Shanna by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
Ruark turned and waved his arm, bringing two carriages and a covered wagon alongside the ship before he gripped Pitney’s hand in welcome.
“ ‘Tis much on my mind, lad,” the huge man rumbled, licking his lips, “that a good tankard o’ ale would warm me innards. Could it be that your colonials have a dramshop where a man might ease a terrible thirst?”
“Aye,” Ruark laughed and pointed off in the direction of the dock street. “The Ferry Port, that white-washed building there, has a keg of England’s best on tap. Tell the keeper that John Ruark will buy the first.”
Pitney left with a haste that gave credence to his plea and made Gaylord step quickly from the plank, else be brushed aside onto the cobbled jetty. The knight glared haughtily at the broad back but Pitney gave no pause or notice. Gaylord continued on his way toward the shipping office to claim the baggage he had sent ahead on the English frigate.
Ralston had also departed the ship, and for a moment Ruark watched as the thin agent stalked across the pier, the hem of his cloak whipping about his knobby calves.
Not so much as a glance had Ruark given Shanna, who waited demurely several paces behind her father. But now he faced her and his eyes told her everything, Her hand trembled as it hid itself in the encompassing warmth of his.
“Shanna—Madam Beauchamp.” His voice was only slightly strained and husky. “You have provided the brightest moment in my day.” As she stared, his lips moved further in soundless vow. “I love you.”
The ache in Shanna’s throat was almost unbearable as she gave him a casual smile and replied, “Mister John Ruark, I have missed your wit and humor at the table, to say naught of your clever comments and your dancing. Have you been to any festivities of late? Perhaps some colonial lady has caught your eye.”
She bent him a cool, questioning gaze, and Ruark laughed lightly.
“You know my heart is committed, and Dame Fortune has decreed that I should find no other as fair.”
He watched the slow flush of pleasure spread over her face. He had not released her hand and now tucked it beneath his arm as he cast a wry glance toward the heavens.
“There is an ancient oriental saying about the wisdom of standing in the rain,” Ruark mused aloud. “If you will allow me, Madam Beauchamp, I will escort you and your father to a place where you might have a cup of tea while the coaches are loaded.”
Trahern looked almost longingly toward Pitney’s stalwart back in time to see him disappear through the doorway of the tavern. Heaving a sigh, he gestured with his hand.
“Lead on, Mister Ruark. I suppose a father has some duties toward his offspring that cannot be avoided.” He paused in reflection then added ruefully, “Still, there are times when I wish the lass would have been born to a pair of breeches.”
Ruark was exceedingly glad she hadn’t been, but did not offer any answering comment. Shanna, however, felt the heat of his eyes upon her, and they warmed her more than any verbal reassurance.
Nearly an hour later the driver of the first coach came to tell Ruark that all was ready and that they could be on their way whenever it pleased the squire.
“I’ll fetch Pitney,” Ruark offered, rising to his feet. He fished in his purse for coin. “I did say I’d buy the first.”
The tavern was a noisy place nearly bursting at the seams with seagoing men and common laborers. It was here in the midst of the bedlam that Pitney quietly quaffed his ale, leaning against the bar beside a red-haired man who appeared very emphatic about whatever it was they were discussing. Ruark could not hear above the din, but the man shook his head, hammered the bar with his fist, and jabbed a finger at his companion’s chest.
“Nay, I’ll not speak me piece now,” Ruark overheard, as he inched his way between the brawny chests of several tars who were imbibing close by. “I’ve got to find the mon meself and know for sure he’s the same and only one. Then I’ll have it out with ye and the rest who need to know. I’ll not be putting a noose about me own neck to save the hide o’ a mon I ne’er met.”
Ruark grabbed Pitney’s arm in a hearty greeting and slapped his coins down on the bar. “Keeper, give this man another to see him through the day and one for his friend besides.”
“None fer me,” the Scotsman declined, shaking his head. “I’ve got to get back to me work on the docks.”
“Before ye go, Jamie, me friend, I would have ye meet a good man. This is John Ruark,” Pitney rasped with a twisted smile. “Or have the two of ye met before?”
