Harripen pointed with the hen and picked a piece of its meat from his bristly chin. “Aye, but she’s a lusty one. A mite ‘ot and eager for ye, too, ‘twould appear, the way she snapped Carmelita off yer lap. What will ye take for her? She’s hardly worth the trouble she’s caused ye, lad.” The aging buccaneer leaned forward eagerly, and his red-rimmed eyes gleamed, belying his bickering. Tilting his head, he grinned with one eye half closed in an unfinished wink. “Bend your ear, bucko. I’ll give ye another pouch for a thrice of nights with her.”
“It may be your time will come,” Ruark replied slowly, “but for now, at least, she’s mine.”
“Aye, ye made ‘at clear already, ye ‘ave,” the older man sighed. “Still—”
Harripen could not resist reaching out a greasy hand to caress the shining rich tumble of locks Shanna displayed, but he halted suddenly as he realized if he moved his hand but one small degree further he would have less than a whole finger left, for the razor edge of the blue blade abruptly barred his way. His eyes shifted to Ruark’s and widened slightly. He was met with a smile that was at once calm yet filled with such a strange, deadly patience that the skin on the back of Harripen’s neck crawled. He was immediately sure that he could feel the cold breath of death upon his nape.
Harripen jerked his hand back as if he had touched fire and rose quickly from the bed, putting a goodly space between himself and the other.
“Hell and damnation, you’re touchy!” he growled. “But I came not to speak of her.”
He tossed the half-eaten bird at the table and missed by a wide margin. He caught Ruark’s reflection in the mirror, and those amber eyes marked him like those of a wary hawk. Facing about, Harripen clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels for a moment before he began almost delicately:
“Me own ship is a bit smaller than Robby’s, but I’ve had me eye on the Good Hound for a long time. I do not wish to test the edge of your sword for her, but perhaps a bit of a bargain. Ye’re new here and know little of our ways. I could make us all a good fortune with a ship like the Good Hound and would not waste her sail or worthy men puttering about with the likes of Trahern. I have in mind that my share of the gold and my own ship would be a fair trade for the one you have.”
He paused, seeming to run out of words.
Ruark rose from the bed and moved to stand at the end, bracing a shoulder against the massive post. He rested the point of the sabre on the floor, now turning the edge of the blade away from Harripen, acknowledging the truce. It was a long moment before he answered.
“This is a thing which I will have to think on for a time. I am not in doubt as to my skill, but much of what you say is true. And though I have my own share and Pellier’s, I still have need for wealth. I will think on it and give you an answer soon.”
He strode forward and took Harripen’s arm, leading him slowly to the door.
“There is but one thing now which I would ask of you. This portal is solid.” He tapped the door with the hilt of his sword. “And a fist upon it makes a good sound. You know,” he stared thoughtfully through Harripen, “I almost stilled your bargain before you spoke it. I would suggest that hereafter you pause a bit and not startle me again.”
Almost eagerly Harripen nodded and was ushered out. The door closed behind him, and he heard the bolt slam firmly in place. The pirate wiped a drop of sweat from the end of his nose and released his breath. Ruark seemed almost too gentle, but his eyes savaged a man’s very soul when he was angry. Harripen walked away and felt lucky that he had not taken a nick or two.
Ruark pressed his ear against the door and listened to Harripen’s boots clump down the stairs, while Shanna hurriedly donned her clothing. Ruark had barely stepped away from the portal when a soft tapping came on the panel. Cautiously he opened it a crack and found Gaitlier crouched outside. The small man straightened and met Ruark’s gaze over the top of the glasses he wore.
“Might I come in for a moment, sir?” His voice was almost a whisper.
Nonplussed at the servant’s presence and manner, Ruark opened the portal wider and beckoned him in. Gaitlier fussed over the table for several moments and retrieved the fowl from the floor. In the nervous gesture Ruark had noted before, he rubbed his feet one against the other, appearing at a loss. Ruark considered him from the foot of the bed where he half sat upon the end rail, waiting for Gaitlier to speak, and finally he sought to bring the problem out.
