Shanna by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
The note went on to reassure her that the Beauchamps were happily anticipating their visit, and Nathanial expressed his hopes that nothing would delay their journey, for he predicted it to be a colorful autumn this year.
“We had no one to tend the beastie’s wounds, mum,” Captain Roberts explained, mistaking her slight frown of bemusement.
“Oh, no matter,” Shanna replied slowly. “There is a man here on the island who has a knack for that sort of thing.”
A young lad, perhaps ten, stepped forward from where he had been staying out of harm’s way and juggled a large bundle around in his arms so that he could yank at the captain’s coattail.
“Where am I to take this, sir?” he questioned, holding forth the hide-wrapped bundle.
“Mum?” The captain looked to Shanna again. “Do you know where the lad might find a Mister John Ruark?”
Shanna responded in surprise. “I’m not sure. He might be working at the sawmill, but he has a cottage behind the manor. Can I help you?”
“This here thing,” the man gestured to the package, “be for him. Can we leave it at his house?”
“Aye.” Shanna pointed toward the back. “There’s a path through the trees after you pass the manor. Follow it around. ‘Tis the large cottage beyond the others.”
As the men left, Shanna affectionately rubbed her cheek against the mare’s muzzle, pleased with the gift.
“Jezebel, the Beauchamps have named you. Aye, and you shall surely tempt my Attila, for nowhere on this isle is there so fine a filly. But I must fetch Ruark to care for you, for I’d not trust another to tend you. My dragon has a way with ladies,” she whispered, smiling wistfully. “I know you will like him.”
Inquiring at the village store on Ruark’s whereabouts, Shanna drew a shrug from Mister MacLaird.
“Doan know, lass. He was here early this morn to order some supplies, but I have na laid me eyes upon him since. Have ye checked the sawmill?”
At the building site, Shanna received the same unknowing answer.
“Seems ‘ere was something doing at the brewing house, and he was needed.”
Yet even there, none could say where Mister Ruark had gone after leaving. Finally, late that afternoon, Shanna gave up the fruitless chase and returned to the manor. Her father had returned, and Sir Billingsham had engaged him in a discussion of shipyards. Hearing the man’s voice, Shanna cautiously made her way across the entrance hall, but the squeaking of the front door had alerted Gaylord and he hailed for her to wait. He was insistent that she join them in the drawing room and would not accept her excuse of wanting to change for dinner, firmly declaring she was ravishing enough. Silently Shanna cursed her luck but nodded and smiled lamely, letting the man lead her across the hall. It was the most boring evening she ever spent in her life, for the man seemed incapable of discussing anything but his family’s aristocracy and even had the nerve to point out to her father the advantages his good name would lend to the Trahern fortune. It was some time after the meal was concluded before Shanna managed to escape to her chambers where she immediately ordered a bath and slipped out of her riding habit, dismissing Hergus for the night after the bedcovers were turned down and her sleeping gown laid out.
Sinking into the steaming water, Shanna leaned back in the ornate porcelain tub and languidly sponged her creamy shoulder. Curling tendrils of hair dangled coyly from the luxuriant mass secured with combs on top of her head. The heat of the bath caused her cheeks to bloom with a rosy color, brightening the sea-green eyes beneath their ebony lashes. But in the midst of this comfort, the softly curving mouth showed a petulant pout, and as she caught her reflection in the tall mirror which stood behind a chair, Shanna made a face at herself, wrinkling the slim, lovely nose in aggravation. First her failure to find Ruark, then his absence from dinner had left her in a fitful mood. His mere presence at the table put monotony to flight, and she had felt somehow deserted. Of late there was little enough left of her privacy outside her chambers to have even a word with him, for Gaylord seemed to scent her out like a hound after a bitch in heat. The knight was forever taking her arm, and she was becoming increasingly aware of Ruark’s displeasure over this event. Seeing his growing scowl, she would disdainfully set Gaylord’s hands from her, but the knight was persistent and would not be put off easily.
