“I will have none of your bumbling colonial justice!” Gaylord snarled. “My father will see that I am cared for.”
“The same, of course.” The major rubbed a finger along his chin. “Lord Billingsham has come to the colonies to—uh—improve the crude system, I believe he said. He has taken the bench in Williamsburg and will be the first to hear your case.”
Gaylord’s mouth gapped open, and his eyes grew dim and distant. He seated himself on the stool and stared at the blank wall, seeming not to hear any further comments. His lips moved briefly, and the whisper was barely heard.
“Old Hanging Harry.” His shoulders sagged, and his air of arrogance deserted him.
A moment later George entered the manor and stalked through the room directly to the brandy decanter. Close on his heels came Nathanial and Jeremiah, their broad grins warning of good news, while Pitney and the major assisted a ruffled, bone-weary Trahern to his chair. He plumped down and stared at the muddied, grass-stained wrappings of his injured foot, once more propped on its hassock. Bringing up the rear, Shanna and Ruark strolled in with their arms entwined and happy smiles on their faces as if the day had borne nothing but blissful togetherness.
The uproar of relieved laughter and shouts filled the house until it fair danced on its foundation. The tale was told, then retold, and each added his own part until it was complete. Backs were pounded, hands clasped, toasts proposed and properly completed, and in the darker corners the heroes were welcomed home in a much quieter fashion. Only Orlan Trahern sat in his chair in a dour mood and sipped from a rum and bitters Pitney had managed to prepare. It was into this riot of congratulations that Hergus bore a tray of tidbits to whet the appetites of the starving men. Her shriek of recognition was ear-splitting.
“Jamie! Jamie Conners!”
The Scotsman turned and stared at the woman who called his name, as did everyone else in the room.
“Hergus?” he said slowly, his eyes widening in amazement. “My Gawd! Hergus! Me own true love!” He burned beneath the slow regard the surprised woman bent on him.
“Humph, a score of years ye been gone and not a word! Ever!”
Hergus presented her tray and a warm smile to Pitney and her stiff back to Jamie, as she recalled in a rush the multitude of wiles she had watched Shanna use on various suitors. Her love had strayed and ere there would be a reconciliation, his price would be dear.
“I—I—” the poor man stammered, “I found no trace of ye when they finally let me go.”
No answer came as Hergus calmly served the others from the tray. But as Shanna caught her eye, she could well read the slow smile and lowering of eyelids. At the moment Shanna almost felt sorry for Jamie, but she saw something new in Hergus, both soft and firm at the same time, and guessed that with proper retribution the Scotsman might regain what he had lost.
Shanna stepped to her father’s side and gazed down at him for a moment. At the glowering frown she gently asked, “Does your foot pain you, papa?”
“ ‘Tis not my foot that aches as much as another part,” he snorted. “It took a dire threat to put me atop a horse, but should the very earth crumble beneath my feet, I will not straddle another. Now I cannot find comfort either standing or sitting. I would hie myself to my bed to find aught of ease.”
Shanna began to chuckle and could not stop, though his scowl grew deeper as he glared up at her.
“Oh, Papa, ‘tis the worst of it that you should have done it for me.” She bent and kissed his brow.
“Bah!” Trahern shifted in his chair as if to ease some ache and spoke to Ruark who had come to stand beside Shanna. “I hurt in every bone, and she chortles like some half-wit. Beware, my son, ere she drive you harried and haunted to your grave.”
“If I knew that as fact,” Ruark laughed, “I would change no small whit of it.”
Shanna took her husband’s hand and squeezed it lovingly, then sat on the arm of her father’s chair and rested her own arm about his shoulders.
“I am beset with beasts in the two of you.” She smiled softly to belie her words. “A dragon on my left and a hoary bear on my right. Am I ever to fear your fangs?”
“Keep her with child, lad!” Trahern chuckled, his mood easing. “ ‘Tis the only way. Keep her with child!”
“Much my own thoughts, sir.” Ruark met Shanna’s eyes, and their love glowed in unspoken communication.
Ruark was at the window, watching the gray streaks of dawn spread across the sky. Lying in bed, Shanna, too, was wide awake. He came back and slid beneath the covers.
“You’re cold,” Shanna told him.
“Warm me.” They snuggled close together.
“It’s been almost a year,” she murmured.
“Aye, and with each dawning,” he whispered in her ear, “the sun has come to part us. But no more.”
A moment of silence passed as they nestled in each other’s arms. Ruark traced a curl where it fell across her arm.
“Have I slain your dragon, my love?”
“Slain my dragon? Nay, and I will hear no more such talk.” Shanna slipped her arms about his neck. “Let the devil take the shiny knights. Come, Dragon Ruark, breathe your fire and warm me. The day is just beginning for us.”
