Petulantly Shanna went to search through the sea chests, discarding garment after garment; none would suffice. It seemed when the size was right, the cut was overbold, and when the style was right, the size was large enough to boggle the mind with the immensity of its wearer.
It was a treasure near the bottom of a large trunk which caught her eye, and she could barely suppress her glee as she examined it. How a Puritan garment found its way into a pirate’s possession, she could not guess, but she was as happy with it as if she had received a precious gift. It was black wool, high at the neck, with sleeves to the wrists. A wide, stiff collar and cuffs were folded in the long skirt, and beneath it lay a bonnet, as drab as the gown.
Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Shanna assured herself that Ruark was paying no heed. He stood with his back turned, stropping a razor at the washstand as he prepared to shave. Gathering everything into a bundle, she slipped behind a mirror where she would be screened from his wandering gaze. She doffed the black velvet, donning in its stead the heavy woolen. No chemise had been found, not even the simplest shift, and the prickly gown was, at the least, a monstrous torture for her tender body, causing second thoughts to gather quickly in her mind. Still she had a need to disturb that confounded complacency of his, and with puckish anticipation she carefully settled the straight-cut garment in place over her narrow waist and round bosom. Moving to stand behind Ruark, she made a small request.
“Will you lace me?”
“Aye, love,” he readily replied, setting the razor down, before facing her. He suddenly appeared pained. His eyes slowly descended and his tone reflected his lack of appreciation. “Where did you manage to find that?”
Innocently Shanna shrugged and waved a hand toward the chests. “Over there.” She smoothed the gown where it was loose around her waist. “Am I covered well enough?”
For a reply Ruark only snorted derisively.
Shanna pouted defensively. “ ‘Twas all I could find.”
She lifted the long, heavy tresses from her neck and presented her back where the unfastened garment revealed the smooth, creamy nakedness of it. A long, quiet moment slipped past as Ruark performed this service for her, time enough for Shanna to reflect upon the advantages of having a husband. There was almost a domestic tranquility, or more rightly a truce, between them in this moment when her need dictated his attention.
“Have you found a brush for your hair?” he asked over her shoulder.
Shanna shook her head, all too aware of its unsightly state. She felt his hand against it, smoothing the snarled mass, and stepped away, not wishing him to be repulsed by the feel of the wind-ravaged locks.
Sweeping the dampened tresses into a large knot on top of her head, she went to the bed and perched on its edge. The heat of the day had increased, and it was distressingly warm. The prickling of wool against her soft skin as she secured her hair was a forewarning of what was to come. She could not help squirming beneath it and glanced at Ruark to see if he noticed. He had returned to his shaving, and her eyes found his tall, slender back. She looked away and caught sight of herself in the mirrors. A Puritan’s wife, she mused in disdain. But then, that end would be infinitely more acceptable than what the pirates intended for her. She tried to imagine the kind of life a woman would have in Puritan clothes, living by Puritan manners. She envisioned a small plot of land, a cabin in the wilds, Ruark behind a plow while she, large with child, trod the furrows behind him, spreading a handful of seed. Shanna had meant to make mock of the idea, but strangely the illusion was not so distasteful as she had guessed, and she was baffled. Much in justification of her own lifestyle on Los Camellos, she stubbornly concluded that she would soon pine away for luxuries.
Ruark finished shaving, and Shanna watched him make preparations for his role of pirate. Her red silk tether was thrown over his shoulder and across his chest. Tied in a knot over his left hip, it became a sash from which to hang the heavy scabbard. He selected a handful of medals from the armoire to adorn his jerkin, and in his hat he stuck a long, red plume. He spread his hands, presenting Shanna a clear view of his outlandish creation, and she groaned. He portrayed a truly roguish pirate.
“But, madam, I must be a pirate.” He glanced down at his array of arms. “Is there something lacking?”
“Nay, Captain Pirate,” she sighed. “I vow no strutting cock could outshine your display.”
