud of feet crossed the deck, and Ruark knew Pitney was making his departure. Not long afterwards, the sack was jerked off Ruark’s head, and the gag snatched from his mouth. To his displeasure a bucket of sea water was tossed upon him, and he was roughly hauled to his feet as he sputtered beneath this assault. Still bound, he was tied to a mast. A lantern was thrust near, and an ugly face leered in its light.

  “Well, laddie, so ye’re comin’ round,” a hoarse voice snarled. “Ye’ll do nicely here ‘til we can tend to ye.”

  The lantern went away. Amid soft commands the sails were unfurled, the anchor raised. Soon a freshening dawn breeze was licking at Ruark’s face, and the schooner was skipping along over the waves. Ruark bent his neck around and watched as the lights of Los Camellos faded from view. At last Shanna had seen him off her island.

  Sighing, Ruark resigned himself and leaned his head back against the mast. Somehow he would find a way to return and renew his claims. This changed nothing. She was still his wife. But first he must make the best of his situation and survive.

  Ruark spent his first night aboard ship lashed to the pinrail at the base of the main mast. The schooner had little more than left sight of the island when the anchor was dropped again, and, with sails flapping loose, the ship swung about and rested on her chains. With the exception of the watch on the quarterdeck, the vessel remained devoid of life. It was not until the sun was a good two hours up that a crewman wandered close enough to be halted by Ruark’s request. The man shrugged his shoulders and made his way aft where a few moments later a heavyset Englishman ventured forth and, after leaning against the rail for a space, noticed Ruark and came to stand before him.

  “ ‘Twould seem to me, sir,” Ruark opened the conversation, “that there is little reason for me to be so bound and secured, as I have done you no harm and most certainly intend none. Is it not possible that I could be released to see to my needs?”

  “Well now, laddie,” the Englishman drawled. “We ain’ got no reason to see ye uncomfortable, but I ain’ got no reason to trust ye, neither.” He squinted one eye down at Ruark. “Why, I don’t know ye none at all.”

  “ ‘Tis a simple enough problem to cure,” Ruark returned. “Ruark’s the name. John Ruark, of late a trusted bondsman to his majesty Lord Trahern.” It was inspiration alone that let a trace of a sneer creep into his voice. “I’m aware that you received a goodly sum to take me aboard, and I would think as a paid passenger I could at least have freedom of the ship.” He gave a nod of his head toward the unbroken horizon. “As you might have guessed, I have no plans to travel from the deck.”

  “I sees no ‘arm in that.” The man spat downwind, clearing the rail easily. Taking out a knife, he tested its edge with his thumb. “ ‘Arripen’s the name. Captain of me own ship when I’m aboard ‘er. An’ ‘Arry to me friends.” He leaned forward and with quick movements slashed the ropes that bound Ruark to the mast.

  “My gratitude, Captain Harripen.” Ruark chose the more respectful title as he rubbed his wrists vigorously to restore circulation. “I am forever in your debt.”

  “ ‘At’s good,” his benefactor grunted. “ ’Cause I don’t owe no man nothing.” Again Ruark was fixed with that squinted one-eyed stare. “Ye talks mighty fancy fer a bondsman.” Though a statement, it was also a question.

  Ruark chuckled. “A temporary state I assure you, captain, and in truth I do not know yet whether to condemn those who turned against me or thank them.” He jerked his head toward the forecastle. “If you’ll excuse me, captain, I have needs that have gone long awanting. I would be further indebted if you might arrange for me to speak to the captain of this vessel later.”

  “Ye can be sure o’ that, laddie.” The man spat again and with the back of his hand wiped brown spittle from his stubbled chin.

  Ruark eased his condition and then found food and a mug of ale. The latter seemed the most plentiful commodity aboard the ship. His breakfast taken, he sought out a coil of rope in a spot of shade and lay down, quickly regaining the slumber he had lost during the night.

  It was near dusk when he was roused and taken to the captain’s cabin and there subjected to a long, silent scrutiny from those men who sat around the trestle table. Ruark had never seen a scurvier bunch. A mulatto sat forward in his chair, leaning heavy arms upon the tabletop, and fixed Ruark with a dark glare.

  “A blondslave, ya say? How come ya to be one?”

  Ruark debated the question a brief moment, staring at the scarred and brooding faces across from him. If these were the gentry of any society, he was a wee, innocent babe.

  “Murder it was.” His eyes swept them all, and no flicker of surprise brightened those black stares. “They bought me from the gaol and made me work to pay the debt.”

  “ ‘Oo got ye off the island?” Harripen inquired, picking his teeth with his fingernails.

  Ruark lazily scratched his chest and smiled ruefully. “A lady who didn’t like the little filly who was waiting for me in the hayloft.”

  The Englishman roared his mirth. “Now that, laddie, I can believe. Must o’ been a rich one, the coins she paid to see ye gone.”

  Ruark shrugged, noncommittal.