Epilogue
ORLAN TRAHERN sat in the small church on the island of Los Camellos and listened to the minister’s voice droning on from the pulpit. His mind was not on the sermon but drifted to other topics.
The island seemed lonely of late. There was something missing. Life here moved on as usual, slowing in the heat of the day, hastening when the harvests of cane and timber called. It accommodated the rush of the mills, and the new wealth was liberally disbursed to be enjoyed by all. It was what he had always dreamed of, but now the edge was gone from the achievement.
He thought of his daughter and her husband. The babe would be born by now, but weeks would pass before he received word of it. He glanced toward the small oil painting of his wife, Georgiana, which hung near his church box and knew she would have thrilled at the prospect. Indeed, she would have insisted they go to be with Shanna at her labor. He could almost see his wife smiling back at him with her ever-tolerant, knowing gaze.
He had of yesteryear considered his blood to be aged and thin, but now it quickened with the fervor of youth as he imagined the wealth of new markets that waited a knowing hand in the colonies. More and more he longed to be out in the marketplace with a wad of credit slips in his purse and a shipload of merchandise at the dock. He yearned to elbow his way through a throng and hear the jargon of barter, the rhythmic song of an auctioneer, and to feel the lift of that moment when a good bargain is struck. He wanted to whet his mind against the sly half truths of the seller and hone his appetite with a taste of the same on a wary buyer.
Even Pitney had grown restless of late and spoke often of leaving the island to seek out a fortune in the new land. Trahern guessed that the man had fallen in love with the vast spaces and found life here now narrow and restrictive. A ship had been sighted as they were on their way to church, and Pitney had gone down to the docks to meet it, a fire of adventure beginning to glow in his eyes.
“By God, it is a tempting thing,” Orlan Trahern thought. “And in my journeys up and down the colonies, I could stop often to see my grandchild.” His eyes went again to the painting. “I’d come back here, too, Georgiana, often, and I would ever cherish the memories we set to seed here.”
The minister had finished his sermon and was calling the congregation to its feet for a song when he paused and stared speechless toward the rear of the church. Before Trahern could turn, a huge hand gripped his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Pitney grinning down at him.
Trahern frowned and began to rise. Then a small, blanketed bundle was thrust gently into his arms. He had barely time to see the dark hair before another one was placed in his other arm. He looked back and forth between the two, seeing the black hair and a hint of green in the baby blue of their eyes.
The squire’s jaw
dropped. He raised his gaze in wonder to meet Shanna’s brightly beaming visage. “A boy and a girl, papa.”
“This was news no letter could bear,” Ruark smiled. “We were overdue a visit, anyway.”
Orlan Trahern was speechless. He stared down at the twins again and could not for the life of him bring forth words to express his joy. He looked up at the painting on the wall, and his voice was choked and broken as he whispered:
“More than we ever dreamed, Georgiana. More than we ever dreamed.”
About the Author
Kathleen E. Woodiwiss wrote the very first historical romance novel in 1972 —The Flame and the Flower created a genre and made Ms. Woodiwiss one of the world’s most popular writers, with 36 million books in print. In celebration of Ms. Woodiwiss’s new novel, The Reluctant Suitor (2003), PerfectBound is publishing Ms. Woodiwiss’s classic backlist, including the complete Birmingham Family Saga: The Flame and the Flower; The Elusive Flame; A Season Beyond a Kiss. Also available are Ms. Woodiwiss’s Ashes in the Wind; Come Love a Stranger; Forever in Your Embrace; Petals on the River; A Rose in Winter; Shanna; So Worthy My Love; The Wolf and the Dove.
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
KATHLEEN E. WOODIWISS
“A LEGEND. . .
THE QUEEN OF HISTORICAL ROMANCE.”
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
“A PHENOMENON”
The New York Times
“WOODIWISS REIGNS!”
Life
“THE FIRST LADY OF THE GENRE.”
Publishers Weekly
“LIVE AND BREATHE THE WORLD
KATHLEEN E. WOODIWISS CREATES.”
Houston Chronicle
Works by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
The Birmingham Family Saga:
The Flame and the Flower
The Elusive Flame
A Season Beyond a Kiss
And also:
Ashes in the Wind
Come Love a Stranger
Forever in Your Embrace
Petals on the River
A Rose in Winter
Shanna
So Worthy My Love
The Wolf and the Dove
The Reluctant Suitor
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SHANNA. Copyright © 1997 by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
PerfectBound™ and the PerfectBound™ logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Ms Reader edition v 1. March 2003 ISBN: 0-0607-6973-4
First Avon Books printing: 1997
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