Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Shanna noted the tracks of several horses, and she urged Jezebel on faster, past a bunch of willows, to splash across a small, clear stream and then onto the ground that rose to the cabin. The door stood ajar, and an ax lay amid a pile of new chips. Beyond the cabin a rail fence surrounded a pasture in which grazed a sizable herd of horses that rivaled in grace and beauty the one that she rode. Restlessly Jezebel pawed at the thick matting of grass beneath her hooves as Shanna held the reins tight in her gloved hand, gazing out across the beauty of the peaceful valley.

  A small sound came from behind her, and Shanna turned the mare to find Ruark leaning his long rifle against a stump. Grinning, he came to lift her from the back of the horse.

  “How did you know where I was?”

  She smiled up into his eyes as he stood her on the ground. “Gabrielle told me.”

  His hands caressed the velvet along her ribs. “I’m glad.”

  He bent, and his mouth covered hers in a long, searing kiss of welcome. Shanna sighed contentedly, nestling against his leather jerkin as his arms folded about her. But then she remembered her business there.

  “Hanging Harry is in Williamsburg,” she murmured, slipping her own arms around him and leaning back to meet his gaze.

  “The bastard,” Ruark grunted.

  “What shall we do?” Shanna asked, worry in her voice.

  Ruark caressed her cheek with his lean knuckles. “Do not fret, love. We’ll see our way clear of this yet.”

  Kissing her lips again, he stepped back and, lifting his head, gave a soft, cooing call. A movement in the brush behind the cabin caught Shanna’s attention, and a moment later Jeremiah came into view. He, too, bore a long musket and was garbed much as Ruark, in soft buckskin breeches, waistcoat, and linen shirt.

  “Mister Ruark,” Jeremiah called, his voice strangely heavy with laughter. “I think I’d better go fix that break in the fence before the mares find it. It’ll take me a while.”

  With that he hefted the ax and set off with a strange shuffling trot across the field. Shanna could have sworn she heard a chuckle drifting in the air behind him as he left.

  Ruark watched him go, a twinkle in his eyes. “Bright lad, that one. Always ready to do more than his share.”

  Shanna frowned slightly, feeling as if something had passed between them that she had completely missed. But what did it matter as long as she and Ruark could be alone?

  He gathered the back of her habit in his hand and lifted the hem from the damp grass. “You’ll need a pair of breeches to wear if you’re going to wander around up here. Let me put Jezebel away before she strays. Then I’ll show you around.”

  Holding her skirts high, Shanna followed along. At the corral Ruark removed the bridle from the mare, looped it over the saddle, then loosened the girth. The mare followed him like a trained dog as he led her to the gate and let her through.

  Happily Shanna ran ahead into a dark bower of shadows beneath a tall pine. She danced and kicked at the thick carpet of pine needles. Then returning to Ruark, she came into his arms like a young girl freshly in love. Her laughter rippled through the glade. Raising her arms, she stretched them high above her head, arching her body in sheer rapture before throwing them about his neck and leaning forward to let their lips meet as one.

  “Do you want to see the cabin?” he asked huskily against her mouth.

  Shanna nodded eagerly and slipped her hand into his, letting him lead her back to the clearing. In front of the cabin Ruark swung her up into his arms and carried her through the low door of the place. It was simple within, dimly lit by the fire that blazed in the hearth. Setting Shanna to her feet, Ruark let her look about as he bent, lifted a glowing brand from the fireplace, and puffed his pipe alight. Intrigued with the sturdy comfort of the interior, Shanna rubbed her hand across the surface of a hand-hewn table and peered inquisitively into a great iron pot that swung away from the fire. She bounced playfully on the huge down tick spread over the bed, felt the rich fur robe that covered it, then turned about in the middle of the room.

  “Oh, Ruark, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could have something like this?” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

  He looked at her dubiously through the wreath of smoke that curled from his pipe and smiled. “Now, Shanna, would you really be satisfied here?”

  She pouted winsomely. “Do you doubt that I could be? I am of sturdy stuff, Mister Beauchamp, and given a challenge I will make the best of it. I will learn to cook. Perhaps not as well as the cooks in papa’s kitchen, but then I don’t like fat husbands.” She patted his lean belly then smoothed the velvet over her own. “Will you still love me when I’ve grown fat-bellied with child?”

