Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Laughing with ebullient joy, he snatched her high, almost upon his shoulders, and spun her about until the sounds of their mirth mingled in a heady swirl. Carrying her closer to the fire, Ruark stood her there, smiling down at her. Very gently he reached out a hand to touch her cheek, and she caressed it with her own, pressing a kiss into his palm. In the dampened gown Shanna shivered, both from the cold and the overwhelming, near-to-bursting sense of contentment that welled up inside her.

  “Here, we’ll warm you. Wait a moment.”

  Ruark stood back, and her eyes followed him as if they were fed by the mere sight of him. His clothes were strange to her—buckskin breeches that fit closely to the hard, muscular leanness of his thighs and a coat of beaver fur whereon bejeweled droplets clung; in the twinkling firelight, the droplets gleamed like a thousand rubied eyes. He was more the beast, the lean hunting cat, and she felt both pride and fear. This was his land, and he was free. No man would ever tame him, nor would she in her own mind ever name him slave again. She considered the the question her father had started and knew that if Ruark fled to seek his freedom, she would follow wherever he led.

  With a tug at the ties, he shrugged the heavy coat from his shoulders and spread it around hers. Shanna snuggled beneath the beaver, still warm from his body, and watched as he added small sticks to the fire until it blazed high. Her gaze roamed the room in wonder, passing in question over the rope and wood frame of a bed that might have once served the occupants of the cottage, but not even a feather tick was in evidence.

  Ruark saw where her eyes paused, and his own sparkled. “Have no fear, my love. I have been about this night to see that your comfort is well served.”

  Shanna laughed and drew the coat close about her as if demure. “Beast! Now that I am trapped in your lair, I fear I shall find myself devoured for a tidbit.”

  “Devoured?” Ruark pulled the tight, dark linen shirt over his head, and Shanna’s breath caught in her throat as his naked torso stretched before her in the shifting light.

  “Nay, not devoured, love.” He reached out and traced a long tress where it curled over her shoulder. “This is the magic cup filled for lovers at the table of the gods. The more often it is tasted, the richer the nectar. Wealthy kings have beggared themselves trying to draw the limits of this treasure. This is a thing that must be shared, but it can never be devoured in selfish greed.”

  Shanna touched his arm, her eyes caressing his face in fond possession. “I am nothing but selfish with you, my darling.”

  Ruark’s mouth pressed lightly upon her lips. “And ‘tis so with me, lovely Shanna.”

  Kneeling, he plucked at the ties on the bundle and then straightened, kicking the lot. It spilled wide open, blossoming like some weird, unearthly flower. A pallet formed of rich, luxuriant furs—glossy reds, tawny golds, thick dense roans and blacks, nothing but the choicest of them all.

  “Where—”

  “ ‘Tis mine,” Ruark said in answer to her unfinished question. He gestured casually. “I fetched it from the wagon.”

  “But how came you to have them? And those clothes you’re wearing. They’re yours, aren’t they? Made for you—the fit—”

  “Aye, ‘tis so.” He paused to grin up at her, kneeling on one leg and resting his arm across the other thigh. “My family learned I would be passing here, and they sent them, ‘tis all.”

  “Your family?” Shanna moved a space closer.

  “Shortly, love,” Ruark smiled, “and I will take you to them.”

  Again he was crouched on the furs, spreading them, smoothing them, setting one aside for cover. In that instant Shanna’s vision of a savage formed in her mind and he was it, half-naked, gold and bronze before the fire, hair pulled back to a knot at his nape. Those who thought they could bring this man to heel were fools, whether Gaylord, Ralston, or even her father.

  Ruark came to stand before her, a red- and black-hued shape, dark as any savage, and the wild beating of her heart gave evidence of the fact that this new glimpse of Ruark Beauchamp excited her beyond anything she had ever known.

  The heavy coat was taken away, and his fingers were at the ties of her gown, slipping it from her shoulders. Shanna closed her eyes in ecstasy as his hands slowly followed its descent, cupping her trembling breasts and stroking her smooth velvet hips. In the warm, wavering glow of the fire, her skin shone with a golden luster, shadowed and highlighted, even lovelier than he could remember. There was a radiance about her he had never noticed before, something different, but he could not name it.

