Shanna by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
“Is there something else you wanted here, Milly, besides the good man, Mister Ruark?” Shanna raised a challenging brow to the other. “He’s not for sale, but everything else here has a price.”
Ruark was enjoying himself immensely and moved to the stool Shanna had vacated, there leaning a hip on it while he eyed the two women. Shanna stood majestically proud and haughty, well fired with anger. Sparks flashed in the sea-green pools of her eyes. Milly, on the other hand, slumped and sauntered across the room, hips swaying and bare feet scraping against the wood floor. She was shorter than Shanna, slight of frame with an olive complexion that darkened readily under the sun. She was pretty enough, but it was not difficult to envision her in a few years with a passel of dirty-faced brats hanging to her skirts while one suckled lazily at her breast.
“By yer pa’s own law, a bondsman is free to choose any wife who be willing to have him,” Milly stated, though the retort was certainly softened. Los Camellos belonged to the Traherns. To anger one of them was truly tempting fate. “Why, Mister Ruark might even choose me. There ain’ many others here on the island.”
Shanna’s surprise displayed itself for a tiny moment. “Oh?” She arched a wondering brow at Ruark. “Has he asked you yet?”
Ruark made no nod or gesture of denial, but grinned lazily into Shanna’s regard.
“Why, he ain’ had much time, workin’ like he does.”
“ ‘Tis what my father bought him for,” Shanna quipped tersely, annoyed with the girl, “not for breeding as you seem to think and most certainly not for siring a string of brats.”
Before Shanna could continue with her tirade, the elderly Mister MacLaird entered from the back and announced to Ruark, “Aye, the rum’s a good lot. Take it below for me, will ya, laddie?”
He halted abruptly as his spectacled vision fell on Milly.
“Oh, I didna know there be a customer. Shanna, me lovely, see to whatever the lass wants like a good bairn. The tavern keeper will be along after the aged brew, and I’ll have to figure his accounts.”
Shanna nodded graciously to the man, but for some elusive reason felt a growing sense of resentment toward the younger woman.
“Is there something you wished in the way of goods, Milly?”
“As ‘tis I do.” The girl could boast later to her friends that she had the haughty Shanna doing her bidding for at least a small space of time. “Mister MacLaird had some scents he said come from far off. I’d like to take me a sniff or two of ’em.”
As Milly obviously was encumbered with neither purse nor coin, it was not hard to guess the ruse, but Shanna went anyway to where the fragrances were kept. Milly dallied over the perfume vials until Ruark reentered from the back, carrying a keg on his shoulder with another tucked in the crook of his arm. Under the strain, his muscles and tendons stood out like the cords of a taut rope, while his arms and body gleamed with a film of sweat as if rubbed by a fine oil. Milly gasped, and desire shone in her dark eyes as she whispered in awed observation.
“Gor! Like a bloody Greek statue, he is!”
A line of untanned white showed above his breeches, and the hard, flat belly was displayed with its thin line of dark hair which traced downward from the lightly furred chest. Milly’s gaze was so caught upon that stretch of bareness that Shanna wanted to pinch the girl smartly. Sweeping past her, Shanna snatched up the keys and ran to open the cellar door for Ruark. Striking tinder she blew it aflame, then lit the wick of a candle and preceded him down the stairway, lighting the passage. She used the keys to open the lower door. The cellar was cool and dry and, once within, Ruark lowered the kegs to the floor then paused to rest a moment before he lifted one and glanced questioningly at Shanna. She indicated a space at the far end of the rack.
“ ‘Twill age while the others are used.”
Ruark returned for the other he had left, and with a grimace Shanna hooked a slim finger inside the top of his breeches, drawing his somewhat wondering and dubious regard. Snapping the loose waistband against him, she admonished in a true vein of sarcasm.
“Milly is a simple girl and easily excitable. If you show her much more, she may not be able to control herself, and you might find yourself the one ravished.”
“I shall take care, madam,” Ruark grunted as he hefted the other keg in place. “At least ‘tis good to know,” his white teeth flashed, “that I am safe with you.”
