The night dissolved into a continuous round of merrymaking, and as Shanna stood with Pitney and her father on the brightly lit thoroughfare, the tumult of sound, sight, and smell washed over her. Amid the press of village folk, she could feel her own spirits respond to the gaiety and excitement. Garlands and bouquets of flowers were everywhere, filling the eye with a riot of color. Bunches of pungent herbs scented the air, lanterns and torches gave an eerie, shifting, flickering light to the scene, and the roar of laughter and boisterous songs assailed the senses.
Shouting above the din, Ruark appeared beside Shanna and pressed a glass of champagne into her hand. As she sipped, the nose-tickling wine kindled a warmth in her stomach, and Shanna’s reserve slipped a notch or two.
The sweet smell of savory foods drifted on the gentle evening breezes and mingled with the tangy spice of newly tapped ale and rum. Bondsman, servant, freeman alike joined the celebration. Pitney strolled with Trahern to the refreshment tables to sample the feast. Shanna found her hand in Ruark’s when they were following the newly wedded couple in a rigadoon. Shanna’s considered self-control slipped again as a fresh glass of sparkling fluid was thrust upon her by one of the townsmen. Breathlessly she drained it and then gave herself in renewed abandon to the dance. Her happy laughter blended with Ruark’s, and her head reeled giddily from the effects of the champagne.
She saw Ruark’s dark face before her, white teeth flashing and eyes that burned golden whenever they touched her. Her heart hammered wildly, taking up the intoxicating excitement of the festivities, and the stricture of months of duplicity was stripped away to give her spirit flight and freedom, if only for the moment. Space and time ceased to matter. Gaylord had no chance to intervene, and Shanna gave no heed to the pompous knight angrily directing her father’s attention to them or of Hergus’s frowning disapproval. Here, in the midst of the crowd, she was alone with Ruark, seeing him, feeling his nearness, and she was ecstatic. Never had she known such carefree bliss. She laughed and danced to her heart’s content, and the champagne helped quench her thirst. Its conscience-cooling clarity seemed to lend a vivid buoyancy to her mind, and her head grew as light as her feet.
The squire was enjoying himself as much as his daughter, for his good Welsh blood had a taste for fun and regalement. By damned it did, and the fact had ceased to surprise him that he enjoyed seeing the daughter he had sired in the company of his favorite bondsman. The lad was as adept at the dances as she and the lean, powerful grace of his body complemented her trim womanliness.
Orlan Trahern had often watched his daughter at past affairs such as this, surrounded by posturing dandies and the eager-to-be-rich. He had seen her for her own amusement tease and torment each man, leading him on the chase and then crushing his vanity against her open disdain. These many months since her return from England, it had been obvious that she had held herself in check, as was a widow’s proper way, and he could not fault her revelry now. Orlan smiled to himself in retrospect. At least she had overcome her dislike for this Ruark and apparently could accept him as a man if not her peer.
With a worried frown, Gaylord watched the dancing couple from Trahern’s side. “What do you intend to do about this, squire?” he demanded. “In England ‘twould be a scandalous moment for a bondsman to so handle a lady. This fellow should be reminded of his place. I would not usurp your authority, but were I the governor here, I would see that the man gives proper respect to your daughter as well as to the other ladies present.”
Pitney cast a doubtful glance over his shoulder at the knight before exchanging a wondering look with Trahern. Orlan rocked on his heels as he sampled a morsel from a tray of warm breads.
“You may well have noticed, sir, that my daughter demands respect in her own manner.” He sipped his wine, considering the knight with an amused smile lightly resting on his lips. “I have learned of late to trust my daughter’s judgment in many things, perhaps more so than she does herself. Still, if you are strongly bent to educate the lass, you are welcome to try.”
Gaylord straightened his gold satin coat with a jerk and stretched his long neck above the lacy jabot. “Should Madam Beauchamp accept my proposal and become my wife, I would in no way offer her less protection than I do now from such as that one. ‘Tis my duty as a knight of the realm.”
As he swaggered away Trahern turned to Pitney with a chuckle. “I fear the good fellow learned nothing in the bush. I hope the damage will not be costly.”