  “Oh, Shanna,” Ruark chuckled, folding her in his embrace. “I will love you on my dying day.”

  She clung to him and answered his warming kisses. “How long will Jeremiah be gone?”

  Ruark reached behind him to latch the door. “Until I call him.”

  The stark branches of the oak tree scratched forlornly at the panes in the bedroom window as Shanna gazed out into the star-glazed night. Her afternoon with Ruark in the cabin had made her intensely aware of the fact that she wanted a life with him, whatever hardships or happiness it might contain. Her mind was already set on its course, but she felt lonely beyond belief. It was as if she stood alone in the world and all the weight of her folly rested on her shoulders. What she was about to do might well leave her with no one—Ruark, her father, no one. Would the Beauchamps really receive her in all her shame, as Nathanial had said?

  Shanna rested a hand on her belly and was vividly awake to the life that blossomed there. Suddenly she knew she would never be alone.

  Orlan Trahern sat in a leather chair in the guest chamber and pored over a sheaf of charts and ledgers. The produce of this land was rich enough to tweak his merchant’s heart. In fact, he had begun to see the advantages of obtaining property here himself, perhaps on the James River where his fleet of ships could come and go.

  A light tapping on his chamber door interrupted his musings, and Shanna’s voice called softly, “Papa, are you awake?”

  He dropped the papers on the desk and urged, “Come in, Shanna, come in.”

  The door opened, and Shanna slipped in, closing it behind her. She came across the room to press a kiss upon his brow and saw his amused smile.

  “Is something wrong, papa?” she asked wonderingly.

  “Nay, child. I was just remembering.” He gazed at her with fondness. She seemed tiny within the loose, flowing velvet folds of her dressing gown. “You sounded frightened, just as you did when you were a child and the storms came. You would tap on our door and call and then come and snuggle between your mother and me.”

  Shanna cringed inwardly and sought a chair to ease her shaking. She could only sit and look at her trembling hands, though she knew his eyes were on her and that he waited.

  “Papa, I—” Her voice was low and thin, almost tremulous. She drew a breath and blurted it all out in one rush. “Papa, I’m with child, and the father is John Ruark.”

  A moment of dead silence followed, and Shanna could not lift her eyes to see the shocked anger on her father’s face.

  “Good lord, woman!”

  Shanna jumped as his voice roared out. Orlan shot out of his chair and in a step was standing in front of her. Shanna braced herself again, but his voice came lower, even though it still sounded coarse and loud in the quiet room.

  “Do you know what you have done?”

  Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and tears hung on the thick lashes, threatening to fall as she hunted for a way to express her feelings. Then his words fell on her ears and filled her mind.

  “You have solved for me, dear child, a problem which has soured my stomach every day these weeks past. How could I, with all my prattling of blood and titles, ask my daughter to wed a bondsman?” He bent and took her hands from her lap and lifted her chin until he could look into her face. “If you would have
given it to me to choose, I would have begged you take the man, Ruark. But as I vowed, ‘twas your choice to make, and I would interfere no more.” He searched her face. “Do you love him?”

  “Oh yes, papa.” She rose and, throwing her arms about his neck, hid her face against his shoulder. “Oh yes, I love him.” Her whisper was soft and happy.

  “Does he love you? Will he see you properly wed?” He gave no pause. “By damn, he will!” His voice began to raise in anger. “He will, or I will see him—”

  Shanna’s fingers went across his lips, hushing him. It was in her mind to blurt out the whole story, but the truth of her deception might well cause harsher feelings to stir. A little at a time was better than pressing good fortune.

  “Papa, there is a difficulty. I will tell you all in good time, but there is a reason we cannot bring it to light for a while.” She saw his frown and begged him. “Trust me, papa. It will come out for the good. Trust me?”

  “I suppose you have good cause,” he yielded reluctantly. “But it must not be too long. I would spread the word of my offspring.”