“Why, thank you, Shanna.” His teeth flashed in a bright smile. “Shall we be about our business?”
Striding to the door, he laid his hand on the latch, looked back at her, and gestured imperiously with his finger.
“Come along, madam. A step or two behind, as a good slave should.”
Before Shanna could grit a reply, he was in the hall, leading the way with a jaunty confidence in his step. Shanna struggled to her feet and followed humbly down the stairs, having lost the heart for argument beneath the discomfort of the wool dress.
The group was already swilling ale in the common room and for several moments Ruark and Shanna were the center of amusement. Ruark played his charade to the hilt. With open arms and great gusto, he greeted them. He flipped the medals and related impossible, lurid tales of how he had earned them. His entertainment was supreme, and the other picaroons soon held their sides in pain, while Shanna stood quietly and quailed at their overly vivid retorts. When the greeting had worn thin, Ruark bellowed for food and banged the table loudly until Dora scurried in fear to do his bidding. He tore a joint of roast goat from the carcass that was brought to him, took up a loaf of bread, and tossed a bit of both to Shanna. With a hearty whack on her rump, he sent her to a corner where she crouched and halfheartedly chewed on the noisome fare, observing Ruark with a jaundiced eye. He did not settle himself to a seat but strode around the table and exchanged banter with the men between bites and swills of ale. Pausing, he set a foot on a bench and gestured for them to gather about. Shanna could not hear his words, but she knew the tale was lusty, for the pirates leaned forward eagerly as it progressed and doubled over with gales of laughter at its finish. Ruark smiled at them, then waved an arm in farewell. He snapped his fingers loudly as he passed Shanna’s corner, and she quickly rose and fell into place behind him.
Once out of the cool, dark shadow of the inn, Shanna met the full weight of her folly. The black cloth drew the heat until it scorched her nearly as much as the hot sand beneath her feet. The gown had been cut for chaste modesty and allowed no room for the swell of her breasts. From there down it fell in a straight, loose mass that widened into a full, heavy skirt, which swung as she tried to match Ruark’s gait. His legs were long and the pace faster than she would have walked. In desperation, she seized the skirt and fought to keep it still lest her bosom and hips be scoured raw.
Ruark strode along as if he were enjoying an afternoon stroll. He seized a small branch and with a knife trimmed it until it made a neat walking stick, and as he went along, he aimlessly swatted tufts of grass and hanging twigs. A tuneless whistle wandered from his lips. Apparently he gave no notice to the girl who struggled along in his tracks.
The wide collar chafed her throat, and Shanna started to remove it but found the coarse wool more painful. The starched cuffs slid down against her wrists, and she had to constantly raise an arm to shake them back into place. They entered the village, and the worn pebbles that marked the paths between the squalid shacks were hotter than the sand. She almost moaned with pain, but seeing the careless swing of Ruark’s shoulders, she bit back the urge and vowed to ask no favor of him that might ease her distress.
“He wants me to crawl and beg of him,” Shanna fumed silently. “I will not! I shall not! Though I am worn to bleeding flesh, I will not give him the pleasure of knowing it.”
The sun beat down with a merciless glare from straight overhead. There was no shade, and most of the inhabitants had slunk into their dens to take a siesta in the heat of the day. Beneath a small thatched shelter, a withered, ragged old crone dozed amid stacks
of vegetables and fruits. When Ruark roused her to ask for a sample of her wares, she was sorely aggravated, but her temper moderated greatly when she saw the color of his coin. While he and the old woman dickered, Shanna sat on a bale of hemp to ease her burning feet and testily refused Ruark’s offer of a tidbit or two to lunch upon. When they resumed the march, she rose and gritted her teeth with the effort it cost her. Ruark’s pace had slowed as he nibbled on small, ripe plantains and chunks of dry coconut meat, and Shanna had no difficulty staying with him, but she was already much the worse for wear. Sweat began to tickle maddeningly as it traced a slow path down the middle of her back. She wanted desperately to scratch, but her hands were occupied with the skirt and floppy cuffs. When they passed a small tangle of brush, she tore the wristlets off and threw them behind it, careful lest Ruark should see her. It was little comfort, for now the sleeves grew moist with perspiration and clung to her arms with a cloying prickliness.