Shanna closed her eyes and rested her head back against the tub’s tall rim, letting the warm bath ease her tensions. It was rare now to go a full day without even glimpsing Ruark, though he was usually in demand wherever a problem was to be solved or an easier way to be found. Somehow her day did not seem complete.
The silken draperies behind her rustled with the stir of evening breezes. It was a warm, gentle night with the heady fragrance of frangipani scenting the air. The threat of the storm had subsided after only a light sprinkling, just enough to season the night air with a heightened aroma of freshness mingled with the smell of flowers. From afar, the shrill, repetitious song of a tree frog mixed with the sounds of night. The clock in her room daintily chimed in the tenth hour, and at its last note, a new melody began, one Shanna had never heard before in her chambers. Her eyes flew open with a start and immediately saw the source, a rather large music boa which had been placed on a table near her. And in the chaise beside it, Ruark reclined comfortably, a gracious smile on his handsome lips, his long legs stretched out before him and casually crossed at the ankles.
Shanna sat upright in the tub, staring at him in amazement. A quick glance about the room indicated that he had made himself at home. His hat was tossed upon the bed with his shirt beside it, leaving only the brief breeches to clothe his brown torso. A nod accompanied his greeting.
“Good evening, love, and thank you.” His eyes dipped briefly to her wet, glistening breasts.
“You have no propriety,” Shanna railed above the tinkling melody. But beneath his calm regard she settled herself to continue less harshly, as if only mildly injured, “You invade a lady’s private bath and advantage yourself with unsuspected peepery.”
Ruark grinned in exceptional humor. “I do but exercise my spousely rights, Shanna. ‘Tis an occurrence that happens so rarely that I am indeed much disadvantaged. While other husbands nightly view their treasures, I, for the greater part, must rely on recall, even then harshly reining my desire to my will, for I cannot oft seek relief from that which pains me.”
“You rant of nonsense, Ruark.” Shanna rinsed herself slowly with the sponge, noting that his eyes followed closely where her hands led. “Have I not been more than kind to your whimsy?”
She taunted him subtly, lolling back in the tub and raising her arms so that trickles of water traced down their long, slim length then raced in runnels across her round breasts. His eyes devoured her every movement, the heat of them scorching her wherever they touched. Wickedly, Shanna reached for a towel to shut off his view, knowing full well that she tested his starved appetite.
“It strikes me, Mister Beauchamp, that you must surely have some reason to risk my chambers at this hour,” she said offhandedly as she patted at her arm with the end of the towel.
His hand swept toward the music box. “I brought you a gift.”
Shanna smiled coyly. “Thank you, Ruark.” Then a thought struck her. “Is that from the colonies?”
“I begged a favor of Captain Beauchamp to see it purchased and sent,” Ruark replied. “Do you like it?”
Shanna listened for a space before she recognized the tune as the same one she had heard on the Marguerite.
“Mmm, I like it very much.” She watched his fingers close the lid, shutting off the melody, and raised her gaze innocently. “Could there be another reason you came to my chambers, Mister Beauchamp?”
A slow, tantalizing smile spread across his lips, and his eyes raked her. “I was informed you asked about me across the island, and I could find no cause for such urgency save one.” His white teeth gleamed in a quick grin. “Thus it was, though the hour was late, I hastened here at the first opportunity t
o assure you that I had not fled in the face of fatherhood.”
For a brief moment, Shanna dried herself, letting this sink in. Then she understood what he had said.
“Cad! Viper!” she snapped. “Pompous fool!” Her hand searched in the water. “Do you think I would banter that about the island?”
The dripping sponge was raised to throw.
“Ah—ah!” Ruark grinned evilly and wagged a finger at her. “Have a care, Shanna. Hergus would not approve of the mess.”
“Ooooh,” Shanna moaned, her teeth clenched in frustration. The sponge was thrust deep beneath the surface and held as if she were choking it.
The towel began to move away from her, and Shanna looked up to find Ruark pulling slowly at the other end. She clutched at the cloth, trying to hold it to her, but it was relentlessly drawn away, leaving her nothing but her hands with which to cover her bosom. Her best attempt at that only aggravated the situation, pressing the delicious fullness to even more enticing display.