  “What does the squire keep in his warehouses?” The scar-faced captain of the schooner sat forward. “Riches? Silks? Spices?”

  Ruark met the man’s eyes with a lazy grin and rubbed his belly. “Been a long time atwixt meals, mate.” He jerked a thumb at the platters that still filled one end of the table. “Might I have a bite?”

  A half-eaten leg of some smallish animal was pushed toward him along with a mug of warm ale. Ruark found himself a chair and settled to dine.

  “ ’Bout those warehouses?” the swarthy, scarred man reminded him.

  “Pass the bread will you, mate?” Ruark wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and washed the meat down with a draught of ale. Tearing a chunk from the loaf tossed to him, he mopped at the gravy on the
platter then seized a shirt that hung on the back of his chair and cleaned his hands on it.

  “Ya’ve had yer fill now,” the mulatto growled. “What’s in them sheds?”

  “Everything.” Ruark shrugged and laughed jeeringly. “But ‘tis of no value to you.” He grinned back as the men stared at him with heavy frowns. “You’ll never get into the harbor.” He dipped his finger in the ale and drew a partial circle on the table, leaving the ends unjoined. His finger widened the bottom of the circle into a puddle as he commented, “This is the town—where the warehouses are,” he added for the mulatto’s benefit. “Here”—he drew an “X” on one end of the arc—“and here”—he drew another “X” across from the first—“are batteries of cannons. To enter the harbor, you sail right between them.” He traced a line through the opening.

  Ruark sat back, surveyed the faces watching him, then gave a soft chuckle.

  “You’d be blown from the water before you got close to the sheds.”

  Ruark had only guessed they might be pirates, but now the disappointment on their faces proved it. The Englishman, Harripen, leaned back and again picked his teeth with a fingernail.

  “Ye seem light’earted, me lad,” he rumbled. “Could it be ye’ve somethin’ up yer sleeve?”

  Ruark folded his bare arms and let the question go unanswered for a long moment as he appeared to ponder a problem.

  “Well, mates,” he gave them a lopsided grin, “had I a sleeve, that might well be said, but as you can see I have naught but a sorry pair of breeches hardly worthy of the name. Thus in my poverty, everything I have is most dear and commands a price.” He laughed at the suddenly angry expressions. “Like yourselves, I do nothing for nothing. I have long looked upon the weaknesses of Trahern’s island and know a way to come off with little loss and the probability of much gain.” Ruark leaned forward and spread his elbows wide on the table, motioning them near as if in confidence. “I can tell you of a way in, and I can tell you where the moneys of the store and of Trahern’s own accounts are kept.” The pirates would gain enough coin from these coffers to make it seem like a haul, but Ruark knew that Trahern removed most of the money to the manor and held it in his own strongbox.

  “Of course,”—Ruark reclined back in his chair and seemed to dismiss the pirates’ now eager looks—“if you want the raw oakum and the bales of hemp in the warehouses, you can as well go there.” He waited a space, then shrugged, spreading his hands. “I have little else to trade, gentlemen. What say you?”

  The French half-breed captain thrust forward a wide-bladed knife and fingered the well-honed edge of it.

  “You have your life, bondsman,” he sneered.

  “Aye, that I have.” And Ruark reminded him, “I returned the favor by warning you of the guns. I will advance my cause further and tell you that the Hampstead, with twenty-odd fine cannon, is at anchor in the harbor. Should you gain the inner port you would have to face her, and how long would you stay with that one breathing fire and shot down your neck?”

  “And you’ll no doubt demand a captain’s share for your plan,” the half-breed snorted with rich sarcasm, “while we risk our necks for it.”

  “A captain’s share will do nicely, thank you,” Ruark accepted with a chuckle, ignoring the jeer. “I am not overly greedy. As to the necks, I will lead you and thus risk my own from both sides.”

  “Done then! A captain’s share it be if we take a haul,” Captain Harripen chortled, enjoying the turnabout on his French cohort. “Now, laddie, out with it. What be yer scheme?”

  Though no movement was detectable, the air of expectancy grew to great proportions. They were all ears to hear the details of his plan.

  “Near the east end of the island,” Ruark improvised as he spoke, “the water is deep, and you could lay the ship less than a cable’s length from shore.”

  “An’ to the west?” the mulatto asked suspiciously.

  “Shallow!” Ruark replied. “Two or three fathoms at most, with a reef well offshore. Closest you’ll get there would be a mile or two.” He did not want them landing near the manor house, but his words were for the most part truth, although he made no mention of the men who patrolled the shorelines at night.

  “Let the lad say his piece!” Harripen railed impatiently, and the mulatto reluctantly subsided.

  “There’s a signal gun on the hill,” Ruark started again.

  “Yah, we know dat. We hear it when we come in,” the Dutchman said.