Ruark frowned. Now that he looked at the man closely, there was something oddly familiar about him. But Jamie quickly got to his feet and avoided meeting Ruark’s gaze. He hastily jammed a stocking cap over his red hair and with a mumbled farewell was gone.
“Should I know him?” Ruark asked.
“Aye, but as long as I know where to find him, I’ll let it go for now.” Pitney sipped the ale and lifted the mug in thanks to Ruark. “A good brew. Have one for yerself, laddie. It’ll stiffen yer spine for the ride home.”
Warily Ruark studied him. “From the way you talk, I would say you’ve had enough for the two of us.”
With a roar of mirth the hefty man clapped Ruark on the back. “Drink up, John Ruark. Ye’ll be needing a bracer to keep yer mind off that fine filly ye wed.”
When Ruark returned to the coaches, Shanna was already seated in the first one, and as Pitney joined Trahern on the dock, Ruark adjusted Attila’s saddle so that he could gaze at the one he most adored.
“Will you be riding, Mister Ruark?” Shanna asked quietly, watching him.
“Aye, madam. With this rain I’ll have to check the roads ahead to see if they’re fit.”
Shanna leaned back against the cushioned seat and drew a thick fur over her lap. A smile of contentment slowly took possession of her face. At least he wouldn’t be far.
The interior of the carriage was not richly appointed, but rather gave an air of sturdiness and homey roominess. Piles of fur robes almost filled the seats, and a small iron warming pan was on the floor, giving off a welcome heat against her feet.
Gaylord returned, and it was with some amazement that Ruark watched him assuring the safety of several large trunks into the wagon.
“Sir Gaylord will be traveling with us?” Ruark questioned Trahern.
“Aye,” the squire grunted. “ ‘Tis to our discomfort that he has chosen to present his plans and need to the Beauchamps. And by the amount of baggage he fetched from the warehouse, he’ll be their guest for some time.
Pitney chuckled and nudged Trahern with his elbow. “At least the good knight will not be your guest. Someone else will have to feed him.”
Ruark snorted and rubbed the back of his hand against his chin. “What makes you dislike these Beauchamps so much?”
Pitney guffawed aloud at the offhanded remark, drawing a chuckle from Trahern.
“If you will take to the carriage, sir,” Ruark said, “I shall see that your chests are properly loaded beneath Sir Gaylord’s baggage. I’ve an idea that the Beauchamps should have sent two wagons along. But if all is right, we can be on our way.”
Trahern nodded, only too eager to get out of the rain, and Ruark walked back to the last wagon. As he was returning, Ralston paused with one foot on the step of the second carriage and met his gaze with cool contempt; then he gave a shrug and entered. Delaying only long enough to comment derisively on the comfort of Pitney’s elbow, Gaylord followed Ralston into the coach.
Ruark tied Jezebel to the rear of Trahern’s coach and tossed Shanna’s sidesaddle into the covered wagon. When he leaned into the carriage, he saw Orlan examining one of the fur robes, blowing on it as he tested its richness and depth.
“Magnificent!” Orlan murmured. “John Ruark, I could not be more comfortable. Would that I were always served with such foresight. Here I am surrounded by a small fortune, and the Beauchamps use them as lap robes. Remarkable!”
“We’re ready, sir. Shall I give the signal?”
A
They traveled for some distance past open fields, before coming to a junction, where they swung off into a narrower track marked by a large tree with three bold cuts upon its trunk.
“Three Chopt Road,” Ruark called over the rattle of hooves and the whirl of carriage wheels, and at Trahern’s nod, he added, “At the next crossroads we’ll stop at the tavern for a bite to eat.”
“Good man, that John Ruark,” Trahern rumbled in satisfaction as he settled himself back against the seat. “He’s seen to our every comfort.”