Ruark raised himself from his chair and came toward her, his eyes like two glowing coals as they burned into her, locking and holding her gaze. He stood above her, towering tall like some bronze, half-naked savage. The room was silent but for the slow ticking of the clock. The play of shadows in bold relief upon his torso fascinated her, and her eyes wandered slowly down the long, corded veins that stood out in his arms. Ruark leaned down until his elbow rested on the edge of the tub. His finger trailed in the water, and the passion in his gaze was as naked as his chest. It fanned the sleeping fires in her own blood. His forefinger entered the deep harbor between her breasts and traced lazily across the beaches they formed and then moved inland along her shoulder and around the base of her slim, white throat. His voice came soft, husky, almost a whisper.
“Must I ever woo you, Shanna, as if you were some untainted virgin child, destroying your fortress stone by stone, tearing down your walls of resistance until you yield to that which is inevitable? You plead widowhood so dearly and then surrender to me with a passion that rends the roots of my very sanity.”
Beneath his touch Shanna nearly quaked. His finger traveled across her, searing the ends of her nerves until she ached to be drawn to him. Her lips were parted with her rapid breathing, her eyes half-closed as his face drew near. She waited in anticipation of his kiss. Then his finger dipped again into the water and touched her nose, leaving a large drop trembling at its tip.
Ruark straightened and stood back a pace, chuckling at the bemusement in her face. Shanna struggled to raise herself in the tub and thrusting out her bottom lip, huffed the droplet from the end of her nose. When finally she sat upright, she glared at him and spoke half chiding, half ruefully.
“You’re a beast, Ruark Beauchamp.”
“Aye, love, a beast.”
“A dragon! One of the most irksome sort.”
“Aye, love, a dragon.”
Shanna stared at him, then a delicious grin broke upon her lips. “And I am a witch.”
“Aye, love, a witch.” His smile was slightly broader.
“And I will someday take your heart from you.”
“That, love, you already have.”
Shanna lowered her eyes, at once confused and embarrassed.
“Come, witch.” Ruark’s voice was soft but rich with laughter. “Out of your kettle and dry yourself.”
Handing her the towel, Ruark waited close beside the tub. Beneath his warm regard, Shanna rose and wrapped the linen securely about her, tucking the end down between her breasts. Casually he offered his hand to assist her in stepping from the bath. He followed her to the dressing table, warmly admiring the gentle swing of her hips beneath the linen cloth.
“Why were you looking for me, my love?” Ruark inquired, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she brushed out her long hair.
Remembering Jezebel, Shanna turned excitedly and caught his thin fingers. “Oh, Ruark, Captain Beauchamp has given me the most marvelous gift. A beautiful mare, but she’s been abused and needs attention.”
Ruark’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Abused?”
“Captain Roberts said there was a storm at sea and she was tossed about dreadfully. I instructed the stable boy to do what he could until you came.” The blue-green eyes begged him. “Oh, Ruark, you will see her made better, won’t you—for me—please.”
Ruark stretched out his free hand to stroke the gilded locks, and his eyes were soft and caressing. “Do you like her so much, Shanna?”
“Aye, Ruark, I do. Very much.”
“I will do what I can for her,” he smiled. “You know that I am your most ardent slave.”
Shanna tossed away his hand in rebuff of his tender gibe and faced the mirror again. “What if you were free?” she questioned under his perusal. “Would you say me yea or nay? Would you be gone from here, seeking your fortune somewhere else?”
“What great treasures can tear me from your side, my love?” he spoke in a teasing vein as he played with a captured curl. “Would I ever leave you? What madness would see me to that end? Ah love, do you not ken?” His eyes glowed into hers. “You are my treasure, the rare jewel of my desires.”
Shanna pouted, throwing the brush aside. “You jest, Ruark, and I would know the truth.”
“The truth, milady?” Ruark swept a bow before her mirrored image then grinned. “Milady should herself remember the vows spoken before the altar. I am pledged to you until my dying breath.”