Ruark’s laughter died as a large hand rudely clapped down upon his shoulder, and he was whirled about to face the sneering Sir Gaylord. The bride and groom shared a look of surprise, while Shanna stared in disbelief, amazed at the audacity of the man.
Gaylord’s blue-gray eyes ranged coldly over Ruark. “ ‘Twould seem that I must constantly remind you of your place. It is with the rest of the servants and slaves. I insist that you leave Madam Beauchamp alone. Do you understand me?”
Ruark lazily bent his gaze toward the long fingers crushing the silk of his coat. He was about to comment when Shanna snatched away Gaylord’s hand as if it were something distasteful. She faced the knight, her cheeks flushed, her eyes snapping green fire. For the sake of caution, the man stepped back a pace, remembering the firm crack of her slap against his face.
“Sir, you intrude,” she charged incredulously. “Have you cause?”
The villagers had paused to gape at them. A low, questioning murmur rose from those nearby, and even Sir Gaylord recognized the angry buzz of it. The knight was out of his element, for Ruark had earned his niche in the tiny world of Los Camellos, and Gaylord Billingsham was a foreigner and disliked by most.
Gaylord spoke in a more reserved tone. “Madam, I only seek to insure this man gives proper respect to you. You may feel obligated to him for saving you from the pirates. But ‘tis my duty as a gentleman to guard a lady’s reputation.”
It was ludicrous to Shanna that this clod should feign worry over her honor in the presence of others while in private seek to win her with bungling caresses. She laughed with bright amusement.
“I assure you, sir, I am no proper lady.” Looking up into Ruark’s amused regard, she giggled. “An improper one, perhaps.”
Taking her husband’s glass, she passed it with her own to Gaylord. “Will you find a place to set these, sir?” she requested sweetly and slipped her hand into Ruark’s, signalling the musicians to begin again. “I should like to dance with my slave.”
Ruark grinned leisurely into the reddening face of the knight. “Another time, perhaps.”
Tucking Shanna’s hand in the crook of his arm, Ruark led her away from the silently raging man. The slim stems of the two goblets snapped, and without a word Gaylord whirled on his heels and stalked away.
The dances livened and grew uproarious as individuals gave their own interpretations of the various steps amid the clamorous approval and the rhythmic clapping of hands until, breathless and exhausted, the couples settled themselves to feasting and drinking to nourish their high spirits. Shanna ever found a glass of champagne in her hand, thrust there with hearty and jubilant coaxings to drink up and be jolly. Lightheartedly she sipped, and her laughter sparkled with Ruark’s deep chuckles. Finding room at one of the trestle tables, she crowded in beside him on a long bench. The close contact was not unrewarding. In fact, Ruark much enjoyed the arrangement. Her thigh was pressed to his beneath the table, and her shoulder overlapped his. The intimacy provided him with an excuse to place his hand on the bench behind her, and as the lanterns gave off only a meager light here and no one stood at their backs, it was only natural that he indulge himself with a fond caress or two for he found it hard to keep his hands from her.
The dark-haired beauty, Madame Duprey, and her captain husband sat further down the table and were much involved with each other after the Frenchman’s long absence from home. Even Shanna was inclined to feel less scornful of the man as he bestowed loving kisses upon the nape of his spouse’s neck and along her shoul
der.
“How sweet,” Shanna smiled aside to Ruark. “I think he actually does love her.”
“Ah, lass, not half as much as I love you,” Ruark breathed near her ear. “I am near bursting my breeches for the want of you, and you can only sing me praises of another man’s devotion. Am I to starve with this feast before me of rosy breasts and silken loins, feigning some indifference to the succulent fruits? I long to taste the apple of your love and would most greedily devour it.”
“Shhh,” Shanna giggled, leaning against him. “You’re drunk. Someone might hear you.”