Thick forests took over the land. The way was cleared wide to allow easy passage, but where the trees began, the growth was dense; even a man on foot would have found it nearly impassable. True to Ruark’s word, when the caravan came upon another crossing, the drivers swung the carriages from the road and hauled up before a sprawling, many-gabled structure which a weather-beaten sign proclaimed as the Short Pump Tavern. A cheery-faced matron greeted them as the Beauchamp guests, and a table was swept clean and spread with a fresh cloth. No special place was made for Gaylord and with reluctance he joined Trahern, testily dusting the bench with his gloves before sitting. The three drivers casually took places at the far end of the table and gave no more than passing note of the knight’s disdainful stare of disapproval. Mugs of warm spiced cider were passed around. Shanna sipped hers with only meager interest as she wondered what delayed Ruark. Her question was answered shortly when he came in carrying an odd musket nearly as tall as he, which he leaned beside the door. Coming to the table, he placed before Pitney the two huge horse pistols which once had threatened him.
“I found these in your sea chest,” he explained to the inquiry written on Pitney’s broad face.
Doffing a beaver-skin coat which he had taken from the wagon, Ruark spread it to dry in front of the stone hearth, displaying a brace of pistols in his belt. Gaylord found this too much to bear. He shot to his feet in outrage.
“Weapons for a bondsman!” In exasperation he faced Trahern. “Really, squire, I must protest. You treat this bondsman more like a blooded lord.”
Sipping his cider, Trahern only shrugged. “If he protects your hide, what difference does it make to you?”
“Protects my hide? The knave’ll see it bored through!” Gaylord flung out a finger to Ruark. “You! By what right do you bear arms?”
“By no one’s right but my own, of course,” Ruark replied calmly. As the knight drew himself up in victorious arrogance, Ruark continued chidingly, as if he lectured a willful child. “There are beasts, large, bold and of a dangerous bent, and highwaymen are not unknown, though rare. Then there are those heathen savages you spoke of.” Ruark smiled sardonically. “I saw no one else rushing to the fore to protect the ladies.” He grinned into the reddening face of the other. “But rest assured, Sir Gaylord, should you find such a man, I would be much relieved to surrender my arms to him.”
Ruark waited while Sir Billingsham sputtered into silence, and when he gave no further suggestions, Ruark took a seat in a space that had strangely opened between Shanna and her father.
The innkeeper set a steaming mug before him and the mistress of the house brought a huge kettle of stew and began filling plates. A young lad fetched a wooden platter piled high with golden loaves of bread and bracketed with dishes of mounded butter. Small crocks of honey and preserves were set out, and soon the meal was well entered with much enthusiasm by the hungry travelers. Shanna found her appetite more than it had been in weeks, and Trahern met each new taste with rich praise until the matron blushed her thanks. When he rose to leave, she pressed into his hands a gift of her own best plum pudding to eat along the way.
As Ruark took up his hat and coat, Ralston approached the door where he lifted the long rifle and ran his hand over the smooth, oiled stock of curly maple that bore an engraved brass plate.
“ ‘Tis a fine weapon you have here, Mister Ruark,” he commented when the younger man came to fetch it. “A costly one. Where did you get it?”
Ruark looked down the barrel toward the two hawkish eyes sighting him, and his own narrowed. Shanna held her breath, for the rifle was pointed straight at Ruark’s head, and the thin fingers caressed the trigger as if Ralston wished the gun were cocked.
“I must warn you now if you’re not aware of it,” Ruark casually gestured to the piece. “ ‘Tis loaded.”
Ralston smiled lazily. “Naturally.”
“Mister Ralston!” Orlan Trahern barked. “Put that damn thing down before you blow your own fool head off.”
At the command Ralston’s smile faded, and reluctantly he relented. Ruark caught the rifle from him and beneath the cold stare of the other man, drew a soft cloth over the stock and shiny plate, carefully wiping away the finger smudges. The insult was small but direct. Whirling on his heels, the thin man stalked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind him.
Three Chopt Road was long, in some places narrow, in others wide. Always the countryside varied. They trailed beneath high granite bluffs and teetered along rock-strewn paths on the brink of cliffs. The road plunged through valleys and jolted over logs laid to cover soft bottoms. In the late afternoon they passed a rare plantation and a few smaller farms with log cabins. A hand-hewn sign appeared by the roadside proclaiming a muddy crossing to be the Middle Valley Post Road. A small community blossomed here and beyond was a large house where a simple shingle swung in front, identifying the place as “Inn.”