They marked the end of the beach in one direction and saw the beginning of the swamp on that side. The sun moved in the sky as they retraced their steps to the dock and followed the beach in the opposite direction. It was here that Shanna strayed to wade where the gently lapping water touched the sand. She grimaced at the brief sting of the salt in the myriad tiny cuts and scrapes on her feet. She longed to tear the stupid garment from her body and race out into the lazy sea and stretch her muscles and cleanse her body in its tepid waves. Having slowed, she now found Ruark some distance ahead of her. Reluctantly she raised the damp skirts and ran after him.
Ruark paused upon a small knoll and stood thoughtfully surveying this end of the beach and the steaming mangrove swamp that stretched as far as the eye could see. He heard Shanna approach and turned, a question on his lips, but it died as he found her limping toward him, the heavy skirts flopping about her legs and hobbling her stride. Her face was flushed, and her breath rasped in her throat. Her hair had half fallen from its knot. As she flung herself down upon a small tussock of grass, Shanna glared her anger at him and painfully raised a slim foot to touch the heel from which a thorn protruded.
“Here, let me, Shanna,” he offered, true concern in his tone. He had taken out his knife and would have knelt at her foot.
“Keep away from me.” Her snarl halted him. “You drag me on a tour of this Godforsaken sand pile without proper shoes for my feet or as much as a shade to protect me. Ouch!”
The last came as she pulled the stub of thorn from her heel. Ruark stepped to a low bush and pulled several of its small, narrow leaves, twisting them together until they formed a wet mass.
“Press these to the spot,” he directed. “ ‘Twill sting for a moment, but it draws away the soreness and any poison.”
Shanna did as she was told and nearly shrieked as the searing juices penetrated. Almost immediately, however, the pain began to ebb. In a few moments her heel was numb. Ruark never ceased to amaze her. His resources were completely beyond her ken, and his knowledge seemed full of these small tidbits.
Facing the swamp again, Ruark spoke over his shoulder as his eyes ranged far, his voice gentle. “You’ve called our outing pointless, Shanna. And so it must seem to all of them. But ‘tis out there that we might find our escape.” He bent earnest eyes upon her. “The Spaniards cut a channel through the swamp, but Mother hid the entrance and will not yield its secret.” He nodded with his head toward the tangled growth. “You hear the birds?” he asked There was a constant murmur of sound from the swamp. “There are birds, my love, but then there are other things. Caimans, lizards, all sorts of snakes. ‘Tis impossible to cross on foot, and if we could, there is open sea beyond. We shall need a boat, a fairly large one, though the Good Hound is too much for the two of us to handle.” Then Ruark shrugged. “But ‘tis useless to prattle on. We’ll find what we need if we must. Perhaps your father will pay your ransom and see you safe before too many days are passed. The bondsmen the pirates sent back will reach him tonight or early on the morrow. He will surely come apace.”
Ruark gazed down at her, knowing well that if he managed to get her back to Los Camellos, it might very well mean a severe punishing for himself. Trahern would take his leaving amiss, as he no doubt already did, and Ruark wondered if Shanna would see him thrashed rather than offer the truth to her father. Whether she did or not, his only concern at present was getting her out of this hellhole.
He took out his knife and knelt beside her.
“Poor Shanna.” He smiled softly, though she turned a still heated glower upon him. He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I only meant to spy out the lay of the land should I need to know.” He reached toward her and as she drew away his tone became brusque. “Hold still.”
His command brooked no refusal. The knife bit into the sleeve of the gown, cutting it off at the elbow. Then he split the seam on the underside so that a small capelet hung from her shoulder, demure but loose and cool. He repeated the operation on the other sleeve and then sat back on his heels, considering her tightly pressed bosom for a short time before leaning forward again. The starched yoke sailed off into the brush, startling a flock of birds with its flight. Lopping the loose end from his sash, he rolled the soft silk beneath the neck of her gown, frowning as he saw the raw skin there.