Flinging her lustrous mane with a flick of her arm, Shanna flounced off the velvet bench and strode across the room beneath his regard. She was not unaware of the effect her nearly naked state had on him. The linen towel was very accommodating, meagerly covering her breasts and displaying the full length of her long, shapely legs for his pleasure. Her movements were slow and languid, graceful and flowing, as she punished him severely for his impertinence in reminding her of her vows.
“How you love to taunt me about that. You smirk and posture in my chambers as if you owned more in this world than that foolish garb you use to cover your loins.”
“If I be a pauper, madam, then you are indeed a pauper’s wife,” Ruark pointed out with a chuckle.
“You’re a rutting rake who uses any flimsy pretext to invade my rooms,” Shanna retorted. “And to silence you I must submit lest I find my secret prated about like common knowledge. There is a name for your, sir—a blackguard. One who would use a lady so is not worthy to be hanged.”
Ruark paced forward with measured tread, a slow, hypnotic grin stretching across his lips. Shanna backed away, aware of his stalking her, and tried to keep the distance between them open.
“Madam, I must admit I would seek you out on any excuse. But a rutting rake? Surely my life of late should be compared to something more monkish.”
“Ha!” Shanna scoffed. She gasped and twisted away as he lunged forward. Ruark’s sweeping arm caught nothing more than the air, though the fragrance of her warm body and the scent of her dampened hair filled his nostrils and clouded his mind. He was undaunted and came after her. Attempting to evade him, Shanna darted behind the long chaise, trailing behind a fluid sound of musical laughter not unlike the chuckling burble of a swift mountain brook. Safe for the moment with the lounge between them, Shanna made a comic face at him, but her eyes spoke volumes as they sparkled in coquettish witchery, half challenging, half beckoning him.
His eyes flared in answer as he stepped onto the chaise, showing her that it formed no barrier between them. Giggling, Shanna retreated behind a small, marble-topped table, seeking whatever shelter it might offer her.
“Ruark, control yourself,” she admonished and tried to sound stern. “I would have this out once and for all.”
“Oh, we will have it out, madam,” he assured her and grasped the edge of the table, moving it aside and proving it no obstacle to his advance.
The wall halted Shanna’s retreat, and she glanced around frantically. To her left was the bed. Certainly no haven there. To her right, scree
ned by the silken draperies, were the open doors to her balcony.
Ruark was as quick, and his hand caught the top of the towel, then the curtains were flung into his face. When the drapes stilled, he found himself holding what he had caught, the empty towel. He almost gloated as he mused on Shanna’s consternation at being trapped naked on the open balcony. A small, furtive movement at the far end of the draperies caught his eye, and he cautiously took a place there to capture her should she try to reenter. He had no more than settled in his stance when the silk billowed heavily where he had stood only a moment before. With a quick flash of bare skin Shanna ran in, raced to the bed, threw herself upon it, rolled, and came to her feet on the far side with the gown in her hand. She thrust her arms high, letting the garment fall down over her head and with a quick wiggle slipped her arms free again. The shortened gown caught on her bosom, and she snatched it down, letting it fall. But its flight downward was halted, for Ruark’s hands already rested on her waist. He pressed her naked hips against him, letting her feel the rising fullness of his manhood against her.
Of a sudden their playfulness was gone. Their eyes were locked together, and their pulses quickened. Ruark’s head lowered as her arms came around his neck, and their lips joined their bodies in a mutual, crushing embrace that forged them together and plucked them as one into a private world of consuming passion. Time stood still, and the moment seemed to drag blissfully on—until it shattered like a crystal goblet with a sudden knocking at her chamber door.
“Shanna?” Orlan Trahern’s question came softly. “Are you awake, child?”
Her voice was thick and husky with what might have been sleep as she replied, snatching away from Ruark, “One moment please, papa.”
Shanna cast her eyes wildly about the room as if seeking some escape from this predicament. Ruark rested his hand upon her shoulder and with a finger to his lips, bid her to silence. He pointed to the bed, and with his hand to her rump pushed her toward it. When Shanna turned to stare at him again, he was gone. Like a soundless rush of wind he had left the room. The drapes stilled after his passing, and Shanna settled herself upon the bed, pulling the covers high up under her chin.