“Well, man!” he urged. “Let’s have it.”
Shanna knelt behind Ruark and rested her chin on his shoulder, as puzzled as he and twice as curious. The small man shuffled his feet and swept his eyes across the ceiling as if he sought divine aid. Now he faced them and, drawing a deep breath, began as if stepping into a chilling sea.
“I know you are man and wife!”
His statement was blunt and brought a gasp from Shanna and a low growl from Ruark. Gaitlier plunged on.
“I know, too, sir, that there is something in your past to be afraid of and that you are, in fact, Trahern’s bondslave.” He gestured to a small grill high on the wall where it had not been noticed and explained. “A listening port and a servant’s room beyond.” At their bemused stares he continued. “A way for a serving man to know before he enters what is amiss that he should not interrupt. A necessary thing with Captain Pellier.”
Shanna blushed in painful embarrassment and hoped fervently that the storm had shielded their passion.
Gaitlier caught Ruark’s frown cast toward the door and eased his worry. “Those fools know nothing of the port and would never guess its existence. An idea from the Far East, I believe. At any rate, quite handy.” He drew a ragged breath. “I have a bargain for you, and I would hope a more honest one than Captain Harripen’s. I know the way through the swamp.” He paused to let the significance sink in, and the only hint that it had was a new attention paid him by Ruark. “I would be shot if any of them”—toward the door—“as much as suspected that I knew.”
For a long moment there was no sound but the shriek of the wind and the pelting of the rain on the tiles of the roof. Gaitlier removed his eyeglasses and polished the lenses with his shirt.
“There is a price, of course,” he ventured timidly. “When you escape, I will go with you, and the girl, Dora, as well.”
He replaced the spectacles on his nose and stared at the two of them with a hint of sternness playing about his lips.
“I will aid you in every way possible and go with you to point out the entrance to the channel.”
Ruark gave the small servant his closest regard. He had never guessed the courage the man contained and was a little amazed. His frown showed for a moment, and Gaitlier misread it.
“You cannot force the secret from me,” he warned with enough determination to make his point.
Ruark smiled and caressed the butt of the pistol with his palm, meeting Gaitlier’s eyes squarely before he asked, “And what makes you think we plan to escape?”
“You should, if you don’t.” Gaitlier’s gaze did not waver, and he explained further. “The sloop came back from Los Camellos last night just before the storm broke. The Jolly Bitch was nearly caught by a frigate standing off the shore as she was cutting the bondsmen adrift in a whale boat. She was given no chance and took several hits before she could fly for safety.”
“A brigantine.” Ruark laughed.
“The Hampstead!” Shanna joined from behind him. “No frigate, surely.”
“Whatever!” Gaitlier waved away the correction. “These brigands have become doubtful of your wisdom and chafe at the loss of several good men. They only wait on the proper moment to do you in, and the lady will suffer a far worse fate if half of what they plan comes to an end.”
Ruark considered the information, and Shanna held her silence to give him the space to think. He stared at the floor for a long time and then began to nod his head. His gaze lifted and fixed on Gaitlier.
“You are right, of course. We must see to ou
r opportunities and make the best of them.” He turned to look at Shanna, and the set of his jaw tightened. “We shall flee the place at the first chance.”
Eagerly Gaitlier pulled a chair close and sat in it, leaning forward. “The channel is difficult at best with the westerlies blowing, but after a big storm passes, the winds bend northerly and blow light for a day or so. ‘Twould be the best time for a short crew to sail a ship through.”
“There are things to see about.” Ruark grew restless, but his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can you return after dark? We must venture out in the storm, but none can know.”
Gaitlier had one last question. “You will take the girl, Dora, too?”
“Aye!” Ruark assured him. “To leave an innocent here is unthinkable.”
“I will be here, then. Of a late hour, or if the storm slackens any, before. I will tell Dora to gather what we will need.”
“ ‘Tis done then!”