Assured that in the din his words would be unheard by any other than she, Ruark grinned lazily. “Aye, I’m drunk, but only on this nectar that is more heady than any wine I’ve dared to drink. I have a fever in my blood, a fire only you can quench. I feel it throbbing in my loins. Ride with me, fair damsel. Ride upon this horny dragon, and I shall set to flight any dreams of knights. A kiss, a soft caress, a gentle word, and like a moth I change my scaly armor for the softer coating of man. Ah, love, have care for this great beast. He lumbers in your wake like some poor, plodding soul begging just one glance, some sign of recognition from his adored one. Your gilded locks wave like a gonfalon on an airy breeze, and I think that now the fair damsel will turn and look at me and see me not as a monster, but as the one who would gladly kiss the soles of her feet. Ah, Shanna, my Shanna, be merciful to this besotted beast. Take me to your soft breast and release me from this scaly weight.”
Shanna was suffused with a warmth and tenderness she could neither fathom nor explain. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny her dreams as frivolous, a fantasy once held dear by a young girl but outgrown, like porcelain dolls. This was real, the hard feel of Ruark’s thigh against her own, her arm against his lean ribs, this cacophony of sight, smell, and noise that surrounded them yet, at the same time, shielded them from prying eyes. He was her lover, whether husband or not, and she gave herself freely to him whenever the moment was ripe. She had stopped denying him. She had ceased calling herself widow. She had come out of mourning, and strangely her spirit thrilled with the awareness of him.
A toast to the newlyweds broke her reverie, and Shanna turned as everyone around them rose to their feet, lifting their glasses high, and quickly followed suit. It was a prelude for the merrymakers to escort the blissful pair to their cottage, a procession which wandered through the streets as a moving celebration. Shanna found herself laughing again, though at times she cringed at the drunken humor of the sailors, which abused the imagination but elicited squealing giggles from the virginal maids.
It was almost a relief when the party began to disperse and Ruark took her back to her father. The carriage was brought, and Shanna was properly seated and left as a search began for Hergus. When the group was formed, complete with Hergus and Gaylord, Shanna was still in her place, her shawl neatly folded and held against her breast, both arms wrapped securely about it. The smile on her face reminded one of a cat well fed at the cost of a flock of canaries. Thus she sat, giving almost no heed as Ruark and Hergus crowded in on either side of her, leaving Sir Gaylord a choice of sharing the footman’s bench or a long, lonely walk. Seeing the knight’s dilemma, Pitney relented with a smile and sliding tightly against Trahern, causing the squire to give a disgruntled snort, Pitney patted the narrow space beside him in invitation. Gaylord sighed. He was not about to walk or to share the seat with a servant and had little choice but to wedge himself in. It was only casually noted by the others that Pitney’s huge elbow rested against the knight’s ribs, and it was not until the ride commenced that Gaylord, with each bump in the road, was given to sudden abrupt grunts as if he were pained.
Once at the manor, Shanna preceded Hergus up the stairs, and it was not until the door of her chambers was closed behind them that Shanna carefully laid the shawl on the bed and unfolded it to reveal an unopened bottle of champagne. Hergus was taken aback and gaped at her mistress, thinking for sure the lass had taken leave of her senses.
“Now what do ye intend to do with that, miss? I be believing ye’ve had enough of spirits, seeing how ye were flaunting yer bondsman beneath the noses of every moony-eyed twit who’s set their sights on him. And there yer pa was, too! It ye think the squire is an addlepated old man and blind to all yer shenanigans, then ye be lacking the wits I was thinking ye had.”
“Oh, I don’t think that,” Shanna declared with a laugh and went searching for glasses in the sitting room. “ ‘Tis just that I’ve come out of mourning, and it seems only fitting to celebrate.”
“What do ye mean, mourning?” Hergus called after her in bemusement. “I never knew ye to care overly much for Milly, nor even that the two of ye got along.” The maid shrugged and commented much to herself, “Mostly ’cause the little chit, God rest her soul, had it in her mind to be envious of ye. If that Abe Hawkins wouldna taken himself to drinking his life away, she and her ma coulda had a lot more. But then, he hasna ever done an honest day’s work.”