“We had no one to tend the beastie’s wounds, mum,” Captain Roberts explained, mistaking her slight frown of bemusement.
“Oh, no matter,” Shanna replied slowly. “There is a man here on the island who has a knack for that sort of thing.”
A young lad, perhaps ten, stepped forward from where he had been staying out of harm’s way and juggled a large bundle around in his arms so that he could yank at the captain’s coattail.
“Where am I to take this, sir?” he questioned, holding forth the hide-wrapped bundle.
“Mum?” The captain looked to Shanna again. “Do you know where the lad might find a Mister John Ruark?”
Shanna responded in surprise. “I’m not sure. He might be working at the sawmill, but he has a cottage behind the manor. Can I help you?”
“This here thing,” the man gestured to the package, “be for him. Can we leave it at his house?”
“Aye.” Shanna pointed toward the back. “There’s a path through the trees after you pass the manor. Follow it around. ‘Tis the large cottage beyond the others.”
As the men left, Shanna affectionately rubbed her cheek against the mare’s muzzle, pleased with the gift.
“Jezebel, the Beauchamps have named you. Aye, and you shall surely tempt my Attila, for nowhere on this isle is there so fine a filly. But I must fetch Ruark to care for you, for I’d not trust another to tend you. My dragon has a way with ladies,” she whispered, smiling wistfully. “I know you will like him.”
Inquiring at the village store on Ruark’s whereabouts, Shanna drew a shrug from Mister MacLaird.
“Doan know, lass. He was here early this morn to order some supplies, but I have na laid me eyes upon him since. Have ye checked the sawmill?”
At the building site, Shanna received the same unknowing answer.
“Seems ‘ere was something doing at the brewing house, and he was needed.”
Yet even there, none could say where Mister Ruark had gone after leaving. Finally, late that afternoon, Shanna gave up the fruitless chase and returned to the manor. Her father had returned, and Sir Billingsham had engaged him in a discussion of shipyards. Hearing the man’s voice, Shanna cautiously made her way across the entrance hall, but the squeaking of the front door had alerted Gaylord and he hailed for her to wait. He was insistent that she join them in the drawing room and would not accept her excuse of wanting to change for dinner, firmly declaring she was ravishing enough. Silently Shanna cursed her luck but nodded and smiled lamely, letting the man lead her across the hall. It was the most boring evening she ever spent in her life, for the man seemed incapable of discussing anything but his family’s aristocracy and even had the nerve to point out to her father the advantages his good name would lend to the Trahern fortune. It was some time after the meal was concluded before Shanna managed to escape to her chambers where she immediately ordered a bath and slipped out of her riding habit, dismissing Hergus for the night after the bedcovers were turned down and her sleeping gown laid out.
Sinking into the steaming water, Shanna leaned back in the ornate porcelain tub and languidly sponged her creamy shoulder. Curling tendrils of hair dangled coyly from the luxuriant mass secured with combs on top of her head. The heat of the bath caused her cheeks to bloom with a rosy color, brightening the sea-green eyes beneath their ebony lashes. But in the midst of this comfort, the softly curving mouth showed a petulant pout, and as she caught her reflection in the tall mirror which stood behind a chair, Shanna made a face at herself, wrinkling the slim, lovely nose in aggravation. First her failure to find Ruark, then his absence from dinner had left her in a fitful mood. His mere presence at the table put monotony to flight, and she had felt somehow deserted. Of late there was little enough left of her privacy outside her chambers to have even a word with him, for Gaylord seemed to scent her out like a hound after a bitch in heat. The knight was forever taking her arm, and she was becoming increasingly aware of Ruark’s displeasure over this event. Seeing his growing scowl, she would disdainfully set Gaylord’s hands from her, but the knight was persistent and would not be put off easily.
Shanna closed her eyes and rested her head back against the tub’s tall rim, letting the warm bath ease her tensions. It was rare now to go a full day without even glimpsing Ruark, though he was usually in demand wherever a problem was to be solved or an easier way to be found. Somehow her day did not seem complete.
