Shanna (18 page)

Glancing up into his eyes, Shanna saw the soft, smiling warmth there and could find no fear in herself. Her curiosity was piqued at his apparent ability to turn circumstances to his benefit. Here was the man who had taken her virginity, escaped the hangman, and accepted his bondage with an unusual lightness.

“I am at your mercy, sir.” She resigned herself perhaps a bit more cheerfully than she had intended. “I can only hope you are true to your word.”

“There is no reason to betray you, Shanna. I shall have my night”

Leaning back, Ruark let his body roll easily with the surge of the powerful beast beneath them. Attila ran harder, his hooves sending up small geysers of wet sand and water when they struck. Shanna had never dared to give the animal his head, yet with the strong arms encircling her she felt oddly secure.

With a cluck of his tongue and a tightening of his knees, Ruark slowed the mount and turned him along a narrow path that appeared to lead nowhere, only deeper into the wilderness. Then they came upon a sunlit glade where a carpet of soft grass was surrounded by a multitude of fragrant fuchsia blossoms, and tall trees bowed their branches humbly to the glen's beauty.

Dismounting, Ruark swept Shanna down beside him.

“You were right,” she murmured in admission. “You do have a way with horses.”

Ruark rubbed Attila's neck affectionately. “I enjoy working with them. A good steed always recognizes his master once that fact has been established.”

Shanna stared at Ruark until he glanced up with a questioning brow.

“Do you know your master?” she asked sharply. “Indeed, do you recognize any man as master?”

“And what man, madam, will master me?” He stood beside her, gazing down, holding her eyes in a willful vise
of amber. His voice was soft as he continued, but it held a note of determination which in an odd way both frightened and angered her. “I tell you, Shanna, love, no man will be my master but that I let him.”

“Nor any woman either,” Shanna snapped. “Will you deny my commands and say nay to my right to give them?”

“Ah love, never that,” Ruark grinned. “I am only your humble servant as you are my most fair spouse. Ever do I seek to serve you and gain favor in your eyes.”

Unable to bear the heavy weight of his heated regard, Shanna swept around the flowered bower and plucked a fragile blossom, thrusting its stem into her hair and gathering the long fall of tresses at the base of her neck. Much fascinated, Ruark leaned back against a sturdy trunk, folding his arms across his chest, to enjoy more leisurely what had become his favorite pastime since their meeting in the gaol, watching Shanna. She could not guess the depth of torture she put him through, for beneath his silken taunts he burned with a consuming desire for her. At night he tossed sleepless upon his narrow cot while visions of her floated teasingly around him: Shanna, soft and yielding in the carriage; Shanna, lovely and haughty across a table; Shanna, beautiful and tempting in a wet, filmy thing that was more stirring than naked flesh. He was ever conscious of her, and whenever her father's barouche whisked through the fields or the village streets, Ruark would turn in hopes of seeing her seated beside the squire. Compared to the portliness of the huge man, she appeared trim and tiny, fragile like a budding rose; but when he was close to her, Ruark was painfully aware that though indeed she was neither very tall nor heavily rounded, she was very much a woman, and he wanted her.

The scent of her lingered in his mind, the fragrance of exotic blossoms crushed on satin skin, and beneath it the sweet smell of woman mingled with a tinge of soap. She was a fire burning in his blood, and he could find no way to quench it, for the thought of other women soured in his mind when he compared them to Shanna. It was like seeing heaven then considering hell for a substitute when he considered someone like Milly Hawkins, the fishmonger's daughter, for the easing of his plight. The girl
was willing and not unpretty, but she smelled a bit like fish.

Suddenly Ruark burst into laughter, and Shanna turned to stare with eyebrows lifted in wonder. Casually Ruark gestured to the blossom she had picked.

“An Indian woman wears a flower thus when she would tell her husband of her desire.”

Shanna reddened and snatched the bloom from its place, and then, pouting prettily, thrust it above her other ear.

Ruark grinned. “And that means an unmarried maiden is available.”

Shanna took the adornment from her hair and began to idly braid it with other flowers. After a moment she realized that Ruark stood looking at her with a strange and tender smile on his lips.

“My Lady Shanna, your beauty doth dim the very radiance of this haven,” he avowed.

“Why, Ruark, do you court me?” Shanna inquired in soft amusement. Her mouth curved into a tantalizing smile as she came toward him with almost sensuous grace, halting a close measure from him and stretching out a finger to lay its tip in the midst of the black fur that darkened his chest. “I've never been courted by a bondslave before. Tis the first ever. Not long ago 'twas one who was bound for the gallows. That was the first, also. But mostly 'tis been lords and high gentlemen of the courts.”

“Methinks you bait me, my lovely Shanna,” he returned without a pause. “Ah love, do you seek to find the end of my patience that you might then have cause to hate me? Would your conscience then be eased at your broken word?” His mouth curved in a devilish grin. “If that be your game, madam, lead on. I will welcome your attention and the challenge.”

Irate sparks flared brightly in the blue-green eyes as Shanna snatched her hand away. “You're very arrogant.”

In what was meant to be a display of disdain, her eyes skimmed his slender frame barely clothed by the brief breeches, but her gaze faltered as the realization flashed through her mind that there was nothing in all that bareness she could poke fun at. Nothing! He was hard and lean, not thin, but with long, firm muscles beneath sun
darkened skin. Of a sudden she wondered what it would be like to lie against that strong body for one long night.

“I'm going back,” Shanna announced abruptly, em-barrassed by her own musings. “Help me to mount”

“Your servant, madam.”