  “Thank you, papa.” She kissed him and fled the room, returning to her own. There she closed the door behind her and strolled deep in thought toward the bed, smiling and tearful at the same time. A shadow rose from the chair across the room, and she gasped before she recognized Ruark. She flew into his arms and laughed against his chest, holding him tightly.

  “I told him, Ruark. I told papa about us.”

  “I guessed as much.” His lips touched her hair. “I heard his bellow of pain.”

  “Oh, nay!” She leaned back and looked up at him. “He approves, Ruark. He was happy with it.”

  Ruark’s brows lifted in surprise.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell him we were married, only that we had made a baby together.”

  Ruark threw up his hands and groaned. “Thanks a lot, madam. Now I am a molester of widows.”

  “Cad!” Shanna danced away from him, and gazed back coyly over her shoulder. “Were I in truth a widow, that might be true. Of course,”—she faced him with an angry pout well freigned—“there is that hennaed widow. Is that the one you refer to?”

  “Nay, madam. Rather a young, tawny wisp of a woman who tempts my ardor overmuch.”

  Coming to a conclusion of his own, Ruark grew serious. “Shanna, love, since the night seems one to bring out the truth, I, too, have something to confess.”

  “Ruark, I have no fear of your former loves,” Shanna laughed. “Ply me with no secrets now. My nerves are still aquiver.” She went to the door and turned the lock. She glanced about the room, somewhat puzzled. “How did you come here? David was about below. I saw him from the stairs. Have you grown wings of late?”

  “Nay, my love.” Ruark gestured to the window. “The oak that grows beside the kitchen makes a good enough ladder. I thought you might have need of company.” He set his hands upon her narrow waist and drew her to him. “But, Shanna, there is a thing I would tell you. This is my—”

  Shanna silenced him with her lips and pressed herself tightly against him.

  “Come, tell me of your love, Sir Dragon,” she murmured. “And afterwards let me see some proof of it.”

  “I love you,” Ruark whispered as his arms slipped around her beneath her robe. He felt the heat of her soft body under the thin silk of her gown, and all other thoughts fled his mind. “I love you as the earth must love the moon which climbs like a silver goddess in the night and brings light to the tiny creatures of the dark.”

  Pulling him to the bed, Shanna purred against his chest and caressed its hard, bare firmness.

  “I love you like the flowers love the rain and spread their petals to bear their tender hearts before its gentle touch.” His mouth sought hers. “I love you, Shanna, love, beyond all else.”

  Shanna came awake with a start and then lay still, wondering what had intruded into her sleep to shatter it so completely. The clock on the mantel delicately chimed the third hour as she listened. She felt Ruark’s naked body snuggled against her back, his arm thrown across the cover over her hip. Then she realized that he, too, lay tense and rigid, his breathing subdued. She rolled her head on the pillow and in the dim glow from the fire could see that he was propped on an elbow, staring across the dark room toward the door. Then Shanna heard it, the rattle of the doorknob as it was twisted and slowly eased back in place; the locked portal gave no entry. Her eyes turned questioningly to her husband.

  Ruark placed a finger across his lips, signaling her to silence. Slipping carefully from the bed, he reached for his breeches and pulled them on. With a quick, noiseless stride he crossed the room as Shanna snatched her gown over her head. If he was going to confront anyone beyond that door, she was not going to be caught naked.

  Very gently Ruark turned the key until a soft click freed the bar from the jamb. Then with a swift movement that made Shanna start, he stepped back and flung the portal wide.

  No one was there. Nor in the passageway outside her chamber. The hall was dark with deep shadows and, though Ruark wandered noiselessly along it, peering into the shadows, he could find no one. Frowning, he returned to the bedchamber and closed the door, locking it again.

  “Who could it have been?” Shanna whispered as he sat beside her on the bed.

  “I’m beginning to have my suspicions,” Ruark replied. After a few moments he rose and shucked his breeches, climbing beneath the covers again.

  “You’re cold,” Shanna shivered, snuggling to him.

  Abruptly Ruark sat up, leaving Shanna staring at him in surprise.

  “What the hell is that?” He canted his head to listen better. In the silence of the room the faint but angry whinny of a horse could be heard.