The silken draperies behind her rustled with the stir of evening breezes. It was a warm, gentle night with the heady fragrance of frangipani scenting the air. The threat of the storm had subsided after only a light sprinkling, just enough to season the night air with a heightened aroma of freshness mingled with the smell of flowers. From afar, the shrill, repetitious song of a tree frog mixed with the sounds of night. The clock in her room daintily chimed in the tenth hour, and at its last note, a new melody began, one Shanna had never heard before in her chambers. Her eyes flew open with a start and immediately saw the source, a rather large music boa which had been placed on a table near her. And in the chaise beside it, Ruark reclined comfortably, a gracious smile on his handsome lips, his long legs stretched out before him and casually crossed at the ankles.
Shanna sat upright in the tub, staring at him in amazement. A quick glance about the room indicated that he had made himself at home. His hat was tossed upon the bed with his shirt beside it, leaving only the brief breeches to clothe his brown torso. A nod accompanied his greeting.
“Good evening, love, and thank you.” His eyes dipped briefly to her wet, glistening breasts.
“You have no propriety,” Shanna railed above the tinkling melody. But beneath his calm regard she settled herself to continue less harshly, as if only mildly injured, “You invade a lady’s private bath and advantage yourself with unsuspected peepery.”
Ruark grinned in exceptional humor. “I do but exercise my spousely rights, Shanna. ‘Tis an occurrence that happens so rarely that I am indeed much disadvantaged. While other husbands nightly view their treasures, I, for the greater part, must rely on recall, even then harshly reining my desire to my will, for I cannot oft seek relief from that which pains me.”
“You rant of nonsense, Ruark.” Shanna rinsed herself slowly with the sponge, noting that his eyes followed closely where her hands led. “Have I not been more than kind to your whimsy?”
She taunted him subtly, lolling back in the tub and raising her arms so that trickles of water traced down their long, slim length then raced in runnels across her round breasts. His eyes devoured her every movement, the heat of them scorching her wherever they touched. Wickedly, Shanna reached for a towel to shut off his view, knowing full well that she tested his starved appetite.
“It strikes me, Mister Beauchamp, that you must surely have some reason to risk my chambers at this hour,” she said offhandedly as she patted at her arm with the end of the towel.
His hand swept toward the music box. “I brought you a gift.”
Shanna smiled coyly. “Thank you, Ruark.” Then a thought struck her. “Is that from the colonies?”
“I begged a favor of Captain Beauchamp to see it purchased and sent,” Ruark replied. “Do you like it?”
Shanna listened for a space before she recognized the tune as the same one she had heard on the Marguerite.
“Mmm, I like it very much.” She watched his fingers close the lid, shutting off the melody, and raised her gaze innocently. “Could there be another reason you came to my chambers, Mister Beauchamp?”
A slow, tantalizing smile spread across his lips, and his eyes raked her. “I was informed you asked about me across the island, and I could find no cause for such urgency save one.” His white teeth gleamed in a quick grin. “Thus it was, though the hour was late, I hastened here at the first opportunity t
For a brief moment, Shanna dried herself, letting this sink in. Then she understood what he had said.
“Cad! Viper!” she snapped. “Pompous fool!” Her hand searched in the water. “Do you think I would banter that about the island?”
The dripping sponge was raised to throw.
“Ah—ah!” Ruark grinned evilly and wagged a finger at her. “Have a care, Shanna. Hergus would not approve of the mess.”
“Ooooh,” Shanna moaned, her teeth clenched in frustration. The sponge was thrust deep beneath the surface and held as if she were choking it.
The towel began to move away from her, and Shanna looked up to find Ruark pulling slowly at the other end. She clutched at the cloth, trying to hold it to her, but it was relentlessly drawn away, leaving her nothing but her hands with which to cover her bosom. Her best attempt at that only aggravated the situation, pressing the delicious fullness to even more enticing display.