Months of tension and aggravation had built beneath Shanna’s supposedly serene exterior. She stood close to Ruark, and her voice was low, almost a whisper, yet burning anger spit through every syllable.
“Sir, I have reached the end of my endurance. You insult me at every meeting and call me less than a woman. You berate my lack of honor, though I but denied your coarse advantage.”
“You agreed,” he snarled back at her. “You gave your word, and I hold you to it.”
“There is no bargain,” she hissed in frustrated rage. “You were supposed to die, and I will not be held because you did not.”
“What wiles of womanhood would you wield, madam? I gave you the full count. I played your game and trusted you. When I could have fled or at least so tried, it was your part of the bargain which held me.” He kept his voice to a hoarse whisper. “I have tasted that most delicious dish, Shanna, the sweet warmth of you, and thereafter have I starved for that which was mine by right of wedlock. And I will have it.”
Shanna clenched her fists and slowly thumped them against his hard, bare chest.
“Go away!” she sobbed. “Let me be! What can I say that will convince you that I want no part of you? I hate you! I despise you! I cannot stand the sight of you!”
Shanna fought her tears and gasped for breath, bracing her arms against him. His words were low and harsh in her ear.
“And what am I? Something less than human? Lower than any that have gone before because you found me in a dungeon and I choose to honor a debt to your father I did not earn? More evil than any yet to come? What am I that you can whine and say the fault was mine and deny the bargain was fair? But I tell you this—” He lowered his face until he stared into hers, his eyes bright with his own frustration and anger. “You are my wife.”
Shanna’s eyes widened and fear began to grow.
“Nay,” she whispered.
“You are my wife!” he gritted out slowly and seized her shoulders just as she would have turned away.
“Nay! Never!” she gasped out, her voice rising.
“You are my wife!”
Shanna began to struggle, and he clasped his arms about her, holding her close, smothering her movements in an embrace of steel. Sobbing, Shanna pushed in vain against his chest. Her head tipped backward with her effort, and his mouth crushed down upon hers. In the way of love, rage was transformed into passion. Shanna’s arms slipped upward about his neck and were locked in a frantic embrace. Her lips twisted against his, and the full heat of her hunger flooded him until his mind reeled with the frenzy of her answer. He had expected a fight and instead found the fury of a consuming desire sweet on her lips, warm in her mouth, stirring as the quick thrust of her tongue met his own.
They came apart with a gasp, both stunned by the heavy blow of their ardor. Trembling, Shanna leaned against the stacked barrels, helpless, drained of strength. Her eyes were closed, and her bosom heaved with her effort to breathe.
His self-control sorely strained, Ruark almost took her in his arms again, but the thought intruded—Not in a dingy cellar! She was worth so much more than that to him. And they’d only come, and he’d be snatched away again. Patience! Patience, man!
Ruark struck down his ravenous lusts with an iron will and turning, slowly climbed the stairs, letting his body and brain cool as he went. He caught Mister MacLaird’s eye as he opened the door and shrugged away his question.
“She’s counting the kegs.”
When Ruark entered the cellar again, Shanna had also composed herself, but her eyes followed him until he returned to her side, then
“Don’t thank me yet,” he murmured as he gently wiped a smudge from her arm. “There will be a better time and a better place than this.”
Ruark went for another load, and as he brought the last kegs into the store, Shanna was being led out the door by Mister MacLaird. Milly still gawked, her hunger bold in her eyes; and rather than face her mewling attention, Ruark slammed the cellar doors, snatched up his hat and shirt, and left with what one might have called undue haste.
Chapter 8
MORNING BLOSSOMED with vibrant hues that glistened upon and changed the color of the waters, touching the tossing surf with the pinks and golds of the breaking dawn. The very air seemed laden with a rosy mist, and the greens of the lawn and trees spread endlessly beneath until they joined the blue of the gently rolling sea.