The road-weary group were mostly silent over the meal of venison. They were content just to sit on a good, sound surface without being jarred or bumped or jostled, and conversation died away almost as soon as it was born.
“We’ve only three rooms to see you through the night, the keeper explained. “The men will have to share two and the women the other.”
Gaylord glanced up from his plate and pointed to Ruark with his fork. “He can stay out in the stables with the drivers. That should leave Mister Ralston and myself in one and Squire Trahern and Mister Pitney in the other.”
Trahern’s scowl gathered as the knight spoke, and the innkeeper shrugged apologetically. “I’ve no more rooms, but there’s an old cabin out back that no one uses. Someone might sleep there.”
Ruark readily volunteered. Lifting his cup to his lips, he met Shanna’s gaze over it. Then he rose, setting down the mug and swinging up his coat. “I’ll see to Madam Beauchamp’s horses, squire. I would suggest an early bed as we’ll see a good day’s travel on the morrow, and it will be tiring enough.” He clamped the hat on. Turning, he leisurely sauntered across the common room to the door. “Good night.”
Chapter 25
SHANNA CHAFED beside the snoring Hergus and wondered at the time. No noise of movement or voices came from below or from the rooms down the hall, but she had no way of making sure that everyone was asleep.
“Hergus,” she whispered and to her satisfaction received no reply. It was not likely she could test her father or Pitney by the same method. But another half hour, she guessed, might see them all in a good, sound slumber.
Cautiously Shanna rose from the bed and went to the chair where Hergus had laid open her case. A woolen cloak lay atop the one side, and in the dancing firelight she wrapped it around her and then pushed her feet into a snug pair of slippers. Rain still trickled down against the windowpanes, and the wind moaned drearily around the eaves. A cold, wet night, but it would serve her purpose well.
The moments dragged, and Shanna slipped from the room, crept down the stairs, fled across the common room, and was out. Free! Her feet splashed through cold
The cabin was a dark shape beneath great overhanging trees, some distance from the inn. Timidly Shanna rapped on the rough wood of the door. Beneath her touch it creaked slowly open. No sound of greeting came from within, and Shanna pushed the door wider. Ruark was nowhere to be seen, though a fire hissed and crackled on the hearth, casting its warm flickering light upon the walls of chinked logs and the sparse and simple, rough-hewn furnishings. As the cabin was the only one behind the tavern, there was no doubt this was the one the keeper had spoken of. The wind and rain pelted Shanna’s back and billowed her woolen cloak forward as if to urge her further into the shelter. Its chill breath swept between the folds, penetrating the thin, delicately made batiste nightgown she wore beneath, and with its icy touch made the fire an irresistible lure. Gathering the wrap tighter about her shivering body, Shanna stepped within and turned to shut the door. She gasped as a dark shadow loomed before her. But the fear was short-lived, for the face beneath the dripping brim was the one she sought and welcomed.
“I hoped you would come,” Ruark said huskily. He came forward into the light, and his heel caught the door, slamming it shut behind him. The bolt dropped in place of its own, barring them against any intrusion. He tossed a large bundle he carried down before the fire, leaned his rifle beside the door, and sailed his hat off onto the wooden planks of the table.
“Good lord, I missed you,” he rasped and took her hard against him, heedless of the icy rain that clung to their garments. His mouth came down like the plummeting attack of a bird of prey and seized hers in a fierce, crushing, impassioned kiss. Shanna clung to him as the only solid thing in her reeling world. Their faces were cold from the wind, but their kiss flamed with the stirring heat of desire. Her cloak slid to her feet, and she was clasped tight against his damp furry coat, but she scarcely felt the chill that soaked through her gown.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, and tears of gladness sparkled in her eyes as he raised his head to stare down at her. His hands rose to hold her face as he searched its depth for truth. And Shanna repeated the words, with her heart, with her eyes, with all the feeling of a woman in love. “Oh, Ruark, I love you.”