Ruark raised himself from his chair and came toward her, his eyes like two glowing coals as they burned into her, locking and holding her gaze. He stood above her, towering tall like some bronze, half-naked savage. The room was silent but for the slow ticking of the clock. The play of shadows in bold relief upon his torso fascinated her, and her eyes wandered slowly down the long, corded veins that stood out in his arms. Ruark leaned down until his elbow rested on the edge of the tub. His finger trailed in the water, and the passion in his gaze was as naked as his chest. It fanned the sleeping fires in her own blood. His forefinger entered the deep harbor between her breasts and traced lazily across the beaches they formed and then moved inland along her shoulder and around the base of her slim, white throat. His voice came soft, husky, almost a whisper.
“Must I ever woo you, Shanna, as if you were some untainted virgin child, destroying your fortress stone by stone, tearing down your walls of resistance until you yield to that which is inevitable? You plead widowhood so dearly and then surrender to me with a passion that rends the roots of my very sanity.”
Beneath his touch Shanna nearly quaked. His finger traveled across her, searing the ends of her nerves until she ached to be drawn to him. Her lips were parted with her rapid breathing, her eyes half-closed as his face drew near. She waited in anticipation of his kiss. Then his finger dipped again into the water and touched her nose, leaving a large drop trembling at its tip.
Ruark straightened and stood back a pace, chuckling at the bemusement in her face. Shanna struggled to raise herself in the tub and thrusting out her bottom lip, huffed the droplet from the end of her nose. When finally she sat upright, she glared at him and spoke half chiding, half ruefully.
“You’re a beast, Ruark Beauchamp.”
“Aye, love, a beast.”
“A dragon! One of the most irksome sort.”
“Aye, love, a dragon.”
Shanna stared at him, then a delicious grin broke upon her lips. “And I am a witch.”
“Aye, love, a witch.” His smile was slightly broader.
“And I will someday take your heart from you.”
“That, love, you already have.”
Shanna lowered her eyes, at once confused and embarrassed.
“Come, witch.” Ruark’s voice was soft but rich with laughter. “Out of your kettle and dry yourself.”
Handing her the towel, Ruark waited close beside the tub. Beneath his warm regard, Shanna rose and wrapped the linen securely about her, tucking the end down between her breasts. Casually he offered his hand to assist her in stepping from the bath. He followed her to the dressing table, warmly admiring the gentle swing of her hips beneath the linen cloth.
“Why were you looking for me, my love?” Ruark inquired, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she brushed out her long hair.
Remembering Jezebel, Shanna turned excitedly and caught his thin fingers. “Oh, Ruark, Captain Beauchamp has given me the most marvelous gift. A beautiful mare, but she’s been abused and needs attention.”
Ruark’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Abused?”
“Captain Roberts said there was a storm at sea and she was tossed about dreadfully. I instructed the stable boy to do what he could until you came.” The blue-green eyes begged him. “Oh, Ruark, you will see her made better, won’t you—for me—please.”
Ruark stretched out his free hand to stroke the gilded locks, and his eyes were soft and caressing. “Do you like her so much, Shanna?”
“Aye, Ruark, I do. Very much.”
“I will do what I can for her,” he smiled. “You know that I am your most ardent slave.”
Shanna tossed away his hand in rebuff of his tender gibe and faced the mirror again. “What if you were free?” she questioned under his perusal. “Would you say me yea or nay? Would you be gone from here, seeking your fortune somewhere else?”
“What great treasures can tear me from your side, my love?” he spoke in a teasing vein as he played with a captured curl. “Would I ever leave you? What madness would see me to that end? Ah love, do you not ken?” His eyes glowed into hers. “You are my treasure, the rare jewel of my desires.”
Shanna pouted, throwing the brush aside. “You jest, Ruark, and I would know the truth.”
“The truth, milady?” Ruark swept a bow before her mirrored image then grinned. “Milady should herself remember the vows spoken before the altar. I am pledged to you until my dying breath.”