  “How lovely you are,” he breathed, almost in reverence. “I could not have believed it, but you have grown even more beautiful. What sorcery has love performed?”

  Shanna smiled softly into his eyes. “No sorcery, my love. Your eyes deceive you. You have fasted long and would relish plain porridge for a dainty dish.”

  “Eh, no plain porridge this,” he said thickly and bore her down to the furry pallet. Ruark’s hands shook as he set aside his own garments. Then he gathered her close. Her soft breasts were a brand against his chest, a dream fulfilled, a release from the longing torture of the sea voyage. Her silken thighs opened to his questing hand, and his wandering caresses brought soft, breathless cries of trembling joy. His kisses came upon her mouth, warm, devouring, fierce with love and passion, then traced lower to spread their heat over her quivering breasts, which thrust forward eagerly in anticipation. Shanna closed her eyes as the bliss of his greedy mouth swept her every nerve with intense excitement. She felt the bold urgency of him against her, and then he was a flame within her, consuming, searing, setting fire to her until the rippling, molten waves flooded her with almost unbearable pleasure. She heard his harsh breathing in her ear, the hoarse, whispered words of love. His heart beat wildly against her naked breast, and beneath her hands the hard muscles of his back tensed and flexed with manly vigor. Then they were caught together in a shimmering, surging, swelling tide of rapture.

  The rain beat upon the oiled skin stretched across the windows, and the wind howled like a banshee in the night, but in the aftermath of their own storm, Shanna and Ruark lay peacefully content. They faced the hearth, her back pressed against the solid bulwark of his chest, his knees tucked behind hers, as they watched rekindled flames eagerly lapping at the flanks of a log. Their voices were hushed and lazy, yet seemed to echo in the silence of the cabin. Their hands raised before the shifting, flickering fire, and they gently entwined slender fingers in a knot of love. Ruark’s lips nibbled at the soft flesh of her shoulder and sank warmly against her creamy throat, then paused to taste an ear lobe.

  “I’ll build you a mansion,” he breathed.

  Shanna laughed. “This cabin will do—if you are here with me.” She wiggled onto her back so she could look up into those soft, begilded eyes and read the gentle love that smiled down upon her. “Stay with me always. Never leave me.”

  “Nay, love. Never again. I love you.”

  The corners of her mouth curved softly. “And I you.”

  Ruark smoothed her tumbled hair across his arm and nuzzled his face into the fragrant curls, breathing in the sweet scent of her.

  “I think I’ve loved you forever,” Shanna confessed in wonder. “When the scales of blindness were lifted from my eyes, I saw you not as a dragon, but as the one I would have chosen.”

  “You did choose me, remember?” Ruark grinned.

  Shanna giggled and snuggled closer against him. “Aye, that I did.” Then in sudden seriousness she murmured, “You know the way here as if you followed the trail before. Where is your home?”

  Ruark stretched lazily, flexing a bronzed arm in the air. “Wherever you are.”

  Shanna’s eyes were soft with love as she gazed at him. “And will our home be like this?”

  “A cabin in the wilderness?” He smiled and whispered, “Months on end alone together? Would you fret upon that, my love?”

  Like an eager child Shanna shook her head. “Oh, nay, but never leave me.
”

  Beneath his searching hand, she lay soft and pliant, meeting his kisses with gentle ardor.

  “Would I leave my own heart, the very breath of my life?” Ruark asked hoarsely.

  “And what of children?” she whispered.

  “We’ll have a dozen,” Ruark assured her. “Give or take a score.”

  Shanna laughed. “Is it enough to begin with one?”

  “Oh, one or two.” His caresses grew bolder. “Whatever the market bears.”

  “But of this one—would you be amiss if we had a girl?”

  Ruark paused and the silence grew—and grew. Very gently he drew back the cover, revealing her body to the warm light of the fire, touching her taut breasts and the smooth belly.

  “That is what is different,” he smiled.

  “Are you sorry?” she breathed, watching his face.

  “Nay!” He grinned wide, covering her with the fur again. “How long?”

  “Were I to guess,” Shanna drew a breath, “I would say the pirate’s isle.”