Chapter 19
THE ROOM BECAME A WORLD unto itself, a haven against the raging hurricane that swept across the seas and hurled its winds against the impudent structures made by puny man. It was the swamp that took the force from the waves and left the humble dune of sand unwashed. The inn huddled beneath the crest of the hill and with its solid walls and heavy tiled roof gave shelter to the ones within.
The oaken door protected Ruark and Shanna further against the drunken, gluttonous beasts below. Several times during the afternoon the pirates mounted the stairs and pounded their fists upon the chamber’s portal, begging Ruark to bring his charge before them for a dance or something better to while away the hours. It was only his threat of leaden ball and well-honed blade that held them at bay. They were made to slink away, muttering curses and dire threats, but go they did as none of them felt brave enough to test Ruark’s skill, and a quick accounting of the odds left all too few standing.
The hour aged, and darkness fell. Still the shutters groaned and rattled against the unabated onslaught of the storm. Shanna welcomed the noise and fury of the tempest. It brought to her a respite, for, as it raged without, it sealed them in, and it seemed that Ruark’s presence was the factor she had sought her lifetime through. He was ever near. If she turned suddenly, he would raise his eyes to her and smile. If she dozed a space and woke, she could lie still and listen to the sounds he made as he moved about or shuffled his charts. Even though the storm threatened to sweep them into the sea, she feared its strength no longer, and there was a thought in her mind that she would never again be terrified by lightning or thunder.
Still, it was a relief when Gaitlier knocked on the door. The mild man kicked in a large bag with his foot, and when he had placed the supper tray on the table and carefully closed the portal, he opened the bag with covert pride, to display a rope ladder. It would serve them well for their escape. As he was about to leave he paused at the door and shook his head with some worry.
“Dora has had to hide in the pantry to escape the attentions of Harripen and the others. Carmelita has served them food and drink and much more, but they grow weary of her and seek new entertainment.”
The hours took on the elderly hue of night. The din outside had become wearisome, and the drunken revelry below dwindled until only an occasional sound was heard. The night wore on, and Ruark waxed restless. He paced the room; fondled his brace of pistols and repeatedly checked the priming; and drew his sword to test its edge.
A slow and subtle shift came in the roar of the storm. The wind no longer howled as loudly around the eaves, and the rain dwindled to a fine spurting mist. No sooner had they both become aware of this than a light tap came at the door, and Ruark ushered in a grinning Gaitlier.
“We’ll set these fellows on their heels,” he chortled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “A blow or two for vengeance, eh?”
Ruark remained aloof from the man’s eagerness, and his brow knitted. “I fear I shall have to forego our journey, at least for tonight,” he stated solemnly, and the servant’s face fell. “The pirates seem restless, and I am wary of some treachery afoot.” He halted near the door and listened for a moment. “They are all too quiet to please me.”
Gaitlier grinned in renewed elation, and his eyes twinkled beyond the tiny panes. “ ‘Tis only that they are all besot,” he chuckled. “Carmelita grew tired with their play and served them only strong black rum. ‘Twill be some hours before they recover.”
Ruark contemplated the man for a moment. He opened the door and crept to the head of the stairs to see for himself. The common room was dark with only a few short stubs of candles burning for light, yet he could make out a full dozen dark shapes scattered about in ludicrous positions of slumber. Mother was sprawled upon his belly, full length on the table, and snored loudly with a deep grumble and high-pitched whistle.
Satisfied, Ruark returned, bolted the door, and then slid a heavy iron-bound chest before it. At his nod, Gaitlier began to secure the ladder to the iron grillwork outside the window. Ruark doffed all but his breeches. After checking his pistols again, he laid them at full cock on the table where they would be handy to Shanna’s need. Gaitlier, too, stripped to his pants and hung a heavy cutlass from his rope belt. Ruark ducked beneath his sabre’s sash, and the two of them rubbed lamp soot over their bodies and limbs. As Shanna stood brushing her hair, Ruark peered over her shoulder into the mirror and smeared the black, greasy stuff over his face. A gay laugh of amusement escaped her as she faced him and, with rich enthusiasm, helped him spread the soot on his chest and arms.
