Shanna by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
Gaylord drew himself up to his full height and struck an arrogant pose as he realized the truth of Ralston’s thinly veiled suggestion.
Over her shoulder, Shanna caught her father’s attention and inclined her head toward Ralston with a slight frown. His nod was immediately forthcoming.
“Mister Ralston,” Trahern called. “Might I have a word with you?”
Ralston scowled and reluctantly left the two. He had just begun to enjoy himself, and this was a game he loved to play. Still, he could not disobey his employer. As he drew near, Orlan Trahern lowered the glass he sipped from and frowned in mild reproach.
“Mister Ruark is a guest in my household.” His voice was low so that only Pitney could hear. “I must see to the peace and tranquility of my home. I insist that you, being only a paid servant yourself, treat my guests with equity.”
Ralston reddened and grew rigid with indignation. “Sir? Do you fault me in front of others?”
“Nay, Mister Ralston.” Trahern’s smile bore little humor. “I only remind you of your station. Mister Ruark has proven his worth. Do not disprove yours.”
Ralston suppressed an urge to reply in heat. He had grown accustomed to the rich apartment he maintained in the village and was well aware of the reaches of Trahern’s wealth and power but considered the man would hardly miss a few hundred pounds here and there, and, thus, in his years with the squire, Ralston had laid away a goodly sum for himself; his accounts would not bear any close scrutiny. He also knew that Trahern would, with his commoner’s petty vengeance, seek punishment if the shortages were found out.
With the fine skill of an experienced diplomat, Shanna had taken it upon herself to allay further confrontation between Ruark and Sir Billingsham. Placing herself between the two men and bestowing a warm smile to Ruark, she presented her back to him and spoke directly to Sir Gaylord.
“Kind sir.” Her pitying eyes gave her words the taste of purest honey. “ ‘Tis indeed a shame we are so far from London and you can find none of your peers to lend good rhetoric to the conversation. It must be a pain to you to hear the common and mundane discourses of earthly things so prevalent out here on the—frontier.”
The knight heard only the soft warmth of her voice and was captivated by the distraught beauty of the visage before him. He began to feel as if he had harmed her in some way as she continued.
“I, too, have heard the lofty ideals vividly expressed in the court and know the loneliness you find in your lordly pursuits. You must remember, though, that all, even my father and myself, are of common extraction here and temper your judgments with mercy. Why,”—Shanna laughed as if incredulous at her thought—“you would not ban my good sire and myself from your company, would you?”
Sir Gaylord was equally incredulous. “Of course not, my dear lady. Your father is governor here and you, as his daughter, are most”—he sighed longingly—“attractive.”
“Good.” Shanna tapped his arm with her fan and leaned close, saying confidentially, “I can say of my own knowledge that Mister Ruark was forcefully taken from this island against his will. I beg you to understand why I must treat him with some deference,” she looked aside to Ruark and smiled wickedly.
The knight could only mumble his agreement, though he still struggled with her reasoning.
“You are so kind, sir.” She curtsied gracefully and gave her hand to Ruark. “Let us see to our dinner, then.”
Shanna looked back over her shoulder toward her father. “Papa, are you ready to eat?”
“Most certainly!”
Trahern chuckled deep in his chest and, realizing he had just witnessed a setdown in the softest feminine way, could almost feel pity for the blundering numbers who had fallen in her wake. With a strange sense of pride, he watched the poised deliberation of his daughter as she walked beside the bondsman. They made a splendid pair, the two of them. And what fine children she would bear him if they—
“Bah! Madness!” Trahern shook his head to shed the thoughts. “I have cast the die too well. She would never deign to wed a bondsman.”
Shanna slipped easily into the slow, considered movements which gave her an air of cool aloofness. Her hand rested lightly on Ruark’s arm, and she smiled into those gleaming amber eyes. The two of them led the procession into the dining room where Milan had begun to chafe at the delay, seeing only the ruin of delicate flavors as the cook tried to keep the dishes warm. At Shanna’s entry the small man’s face suddenly beamed, and he clapped his hands together as a signal for the young boys to bring the food. At last dinner was to be served.