Shanna stood alone on her balcony, bathed in the pale, soft gold of the rising sun. Her pastel dressing gown was like a cloud swirling about her, rising on the fitful breezes that stirred the fragrance from the flowering vine twining about the balustrade. Her face was cast in a wistful mood, her eyes yearning, and her fair lips parted as if in anticipation of a kiss. Her arms hugged her slender waist as if they sought to replace a lover’s embrace which now was but a memory of yesterday.
The glory of the dawn faded into the bright light of day as the sun cleared its bulk from the horizon and began the arching flight across the sky. Sighing, Shanna returned to her bed and tried once more to sleep before the heat reached her room and she would be forced to rise. Closing her eyes, she felt again the almost-pain as her breasts were crushed against Ruark’s unyielding chest and the warmth of his breath against her cheek; once more she saw the urgency in his golden gaze as he lowered his lips to hers.
Shanna’s eyes flew open, for again the awakening of pleasure deep within her was strong and disturbing. And so it had been the whole night long. When she relaxed, the memory of her own response seared through her brain, flooding her body with a pulsing warm excitement.
What was the cure for this malady? Shanna moaned to herself. Why was she so afflicted? Was she one who would ever yearn for men but find satisfaction with none? She had been mauled before under the attentions of much more lordly men and found no softening of her heart, yet now her mind ever envisioned the face of that one who haunted her, this Ruark, this demon, this dragon of her dreams.
Her eyelids were heavy with the need of sleep, and slowly she succumbed to the weight, her mind sailing uneasily upon a tossing sea of slumber. He was there, with his gleaming, glistening body of oiled bronze, waiting for her just before she could reach her dreams, and she knew if she touched him, he would be hard and real.
Her eyes found his face and were trapped there by some satanic seduction. The eyes raked her like golden talons while he leered and jeered, and the lips moved unceasingly in a low, cracked whisper:
“Come to me. Bend to me. Yield yourself. Give yourself. Come.”
She resisted, all on the strength of her fear. Then the face began to change. The nose grew into a long, dragonlike snout with smoke curling from the nostrils. His skin became green with warted scales, and the eyes glowed like twin gold-lensed lanterns, snaring her gaze with their hypnotic brightness. The ears stood out like tiny bat-shaped wings. The white toothed leer became a fixed grin, gaping wide and edged with evil fangs. Then with a bellowing roar, he breathed out flames which engulfed her in a searing passion, tingling across her body, sapping her strength, weakening her will, drawing out her every resolve until she groveled in helpless terror, begging the beast to cease, crying for his mercy, fighting for her breath in the airless flame.
Shanna woke with a chill trembling her, yet the heat of the room brought perspiration. Her gown and the sheets were wet with it. She was fighting for air, gasping to draw a full breath as if some heavy, unseen presence crossed her face. In panic she flung herself from the bed and ran out onto the balcony. There, reason returned, and she calmed. The world was as it had been, the sun but a trifle higher and the day but a trifle warmer.
Listlessly Shanna began to pace her bedchamber, finding any distraction better than surrendering to the fantasies of her mind. Drastic measures would have to be taken to relieve this madness that bound her. She could not sleep. She could not eat. Her life was in a turmoil. Her bedchamber closed around her, and in every corner she heard Ruark’s sardonic laughter and saw his dark, leering face. Retreating from this torture, she fled below, seeking out her father.
Orlan Trahern paused with a spoon of melon halfway to his mouth. It took a fair occurrence to halt him in his affair with food, but the sight of his daughter on this morning did it. Her hair was tousled and tangled, her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks pale, and she was not dressed and ready to meet the day. It was unheard of that she should appear this early or in this state. The squire returned the spoon untouched to his plate and waited her explanation.
Under her father’s worried frown, Shanna chafed and knew his distress when he laid down the spoon. She realized she was expected to speak, yet words were dear to her, and she found no ready reply to his unspoken question. She oversweetened the cup of tea that was set before her and then winced as its heat stung her tongue.