“ ‘Tis not for Milly.” Shanna came to stand in the doorway with two sherry glasses she had found. She dipped into a low curtsy that made her printed taffeta skirts billow out wide around her. “The widow is no more. I’ve come out of mourning.”
Hergus grunted derisively. “Ye were never married long enough to even consider yerself properly wed. The least Mister Beauchamp coulda done was to live long enough to put a babe in yer belly. Had he done so, I doubt ye’d be fooling ’round now with Mister Ruark.” She sighed wearily. “But I suppose if he had lived longer, it woulda been just the luck for himself to be without a fertile seed to give ye.”
Abruptly Shanna set aside the glasses, suddenly feeling as if she had, indeed, imbibed too much. She thrust the champagne from her sight, burying it beneath a pillow on her chaise. Observing her, Hergus was inclined to worry that she really had gone daft.
“I’d best get ye ready for bed. I hear Mister Ruark coming up the stairs, and I’ve had me say without letting him hear me.” Hergus shucked the taffeta gown from her mistress, leaving the delicate chemise for modesty as that seemed the girl’s wont lately. “Come to the dressing table and I’ll brush out yer hair, and then I’ll leave ye.”
It was a matter soon done. The gilded tresses spread in thick waves of silk over Shanna’s bare shoulders before the woman took herself from the chambers. Alone now, Shanna stared at her reflection, that image of soft woman, creamy skin and thinly clad breasts, white shoulders and wistful countenance. Ruark’s words of the evening echoed in her brain, and she could almost see herself standing alone on a hill, ignoring the plaintive cry behind her as she searched hard and fast for her knight in armor. A fickle dream to want something not worth the wanting. She could have Sir Gaylord in a trice, but even now she shuddered in revulsion at the thought of having to submit to his bungling caresses. Much more did she yearn for the vibrant warmth of Ruark’s hands upon her, softly titillating, weaving their spell.
The evening breeze stirred the draperies, and in the silence of the house she could hear Ruark moving about his room. Almost as one compelled, she went to the French doors, and like a wraith she was gone, not hearing the door of her sitting room open and close and footsteps coming across the floor.
“Yer pa just said he’ll be up shortly—” Hergus blinked in surprise at the now vacant bedchamber and gasped as the realization struck her. “Oh, me lord! She’s gone to him again. And there’s her pa coming!”
Stripped to the waist, Ruark leaned against the heavy footpost of his bed, his eyes like flaming golden brands as he watched Shanna saunter toward him, moving her hips with an undulating grace beneath the batiste garment. Her ripe breasts pressed wantonly against the gossamer confines, rousing his senses to full awakening. Her bare feet seemed to glide over the carpet, and her lips were bent upward in a totally wicked smile.
“My Captain Pirate Ruark, widow maker, virgin taker. Darkest of all dragons. You weave such a comely thread of words to ensnare an unwary maid. Now say me yea or
nay. Was it some scaly beast who laid upon my virgin loins on a stormy winter’s night? Nay, I would not think it. ‘Twas some dark, handsome wooer who picked the plum but only nibbled the fruit before he vanished in the blackness. Was it some passion’s flower he yearned to pluck that brought him to this isle, or some thirst for revenge upon that one who but sought to save herself from that hoary wretch of the dungeons then found, all too late, he was an enchanted lover. What dark dragon do I see before me? What of the raven locks and strong human arms to twine about me? Is it beast’s blood flowing in your veins, my gallant cavalier, or the warm blood of man?”
His heated gaze seared her, and he beckoned with his words. “Come, Vixen, and I will show you.”
Shanna gave a deep, throaty laugh and placed her hands on his hard, flat belly, sliding them upward over his ribs and chest, caressingly, tauntingly, feeling the heavy thud of his heart beneath her palm.
“I perceive you are all too manly, my lord,” she purred as his hands came upon her waist. A low growl sounded deep in her, like a she-cat calling her mate. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned against him, first her hips and then the peaks of her thinly clad breasts, rousing his hot blood to boiling as the heat of her touched him.
“Shanna, Shanna,” Ruark rasped and folded her in his arms, crushing her to him and bending to cover her soft, reaching mouth with his.
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