  “One shot is just a ship sighted, but if you hear two ‘tis a warning,” Ruark continued. “Now, you can put ashore a light force, and I will show them where to get the best of the loot in the quietest way without rousing the whole island.”

  The heads drew nearer, and Ruark spun his spurious plan out for them. He knew the gun would sound, and at night one shot was as much a warning as two. Where he would have the pirates land would give the town a good hour to prepare, and none of the small boats he had seen on deck would carry more than a score of raiders. Even if two boats were lowered, no more than thirty could be embarked, and several of those would stay to guard the boats. Trahern should have no difficulty dispatching the landing party and, with the schooner’s crew shorthanded, the Hampstead would have no trouble overhauling the privateer.

  It would be no mean feat for him to escape once ashore, and Trahern would surely give him a hearing before any punishment. He felt no further commitment to protect Shanna’s secret and would speak whatever portion of the truth became necessary.

  The pirate captains seemed satisfied with his plan and let Ruark return to his bed of rope. It was in the darkest hour of night that the crew was turned out to weigh anchor and set sail. The ship had barely begun to move when Ruark found the Englishman and the half-breed, Pellier, standing over him with drawn pistols.

  “We make two changes in the plan,” the Frenchman laughed. “You stay onboard as hostage to your good information, and we pick our own spot to land.”

  Ruark stared at them, and a deep-seated fear began to gnaw at his belly.

  It had almost been dawn before Shanna returned to her chambers from Pitney’s house, sinking almost immediately into an exhausted sleep, but this lasted only a few hours before she was jarred abruptly to awareness by her father bellowing a command that echoed through the whole manor.

  “Well, dammit, find him for me!”

  Leaping from bed, Shanna scrambled to dress herself and hurried down, carefully slowing her pace before she entered the dining room where a vast assortment of men were gathered. Overseers, several bondsmen, Elot holding Ruark’s flattened hat, Ralston, and even Pitney made up the number who stood around the table facing the squire, who was anything but happy.

  “Papa, what is it?” Shanna feigned innocence as she approached her father’s chair. Trahern quickly tossed her a glance that showed a black, thunderous scowl.

  “ ‘Tis the lad! He’s gone—missing!”

  Shanna shrugged sweetly. “Papa, of what lad do you speak? There are at least a score or more—”

  Trahern interrupted with a bellow. “ ‘Tis the good lad, John Ruark, I speak of! He’s nowhere to be found!”

  “Oh, Papa.” Shanna laughed lightly. Her acting was brilliant. “Mister Ruark is no lad. A man, surely. Have we not discussed such some months ago?”

  Trahern roared. “I’ve no ear for simpering wit when there’s work to be done! And there’s naught that can be done without Mister Ruark!”

  “But surely, papa,” Shanna laid a soft hand upon her father’s arm, “these men here are as worthy of the task. Can they not continue with Mister Ruark’s work until he can be found?”

  “He’s gone!” Ralston’s firm statement came quickly on the heels of her question. “He’s fled from bondage. He’ll not be caught lest a fleet be sent out to search for that colonial ship anchored off the way yester morn.” Ralston was quick to cast blame elsewhere before any remembered it was he who brought John Ruark to Los Camellos.

  Pitney slo
wly sipped a morning toddy of rum and remained coldly remote as he watched father and daughter.

  “Elot found his hat in the stables,” one of the overseers rejoined. “He was tending the mare which was brought.”

  “Aye,” Ralston sneered. “A mare for a bondslave. Is this what these treacherous colonials think is a fair trade? They’ve taken Mister Ruark under their wing and spirited him off, right beneath our noses.”

  “Be at ease, Mister Ralston.” The squire fixed the thin man with an introspective eye. “I do not blame you for his presence or this trouble. Indeed, we have all benefited from Mister Ruark’s talents. ‘Tis more that we have a project under way and cannot complete it without him.”

  Ralston was no more willing to accept this approach, for it seemed Mister Ruark might return without harm and that went strongly against his grain. He could think of no retort and sputtered into confused silence.

  It was in the midst of this discussion that Sir Gaylord sauntered in, looking well rested, his pinkened cheeks boasting of his health.

  “I say, there seems to be much ado.” He glimpsed Shanna’s momentary frown. “Can I be of assistance?”

  Shanna nearly growled in his face but knew the folly of that with her father near. Instead, quite primly she took a cup of tea to sip as she answered. “It seems, sir, that Mister Ruark has been misplaced. Perchance have you knowledge of his whereabouts?”

  Gaylord’s brows lifted in surprise. “Mister Ruark? The bondslave? Egad! Gone missing, you say? Why, I haven’t laid sight on him since—ah, let me see—‘twas night before last, at this very table. My gracious, has he been gone that long?”

  Trahern gave a heavy sigh of impatience. It took considerable effort on his part to gentle his words. “He was to be here at my table early this morn. I have never known him to be late.”

  “Mayhap he’s taken ill,” Gaylord offered. “Have you sent to his quarters—”