“Sit here, Mister Ruark,” Shanna directed, indicating the chair near her own which was placed at the end.
Ralston left open the place opposite the bondsman for Sir Gaylord and took a seat across from Pitney, nearer Trahern. If there was trouble to be brewed, he was the master brewer, and he would see this mixture to its best fermentation.
The conversation at the beginning of the meal was somewhat stilted. Gaylord could only gaze at Shanna, and when her attention was diverted, he allowed his eyes to dip appreciatively to her breasts where the stiff bodice pressed the swelling curves into a most tempting display. Annoyed by the knight’s lustful perusal, Ruark had to hold tight rein on his own manners. Ralston, unusually verbose, directed his words to the squire.
“I’ve noted that the Good Hound has been brought in to clean her hull. Do you intend, squire, to take the schooner along to the colonies, or do you plan to use her here for trade around the islands?”
Trahern paused in his eating and gestured to Ruark. “Ask the lad there. It belongs to him.”
Ralston and Gaylord both turned to stare aghast toward Ruark, who casually stated the situation.
“Gentlemen, it is permissible by English law for a bondsman to own property. I gained the schooner in a fair battle, as Madam Beauchamp will attest.”
“This is preposterous!” Gaylord declared. It nettled him sorely that a slave should have a vessel while he, a titled gentleman, was still trying to gain financing for a shipyard.
“However so,” Ruark grinned, “the schooner is mine and shall remain mine unless I choose to give it up for my freedom. But then, I think ‘twould take me longer to earn the price of a ship than to pay my indebtedness. The Tempest will be loaned to the squire for the voyage in return for the price of seeing her made fit. A fair enough exchange as we both see it.”
“The Tempest?” Ralston queried arrogantly.
“Aye, I’ve renamed it,” Ruark replied leisurely. “Of late I’ve come to enjoy storms as they seem to bring me naught but good, and I deemed it only fitting.”
“My daughter has an aversion to them,” Trahern commented absently, missing the spreading color that had risen on Shanna’s face with Ruark’s statement. “No cause as I could see, but it started when she was a little thing.”
“Perhaps I’m outgrowing that, papa,” Shanna returned softly, not daring to meet her husband’s gaze. “After all, it was a storm which enabled us to escape the pirates.”
Her father accepted this with a mouthful of lobster then swallowing, muttered, “Good. ‘Tis time. You’ll be having children of your own someday. Wouldn’t do for you to put that fear in them.”
“No, papa,” Shanna agreed meekly.
“And what of the pirate’s treasure on the schooner?” Ralston sneered. “Does that belong to Mister Ruark also?”
“It did,” Trahern stated, raising his eyes to his man. “But all that which was not mine he gave to Mister Gaitlier and Mistress Dora for the years they spent in service to the pirates.”
The agent’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Generous of the man, considering he could have bought his freedom.”
Ruark ignored his tone of derision. “By right it was theirs, and I saw it as fair payment from the pirates.”
Gaylord held his silence. He could not understand giving even a small wealth away. Ralston dismissed the subject. He knew such foolish deeds would tend to endear the
“Madam,” Ralston addressed Shanna directly. “Are you aware Sir Gaylord’s father is a lord and magistrate of the English courts?” He cast a glance awry to Trahern to see if the man was listening and grew piqued that the squire should appear disinterested in the conversation and, instead, savor his favorite dish.
“Indeed?” Shanna presented an inquisitive gaze to the man on her left. “Lord Billingsham? I never heard his name mentioned while I was in London. Has he been a magistrate long?”
Gaylord daintily dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin before looking at her earnestly. “I can think of no cause, madam, that might have presented such a fair lady as yourself before him. He judges evil men, murderers, thieves, miscreants of all kinds, and you are far too delicate a flower to be found where those would roam. He has sent many a scoundrel to Tyburn’s triple tree, and for the sake of caution he has elected to be known to those rogues only as Lord Harry.”
Ralston watched Ruark closely, expecting some reaction from him, as he guessed it may have been more than coincidence. His target only met his gaze for a moment, shrugged casually, and continued with his meal.