“I always thought there was something of the blackguard in you. ‘Tis at last beginning to show.”
Ruark drew a blackened finger along the slim, delicate line of her nose in revenge and chuckled as she gasped in feigned outrage and scrubbed heartily at the sooty streak.
The candles were doused except for the one in a ship’s lantern, which they set upon the table. Brushing Shanna’s lips with a kiss, Ruark closed the door on the lantern, bringing the room to blackness. Shanna felt a last squeeze on her hand, then heard the ladder rattle down. She waited until she was sure they were gone and then retrieved the ladder as Ruark had instructed her, tucked it inside the rail, and closed the shutters before she opened the lantern.
Now it was only a matter of waiting. Ruark had tried to tell her what they planned, but she had been anxious to be assured of his safety and missed much of what he said, remembering only that it had something to do with the pirate’s powder magazine and gathering brush in the gully. Without thinking Shanna mimicked Ruark’s actions as she checked the pistols, saw to their priming, then laid them down again; she tested the edge of the small dagger and then slipped it into her waistband; restlessly she paced the room and the only difference was that, in a woman’s way, she tidied here and there.
Ruark’s jerkin lay across the arm of a chair and lifting it, she smoothed its soft leather over her arm. It was odd how the garment already seemed a part of him, like the short breeches. It even bore his scent. She rubbed her cheek against it, savoring the manly smell of leather.
“What have I become?” Shanna murmured, in some wonder. “A wife waiting for her man? Is it always thus with wives? Do they seize upon some manly garment and relive past moments of bliss while they bide the time?”
She glanced about the room and was bemused by her mood. “Strange, I feel him gone. There is that which is missing now. I never felt his presence as much as I feel his absence.”
It suddenly rankled Shanna that she should find life incomplete unless she could reach out her hand and touch him.
“I will not be trapped,” she assured herself and hung the jerkin neatly on a chair back. She had set a glass to mark the time since no clock graced the room, and she now noticed it was only half run through. She gave a deep sigh to ease the lonely ache that sprang up within her bosom and began to pace again.
A gust rattled the shutters and made her jump. Large drops of rain began to fall again, and the wind curling around a cornice gave a low
moan. The inn creaked as the storm renewed its attack upon the island. Her eyes fell to the hourglass, and her spirit showed its shallow depth as she saw only a small amount of sand remained in the top. “Nearly an hour gone! Has aught come amiss?” Nervously Shanna began to nibble at a fingernail. “Have they been found out? Or perhaps fallen upon some evil fate?”
The grains of sand raced in eager frolic for the bottom of the glass. “Does he lie dead somewhere with this storm beating down upon him?” She shuddered at the thought. “Oh, I must be calm. He will come soon.”
Deliberately Shanna placed her hands to her sides where they made small fists, but they opened only to clench again—and again—and again. For the thousandth time she paced the chamber but returned to watch the last grains trickle to the bottom. She reached out to turn the piece over then froze as a small sound intruded over the noise of the wind-driven rain; as she listened, another pebble struck the shutters.
Smothering a cry of joy, Shanna whirled and flew to the shutter latch then suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to close the lantern. Rushing back, she did so quickly then ran to the window and threw the ladder over the railing. She could not see below and for the sake of caution stood back in the shadows, training a pistol on the top of the rail until she recognized the dark head and broad shoulders of Ruark. He came through the window with a bound and turned to boost Gaitlier over the railing. Shanna only intended to touch Ruark’s arm and ask him of his success, but somehow as he faced around, her arms went about him, and she held herself to him with all the strength she was capable of. Ruark felt the trembling of her body against him and tightened his embrace securely about her, lifting her chin to kiss her, oblivious to Gaitlier, who busied himself retrieving the ladder, closing the shutters, and cautiously opening the lantern.
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