Flinging her lustrous mane with a flick of her arm, Shanna flounced off the velvet bench and strode across the room beneath his regard. She was not unaware of the effect her nearly naked state had on him. The linen towel was very accommodating, meagerly covering her breasts and displaying the full length of her long, shapely legs for his pleasure. Her movements were slow and languid, graceful and flowing, as she punished him severely for his impertinence in reminding her of her vows.
“How you love to taunt me about that. You smirk and posture in my chambers as if you owned more in this world than that foolish garb you use to cover your loins.”
“If I be a pauper, madam, then you are indeed a pauper’s wife,” Ruark pointed out with a chuckle.
“You’re a rutting rake who uses any flimsy pretext to invade my rooms,” Shanna retorted. “And to silence you I must submit lest I find my secret prated about like common knowledge. There is a name for your, sir—a blackguard. One who would use a lady so is not worthy to be hanged.”
Ruark paced forward with measured tread, a slow, hypnotic grin stretching across his lips. Shanna backed away, aware of his stalking her, and tried to keep the distance between them open.
“Madam, I must admit I would seek you out on any excuse. But a rutting rake? Surely my life of late should be compared to something more monkish.”
“Ha!” Shanna scoffed. She gasped and twisted away as he lunged forward. Ruark’s sweeping arm caught nothing more than the air, though the fragrance of her warm body and the scent of her dampened hair filled his nostrils and clouded his mind. He was undaunted and came after her. Attempting to evade him, Shanna darted behind the long chaise, trailing behind a fluid sound of musical laughter not unlike the chuckling burble of a swift mountain brook. Safe for the moment with the lounge between them, Shanna made a comic face at him, but her eyes spoke volumes as they sparkled in coquettish witchery, half challenging, half beckoning him.
His eyes flared in answer as he stepped onto the chaise, showing her that it formed no barrier between them. Giggling, Shanna retreated behind a small, marble-topped table, seeking whatever shelter it might offer her.
“Ruark, control yourself,” she admonished and tried to sound stern. “I would have this out once and for all.”
“Oh, we will have it out, madam,” he assured her and grasped the edge of the table, moving it aside and proving it no obstacle to his advance.
The wall halted Shanna’s retreat, and she glanced around frantically. To her left was the bed. Certainly no haven there. To her right, scree
Ruark was as quick, and his hand caught the top of the towel, then the curtains were flung into his face. When the drapes stilled, he found himself holding what he had caught, the empty towel. He almost gloated as he mused on Shanna’s consternation at being trapped naked on the open balcony. A small, furtive movement at the far end of the draperies caught his eye, and he cautiously took a place there to capture her should she try to reenter. He had no more than settled in his stance when the silk billowed heavily where he had stood only a moment before. With a quick flash of bare skin Shanna ran in, raced to the bed, threw herself upon it, rolled, and came to her feet on the far side with the gown in her hand. She thrust her arms high, letting the garment fall down over her head and with a quick wiggle slipped her arms free again. The shortened gown caught on her bosom, and she snatched it down, letting it fall. But its flight downward was halted, for Ruark’s hands already rested on her waist. He pressed her naked hips against him, letting her feel the rising fullness of his manhood against her.
Of a sudden their playfulness was gone. Their eyes were locked together, and their pulses quickened. Ruark’s head lowered as her arms came around his neck, and their lips joined their bodies in a mutual, crushing embrace that forged them together and plucked them as one into a private world of consuming passion. Time stood still, and the moment seemed to drag blissfully on—until it shattered like a crystal goblet with a sudden knocking at her chamber door.
“Shanna?” Orlan Trahern’s question came softly. “Are you awake, child?”
Her voice was thick and husky with what might have been sleep as she replied, snatching away from Ruark, “One moment please, papa.”
Shanna cast her eyes wildly about the room as if seeking some escape from this predicament. Ruark rested his hand upon her shoulder and with a finger to his lips, bid her to silence. He pointed to the bed, and with his hand to her rump pushed her toward it. When Shanna turned to stare at him again, he was gone. Like a soundless rush of wind he had left the room. The drapes stilled after his passing, and Shanna settled herself upon the bed, pulling the covers high up under her chin.