Pitney was giving careful attention to his food, and Shanna was as intently studying her own. She remembered too well when Mister Hicks spoke of Lord Harry and his secret handling of Ruark’s hanging orders and wondered what game Ralston played.
Only one as familiar with Ruark Beauchamp as Shanna would have noticed his sudden preoccupation with the meal and the gradual hardening of his eyes. His nostrils flared slightly each time the hated name was mentioned, but otherwise he executed well his role of bondsman, and it seemed as if this exchange were simply over his head.
With very great care Shanna questioned, smiling gently at Gaylord, “Lord Harry? ‘Twould seem I’ve heard that name before.” Her brows drew into a puzzled frown. “But for the life of me I can’t remember—”
Pitney’s comment was grunted. “I’ve heard of him. Some called him Hanging Harry. Got that with his liberal use of the triple tree.”
Gaylord was offended. “A malicious rumor!”
Shanna seemed bemused. “I’ve often wondered how a man must feel after he has sentenced another to be hanged for some offense. I’m sure your father sent only the well-deserving to their end, but it crosses my mind what a terrible burden it must have placed upon him. Had you knowledge of his affairs? I suppose he spoke often of them.”
“My father’s affairs were much beyond me, madam. I gave them no heed.”
Shanna brightened. “Oh? What a pity.”
They adjourned again to the drawing room after dinner, and there Shanna was beset by Gaylord’s close presence on the settee beside her. Over her fan she watched Ruark light his pipe by the French doors and, meeting his eyes, caught the almost imperceptible inclination of his head toward the portico. Fanning herself, she rose and complained demurely.
“ ‘Tis a bit stuffy in here, papa. If you’ve no objections, I’ll take a stroll along the porch.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Trahern nodded his approval, and Ruark was quick to offer.
“Madam, since the pirate’s raid ‘tis not safe for a lady to go about unescorted. I beg—”
“You’re quite right,” Gaylord interrupted and, to Shanna’s consternation, took her arm. “Please allow me, madam.”
Gaylord had turned the tables deftly, and this time Ruark was left standing while the other man smugly stepped past him with Shanna. As the knight closed the doors behind them, he sneered in the bondsman’s face.
Pitney’s huge arm halted Ruark before he could lay a hand on the latch, and he was shoved gently backward. Ruark was not in the mood for foolery. The muscles in his lean jaw flexed tensely as he lifted his gaze to find a gentle smile on the older man’s face.
“Easy, lad,” Pitney rasped in a low tone. “If there comes a need, I will see to it.”
His gray eyes flicked toward Trahern in a silent warning, and Ruark glanced behind him to see the squire turn away from the cupboard with a glass of rum and draw out his pocket watch. The man considered it a moment before looking at Pitney.
“Five minutes?” He left the comment hanging, and Pitney drew out his own timepiece.
“Less, I’d say, knowing the eager knight.”
“Bitters to an ale?” Trahern wagered.
“Aye,” Pitney answered and tucked away the pocket watch as he considered Ruark.
“You have not seen Shanna at her best.” He gave a nod toward the French doors. “Better men than he have tried. If you must fret, have a pity for Sir Gay.”
The room grew quiet, and only Ruark and Ralston showed emotions. Ruark was uneasy, while Ralston smirked in good satisfaction. Then suddenly from the porch a low enraged shriek came from Shanna. Ruark jumped, and Ralston lowered his glass in wonderment. In a hair’s space it was following by a ringing slap, the beginning of a curse growled by Gaylord, followed by a shout—that, too, from the knight—terminated in a loud grunt.
Pitney consulted his watch and said to Trahern, “Ale!”
All of them including Ralston started for the door at once, but before any could touch it, the portal was flung open, and Shanna flounched into the room, holding the torn bodice of her gown shut with one hand while she flexed the other as if it pained her. Her beautiful face was aflame beneath her wildly mussed tresses.
Trahern halted his daughter with a hand on her arm, and his eyes carefully searched her for some sign of mistreatment. “Is all well with you, Shanna child?”