  Ruark chuckled suddenly. “More good comes from that with every passing day.” He leaned nearer and said soberly, “I need you, Shanna, love.” He kissed her softly. “I want you, Shanna, love. I love you, Shanna.”

  He was caressing, searching, and again their passions bloomed. The fire reddened, the coals grew dark, and the long night passed with a swiftness little noted.

  It was still dark when Ruark escorted Shanna back to the inn, but the first rays of the dawning sun were slipping further up on the horizon. All was still within the common room. A hound lazily rose from the cold hearth and sought a softer place on a braided rag rug, giving them no more than a disinterested glance. They eased their way up the stairs and parted at the chamber door with a last, fierce kiss that would have to suffice the day long.

  Moments fled, and it was quiet again. Then the door at the end of the hall opened wider, and Ralston strode out of the room he shared with Gaylord, his storklike frame clothed in a long robe. Pausing before Shanna’s door, he smirked thoughtfully to himself and tapped his cheek.

  “Madam John Ruark it might be, milady,” he mused derisively. “But soon you will feel the prick of being a widow again. This I vow.”

  The rain had cleared, and the sun had made its debut with a frosty nip that stung one’s cheeks and nose. Shanna waited with Ruark in the shelter of the doorway as the carriages were hitched and brought about. Her father and Pitney were still inside the tavern, finishing the last of their coffee, while Gaylord stalked in circles a short distance away from the young couple in an effort to drive away the cold. Shanna’s hands were clasped deep in her muff, and she huddled in the fur-lined velvet cloak. Though she knew it would be a long day before they arrived at the Beauchamps, she had taken special care with her appearance. The royal blue velvet gown with its frothing of old lace at the throat did her uncommon beauty full credit. Her hair, dressed high beneath the deep hood of the blue cloak, gave her an air of dignity and sereneness, and as Ruark’s eyes feasted upon her, he could only wonder at the variety of women he had glimpsed in this small, trim form, from bold, seductive temptress to the quiet, cool, graceful lady she now portrayed.

  Sneering, Ralston passed them.He was less than cautious of Shanna this chilly morn as he questioned offhandedly, “Did you sleep well, madam?”

  Shanna did not pause. She smiled sweetly. “Indeed I did, sir. And you?”

  He tapped his whip against his boot. “Restless most of the night.”

  Without further comment Ralston walked away to where Gaylord chafed and grumbled, leaving the two to stare after him in bemusement.

  “What do you suppose he meant by that?” Shanna asked, looking up at Ruark.

  “That, my love, only he knows for sure,” Ruark replied, staring at the man from under his brows.

  After Trahern seated himself in the coach, Pitney climbed in and took a place beside the portly squire, drawing a raised eyebrow from Trahern, who realized that the girth of the two could have been more evenly distributed. Orlan tapped the knee of his stalwart companion and spoke his piece.

  “Watch your flapping wings, my good man. I can well imagine the bruises you put upon Sir Gaylord’s ribs, and I’ll have none of the same.”

  The seating arrangement left Shanna to be handed in by Ruark. Gaylord, seeing the lass alone on the seat, made bold to join her, brushing the bondsman aside and setting his foot on the step to climb in, but Trahern’s staff suddenly barred the way.

  “Would you mind riding in the other coach?” the squire requested. “I would like a word with my bondsman.”

  The knight straightened himself arrogantly. “If you insist, sir.”

  Trahern nodded once and gave a small smile. “I do.”

  Once upon the road, the conversation was mostly about the lands they passed and the wealth of the countryside. The relentless motion combined with the brevity of sleep in the night past made Shanna drowsy. Her eyelids sagged, and with a stifled yawn she yielded to slumber, bracing herself back against the cushion, but it was a natural place in sleep to rest her head on her husband’s shoulder, and soon she was snuggled close, her arm flung across his hips. Ruark welcomed her nestling weight, but under that more burdensome one of Trahern’s stare, he shifted uncomfortably.

  “Did you say you had something to discuss with me, sir?” he questioned, clearing his throat.

  Trahern pursed his lips thoughtfully, regarding the sleeping face of his daughter. “In actuality little enough, but there was much I would rather not have discussed with Gaylord.” He paused as Ruark nodded and then inquired, “You seem distressed, Mister Ruark. Is she heavy?”