“I’ll not have you abuse my property, madam. I command you to take better care.”
Shanna sniffed at his attempted humor, but, somewhat ashamed of her own foolishness, she held her tongue and submitted herself further to his ministrations. As he plied his blade to the outer stitches of the seams, she could feel the binding bodice loosen in stages across her breasts. His hushed voice came to her ear.
“I’ve sought to find an alliance with you, Shanna, and in my search I have tried to conduct myself with wisdom and make the best of whatever is offered. ‘Tis my aim to see you safely back to your father, and to that end I beg you cease this self-abuse and lend yourself to seeking out whatever will serve our welfare. That same is common to us both, my love. At least for a time. There!”
He rose to his feet and stepped back a pace, staring down as Shanna took the first deep breath she had been able to draw since donning the garment.
“What is left of the seams,” he remarked, indicating the bodice, “should hold until we are in our room again. Are you comfortable now?”
“As much as can be expected,” she replied, much sharper than she had intended.
Ruark presented his back, and his own voice was gruff as he spoke again. “If you are able, we can return now.”
Shanna tested her heel, amazed to find it without pain. She was more surprised to find Ruark’s arm waiting to assist her. Taking it, she leaned against him until they came in sight of the village and then dropped back in her usual place. He whistled and swung his stick again, appearing for anyone who cared to take note as if he were out for a lighthearted stroll. But now his stride was shortened and his pace more considerate; his gaze wandered around now and again to take notice of Shanna’s progress.
They had passed through the village and were approaching the inn when Ruark left the well-traveled path, exploring along a narrow trail which wove a way through grass-tufted dunes and low, scrawny brush leading them eventually to a small, clear pond. A herd of goats scattered at their approach and fled into the scrubby bushes that hid the oasis. It was a vale well hidden from the casual eye. A small, seeping spring fed the pool which in turn gave its moisture, through a shallow rift, to the sea. The air hung motionless in the hollow, and the sun beat down mercilessly, lending it the warmth of a kiln.
With a quiet word to her, Ruark stepped away a short distance while Shanna stood in some dismay, wondering where she might find privacy for her own needs, at least more seclusion than Ruark appeared worried about. Such intimacy she had never had to contend with before and was not willing to indulge in it now. Determinedly she strode along the edge of the pool toward a thick cluster of brush near the far end but stopped abruptly as Ruark called a warning.
“No
t too far.”
Shanna’s back stiffened, and she stood with clenched fists, silently fuming. Without turning, she asked tersely, “Am I not allowed some privacy, ?”
Ruark’s chuckle was soft in reply, “Stray too far, my love, and you might have more company than you wish. We are too close to the inn for you to be wandering off alone.”
Shanna was unappreciative of his reminder and gritted between gnashing teeth. “Then permit me to see your back turned, sir. At least that much privacy, I beg you.”
“Done.”
Cautiously she looked over her shoulder to see if he had really complied with her request. He had, and she fled into the protection of the trees. Shortly she returned to find Ruark wading in the pool. He had removed his weapons and vest and left his sandals and hat beside them.
“Would you share a bath, my love?” he inquired as he gave her a laconic grin.
Shanna’s sunburned nose snubbed him. However, the pool offered the only relief in sight, and the temptation to join him was almost overwhelming. She trailed a toe in the water and watched surreptitiously as Ruark sought out the deeper part. In a slow, leisurely motion he swam across the pool, returned again to the shallows near her, and peered up at her expectantly.
“Well?” He came to his feet and stood beside her. “Are you coming in?”
He slapped the sodden breeches that covered his lean hips then plucked the clinging cloth away while Shanna twitched under her woolens. Droplets of water clung to his bronzed skin and tinier beads sparkled in the dark furring on his chest.
Shanna Page 42