“Aye, papa,” she replied brightly. “Better than you can guess, but I fear our lordly guest has taken to adorning the shrubs with his manly form.”
Trahern stepped past her as Ruark doffed his coat and laid it over his wife’s shoulders. Shanna gazed at him softly as he took her hand to examine it.
“Shall I avenge you, milady?” he questioned in a low voice without raising his eyes.
“Nay, my Captain Pirate Ruark,” she murmured. “Poor fellow, he’s had his just reward. Look yonder.”
She swept the injured hand toward the doors as her father and Pitney pushed them open. Trahern seemed to choke on something as the dim light spilled onto the porch to illuminate the lanky shape of Sir Billingsham as he struggled to pull himself over the railing that bordered the walkway. Shreds of leaves and broken twigs clung to him, protruding from his rose-colored coat in random array. The knight set his feet on the porch and, unconscious of those who stared, paused to pluck the greenery from himself. He had succeeded only to a slight degree when he raised his head to find three of the four men who watched smiling broadly at him, while the fourth gaped in stunned astonishment.
Sir Gaylord was equal to the occasion. Lifting his jowly chin, he stared back at them with a haughty gaze and strode loftily past them as they made way for him, ignoring Shanna completely. Still in all, his bearing lacked something, for his gait had an odd half-step quality caused, no doubt, by his missing shoe.
Tugging the oversize coat about her, Shanna gave a small curtsy. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said and swept out of the room, turning her hand as if it still ached.
Trahern regarded his empty glass for a moment before he sighed almost sadly and went to pour two tall ales, handing one to Pitney. Ralston helped himself to a short brandy and tossed it off before he, half embarrassed, excused himself and left. Trahern poured a third ale and offered it to Ruark.
“Ah, gentlemen,” the portly man chuckled after a long pull at his own glass. “I do not know what I shall do for excitement when the lass is gone.” His chuckle gave way to rolling mirth, which infected the other two and left him gasping in his chair.
“I think I will retire. I am getting too old for all of this.”
He left the room to them and as he went down the hall an occasional chuckle drifted back. Pitney refilled their glasses and nodded his head toward the door.
“A breath of f
They strolled through the open doors and passed on down the wide veranda and admired the bright full moon, while John Ruark offered his large companion some tobacco from his pouch. To his surprise the man produced a well-browned clay pipe from his pocket and after a first puff of smoke nodded his appreciative thanks.
“Took the habit when I sailed on one of Orlan’s ships,” he murmured. “Hard to get good tobacco ‘way out here. But this is good. Aye, this is good.”
They walked on for a space in silence, leaving a fragrant trail of smoke behind them. They had almost returned to the drawing room doors when Pitney paused to knock the dottle from his pipe bowl.
“A pity,” the huge man commented as he tapped the pipe against his heel.
Ruark gave him a questioning look.
“A pity your brother, Captain Beauchamp, could not sail with us.”
Ruark’s face went blank as he sought for some denial.
“My brother?” was all he could manage, for anything more would have been a lie, bold and open.
“Aye,” Pitney returned, watching him closely in the meager light. He pointed at Ruark’s chest with the stem of his pipe. “And sometimes it tickles me mind that there is even more to Ruark Beauchamp than John Ruark lets on.”
Tucking the pipe in his pocket, Pitney went into the house, and when Ruark entered a few moments later, the room was empty.
The hour was late, and the moon was a swollen red ball low on the horizon. It seemed to squat there with ominous deliberation and gave no clue that it would become the pure silver goddess that fled across the sky and lent her name to stricken lovers. The streets were otherwise dark in the village, and Milly Hawkins shuddered as she strolled again by the appointed meeting place to find it still empty. Fretfully she paused and with a worried gaze swept the cobbled street in both directions. The skin on the back of her neck began to crawl, and her spine tingled coldly. She had the distinct feeling she was being watched. She peered into every nook and cranny but saw nothing. Then she gasped in fear as a tall shadow detached itself from a deeper one and came toward her. Her hands trembled to her mouth, and she stared hard for a moment before sagging in relief.