  “No, sir,” Ruark replied slowly. A smile twisted his lips. “ ‘Tis just that I have never held a woman with her father across from me before.”

  “Relax, Mister Ruark,” Trahern chuckled. “As long as it goes no further, I will deem it your kindness to be my daughter’s pillow.”

  Pitney lowered his tricorn upon his brow and peered at the younger man from beneath it, which lent considerably to Ruark’s unease. He began to sense the huge fellow knew more about them than either he or Shanna had ever offered.

  At the noon hour they stopped alongside the road and feasted upon a box lunch packed at the tavern. Soon after, they resumed the journey. The teams labored up a long incline from the valley floor and the rolling foothills and green forest were left behind. Here the trees bore little hint of green but rather were garbed in a splendorous riot of color and only an occasional sheltered oak still raised its arms in summer color, or a rare tall pine or spruce.

  Finally all the coaches stood in Rockfish Gap. A magnificent panorama spread out beneath them in all directions. The mountains ranged north and south, their brilliant autumn colors dimmed by the bluish haze that clung to the peaks. The sheer beauty of the view took one’s breath away. Shanna stared in awe of the countryside, which was gilded with dark coppery hues and where the late afternoon sun touched, bright golds and brass. Even the memory of soft, misty evenings in Paris or the lush, tended fields of England dimmed in contrast with this wild untamed kaleidoscope of color before her. She respected the soft pride that rode in Ruark’s voice as he drew their attention here or there. When she would turn, she would find him watching her closely, almost expectantly, as if he waited for some reaction from her. Then, at her wondering look, he would just smile while his eyes glowed with intimate warmth.

  “The rains may have washed out or softened some of the roads,” he explained as Trahern climbed into the coach again. “I’ll ride on ahead and leave sign for the drivers. They know the way and from here ‘tis mostly downhill. I’ll either join you again or be waiting.”

  Tipping his hat, he strode away without pausing for a reply. A quick thud of hooves rang out, and he was gone.

  The drivers shook out their reins, clucked to the teams, and the coaches began to move again. A quick series of sharp bends, and they left the ridge to ease out across a low shoulder, then tra
veled southward as the way straightened out in a slow curve around the hip of a mountain. They crossed a narrow trail where a small tavern and a trading post squatted beside the road. Further on, a wider road crossed, and here the coaches slowed to make the turn, now heading northward along the mountains. The horses galloped loose in the traces as if the coach were only a light weight behind them. The brake shoes whined as the coachmen rode with one foot on the long brake lever and slowed the headlong plunge as the hard-packed road dipped ever lower into the valley.

  Wide fields began to show on the left where the valley fell away. Shanna’s heart rose in her throat as the carriage dipped and careened downward almost on the horses’ heels, and now the fields stretched out on either side. Still the valley floor rolled with hills and vales, a copse of woodland here and a broad field there.

  Suddenly a horse was dashing alongside them, and Shanna recognized the gray of Attila. The coachman talked and sang to his team, slowing the carriage to a halt. As Trahern leaned out the window, Ruark reined Attila close.

  “We’re almost to the Beauchamps’, sir. Only a short distance further. I was wondering if Madam Beauchamp would care to ride the rest of the way on horseback.”

  Trahern turned to ask his daughter, but Shanna was already pulling on her gloves. She leaned forward from the door, and Ruark swept her from it, onto Jezebel’s back. Soon the caravan was rushing on. The two riders led the way, and, as Pitney could see from his window, they drew ever further ahead.

  “The vigor of youth,” Trahern sighed and leaned back, bracing his feet upon the opposite seat.

  Pitney raised his jug of ale in silent salute. “Best arrive soon,” he mumbled. “There’s only a wee drop left.”

  The way was open and the sun warm. The pair left sight of the coaches and were on their own. Where the trail was smooth, they ran far apace, but as the way roughened, they had to slow their mounts to an easy trot. Surreptitiously Shanna gazed at Ruark’s profile. He seemed absorbed in the countryside and studied it as they passed. He rode easily and looked both the part of a gentleman and a woodsman in the soft buckskin breeches and fitted waistcoat, his white linen shirt and tied stock. He was handsome, and her eyes glowed with love and pride as she watched him.