  “Attila,” Shanna whispered, sitting up beside Ruark. “Something is disturbing him.”

  Ruark threw back the covers and snatched up his breeches again, jerking them on. “I’ll see.” He tugged his shirt over his head and spoke through it. “Lock the door behind me. If anyone tries to get in, scream. Someone should hear you.”

  Shanna was suddenly fearful. It seemed too much of a coincidence to be awakened from a sound slumber and then to hear Attila. Had they been asleep they wouldn’t have heard him at all with the windows closed and the stable a goodly distance from the house.

  “Ruark, don’t go,” she pleaded. “I don’t know what, but I sense something wrong here.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He kissed her lips quickly. “Keep my side warm. I’ll be cold when I come back.”

  Shanna frowned with worry and followed him to the door. “Please be careful.”

  The portal was locked behind him, and Shanna began to pace the room uneasily, chewing on a long fingernail. Only the red glow of embers gave her light, and with the chill of the room she shivered in her nightgown. Kneeling before the fireplace, she stirred the hot coals until a tiny flame appeared and then placed upon it two heavy chunks of oak from the woodbox. Afterwards she could not have said how long she sat watching the fire blaze up again and enjoying its warmth. But cold dread was brought sharply to her heart as a scream pierced the night, and she heard Charlotte shriek from a bedroom down the hall.

  “The stable! The stable is burning! Nathanial, wake up. The stable’s on fire!”

  Shanna came to her feet with a cry. A brief, fearful glance to the window showed her a light flickering on the drapes.

  “Ruark!” With a strangled scream she was at the door, clawing at it, her shaking fingers fumbling at the key. “Oh, no! Please, no! Ruark!”

  Heedless of her bare feet and nightgown, Shanna flung the door wide and ran into the hall, nearly colliding with Nathanial, who had barely managed to don a pair of breeches. Charlotte was behind him, carrying a lantern and hugging a quilt about her shoulders for a wrap. Beyond them in the wide hall, doors had already begun to fly open.

  “Ruark!” Shanna sobbed almost in hysteria. “He’s in the stable!”

  “Oh, my God!” Charlotte clapped
a hand over her mouth, her dark eyes wide with fear.

  Nathanial had no time to comment, but now fully awake he tore down the stairs as if a demon were at his heels. Shanna flew after him and barely recognized that Charlotte threw a blanket about her. They ran through the house to the back, flinging doors wide as they went, and did not pause as they crossed the lawn.

  Flames were licking like hungry tongues up the walls of the stable, and they found the doors closed, the broad ones barred and the small one with a heavy post braced against it. The snorts and screams of the animals within rent the night, and the crackle of flames grew into a roar.

  Shanna caught Nathanial’s bare arm, her long nails digging into his flesh. “Ruark!” she screamed above the din. “He came to see about the horses!”

  They drew near the small door, and Nathanial snatched buckets of water from the trough to splash onto the flames that threatened the sills as Shanna struggled against the dead weight of the heavy post. He brushed her aside, and with a single heave sent the post tumbling. Sobbing, Shanna snatched at the latch. The hot metal burned her fingers, and she wrapped her hand in the end of the quilt and managed to lift the post.

  Heavy billows of smoke rolled out as the door swung free, choking Shanna and forcing her back, gasping for air. Nathanial snatched the quilt from her back and doused it in the trough then, flinging it over his head and shoulders, crouched beneath the roiling, strangling black clouds, and entered the inferno.

  Attila’s scream of terror shredded the air, and Shanna pressed shaking hands over her ears, sobbing against her own fear. Men were running all over now. Lines were formed to pass buckets of water and throw them on the towering mass of flames. A shower of sparks fell within, and Shanna’s breath froze in her throat. Sickening horror congealed in her chest as her imagination did its worst with her, flashing before her mind’s eye a vision of Ruark writhing in flaming agony. Panic would have brought her screaming into the barn like a frenzied banshee, but then she saw a form struggling toward her through the smoke. Drawing a deep breath, Shanna plunged forward into the eye-searing smoke. Nathanial staggered against her with Ruark flung across his shoulders, the blanket draped over them both. Snatching his arm, Shanna led him out, her own lungs near to bursting.