“I’m sorry, papa,” she began lamely. “I spent an ill night and don’t feel too well even yet. Would it be all right if I don’t go with you today?”
Orlan Trahern lifted his spoon and chewed as he considered her request. “I have grown accustomed to your company of late, my dear. But I surmise that I should not be overly at a loss if you do not attend a day or two. I’ve only been about this business a decade or so.”
He rose and came to feel her brow, finding it a trifle warm to the touch.
“I would be much amiss if you were ailing,” he continued. “Hie yourself to your room and rest for the day. I shall send Berta to see to your wants. There are matters pressing which I must be about. Now come, child, let me see you up.”
“Oh, papa, no!” Shanna could scarce bear the thought of returning. “You need not bother. I’ll have a small bite and go.”
“Nonsense!” he blustered. “I’ll see you abed and tended before I go. Now come.”
Wearily Shanna sighed and took his arm, knowing she had erred, for now she was trapped and would see the day out in her chambers.
Trahern saw his daughter carefully tucked in before he bade her farewell and left. Shanna had no time to rise, for in a moment Berta arrived, greatly concerned for her charge. Shanna’s forehead was felt again, her tongue was checked, and her pulse taken.
“I do not know for sure, but it may be the fever. You feel a liddle varm. I tink a liddle broth und a tea of bay leaves vill do goot.”
Before Shanna could deny any such need, the woman left, bringing back a tray laden with the brew. Shanna shuddered in distaste as she sipped the tea, but the housekeeper would not be put off, and Shanna was ordered to finish it to the last miserable swallow. When finally she was allowed privacy once more, she buried her head beneath her pillow and pounded her fists against the bed in frustration.
“Damned rogue! Damned rogue! Damned rogue!” she whined.
The day aged into evening and still the battle raged. Shanna’s mind was exhausted from the struggle and seemed to lie within her skull without movement, while all the arguments trod the same well-worn paths across it. Reason and the undenied logic of her own motives waned under overwhelming fatigue, while the multitude of threats raised by Ruark’s failure to be hanged properly bludgeoned her until she grew numb beneath their onslaught. Wearily she sagged in a chair and rolled her head against the high back. She knew with certainty that she would not be free of Ruark Beauchamp. With each day he grew bolder, and each time they met he confronted her more openly. There was so little left for her to be proud of in this circumventure of her father’s will. Of all those nearest to her, Pitney was the only one she had not deceived, and the lies did not sit well with her. She had been reared on the truth and taught to fa
With a sob Shanna stumbled to the bed and threw herself upon it. Her groan of despair came muffled against the pillow.
“ ‘Tis done. ‘Tis done. I will see the bargain out. I yield.”
Shanna closed her eyes almost fearfully, but only a soft, warm half darkness was there; then sleep drifted like a soundless wave over her, and she was engulfed within its peace.
The Scotswoman, Hergus, was loyal and swift of foot. She led Ruark through the darkness, pausing often to make sure he followed but staying several paces ahead of him, leading him wide around the plantation house then up a narrow path through the trees on the hill behind it. They passed one unused cottage and then another. The lane wandered through a heavy hedge of brush into a small glade. There, in the deep shadows hidden from the moon, was another cottage, larger and more spacious than the others, and here a dim light shone in the windows.
Ruark knew these were the guest houses of the manor. They were hardly used, however, as most preferred the luxury of the big house. But of his summons, Ruark knew nothing. The woman had sought him out at his shack, saying only that she was Hergus and that he was to come with her. He was aware that she was a member of Trahern’s household staff, but he could not fathom the squire summoning him in this overly discreet manner.
His curiosity was aroused, and he had followed Hergus, wearing only his sandals and short breeches. She led him across the porch of the cottage, holding the door open until he went inside. It slammed behind him, and he heard her feet pattering off in the night. In some bewilderment, Ruark glanced about him at the small drawing room lit only by a single candle which cast a light barely brighter than the full moon without. The room was comfortably and expensively furnished. The carpet beneath his feet would have easily paid his bondage several times over.