Gleaming whiteness flashed as he grinned down at her, and Shanna whirled haughtily. Ruark followed along in her wake, appreciatively watching her hips as they swayed with a natural, graceful provocativeness. At Attila's side he bent, folded his hands to receive her bare foot, and boosted her up onto the stallion's back. Quickly straddling Attila's back, Shanna gave the beast a kick to send him in a flying leap from the bower, leaving Ruark staring after her, arms akimbo.

The outer edge of the swamp had been reached when Shanna's mind betrayed her with the memory of a raging howl coming on a stormy, rain-swept night A frustrated moan escaped her, and with a low, gritted curse Shanna wheeled the steed about and raced along the path leading her back to Ruark. He was running along at a slow, measured pace, but as the horse came thundering down the trail toward him, he glanced up in surprise. He reached out to catch his arm about the animal's neck as Attila jolted to a halt beside him.

“Whoa—easy.” Ruark soothed and stroked the velvet nose, peering up at Shanna with a silent question.

“We'll need your skill in the fields on the morrow.” She gave the excuse crisply. “If you walk most of the night to return to the village, you'll be little good to us.”

“My undying gratitude, madam,” he said and Shanna did not miss the inflection in his voice.

“You rogue.” A reluctant smile was wrenched from her. “I thought for sure that Mister Hicks would hang you. He seemed eager enough.”

“Not as eager for that, madam, as for a coin,” Ruark grinned and swung up behind her. “And for that I am most thankful.”

His brown arms came around her again, and he tapped his heels lightly against Attila's flanks, urging the animal into a canter. His horsemanship was effortless, and Shanna relaxed against him and allowed him to command the spirited steed, but with the close contact she was ever
aware of the hard, masculine feel of him and the tingling warmth that spread through her body.

When they were almost to the place where he had whistled from, he asked against her temple, “Will you meet me here again?”

“I most certainly will not!” She was the proud Shanna again, ignoring the budding excitement that had begun to stir within her. She sat upright and threw off his hand which had come to rest upon her thigh. “Do you honestly think I'd go behind my father's back to meet one of his bondsmen for a tryst in the woods? Sir, you are odious to make such a suggestion.”

“Aye, you would hide behind your father's shadow,” Ruark retorted glibly. “Like a child, afraid of being a woman.”

Shanna's back stiffened, and she twisted away from him in a flare of temper.

“Get down, you—you scoundrel!” she demanded. “Get down and leave me alone! I don't know why I ever rode with you. You—you blackhearted whelp of a scullery maid!”

His low chuckle pricked her anger more, but Ruark drew Attila to a halt and slid from the stallion's back and peered up at her in that deliberate, roguish manner that half mocked, half devoured her. This time Shanna did not turn back as she kicked the steed and set him on a rapid ride down the beach.

Her self-styled solitude having failed, Shanna gave herself over to activity. Without making a plan of it, she became much of a personal scribe to her father. She accompanied him on his trips about the island, making notes of importance as they passed fields and cleared areas. She listened as the overseers and foremen made reports and jotted down their remarks or figures. She kept records of the hours and men required to complete a task and of the crops their efforts produced.

It became apparent that where there were areas of difficulty, she would usually see a mule with a rider wearing shortened pants perched cross-legged on its rump engrossed in the labors of the men or walking about, explaining some innovation with gestures of his
hands or a drawing from his ever-ready quill and parchment It seeped into her mind with a multitude of figures and notes and the frequent mention of his name that where John Ruark was the men were happier and the work moved along apace.

Though Shanna was well occupied with her new duties, it was impossible, despite considerable effort, to ignore the man. As her father commented one afternoon with a chuckle, John Ruark was as well known as himself on the island and apparently better liked. But struggle Shanna did, and she managed to immerse herself in work. When the squire was otherwise occupied and she had no duties at the manor, she made her own tours of his various interests, checking the books, the quality of goods, or just listening to the people and hearing their problems.

It was in this capacity that she found herself in the village store on a late Friday afternoon, reviewing the accounts of the bondsmen. As she leafed through the ledger, the name of John Ruark caught her eye, and curiosity made her scan the columns of his accounts. The figures amazed her.

The column of purchases was quite brief. Aside from writing implements, a pipe, and soap, there was only a rare bottle of wine and an occasional pouch of tobacco. The longest column was that which detailed changes in his pay and there—she traced downward with the tip of her finger—why, it had been increased time and again, tripled, nay, more than ten times the sixpence of a new bondsman. She went further over to the balance of credits and with a swift mental calculation found that by the end of the month he would have nearly a hundred pounds of credit Then another item caught Shanna's eye. There were moneys other than his wages. At the rate he was building his account, he would probably be free in a year or two.

The back door slammed where Mister MacLaird, the storekeeper, had gone out a few moments before, and the sound of footsteps came across the floor behind her.

“Mister MacLaird,” she called over her shoulder. “There's an account here which I would discuss with you. Would you come—”

“Mister MacLaird is busy outside, Shanna. Is there something I might help you with?”

Shanna spun about on the high stool, for there was no mistaking the voice. White teeth showed in the tanned face as Ruark's ready smile spread leisurely across his lips.

“Are you distressed, my love?” He challenged her stunned appraisal “Have I been away so long you do not recognize me? Some service I can render perhaps or—” he raised a string of shell beads on his fingers—“some bauble for my lady?”

He lowered them and grinned ruefully.

“Your pardon, madam. I forgot myself. You own the store. A pity—and a waste of another of my talents.”

Shanna could not contain a smile at his lighthearted banter. “Of those I am sure you have plenty, Ruark. My father reports you have started building the new crushing mill. Twould seem you have convinced him 'tis necessary and would be more efficient than what we already have.”

Ruark nodded. “Aye, Shanna. I said as much.”

“Then why are you here? I would think you hard at work instead of coming and going as you will. Do you oversee yourself of late and set your own hours?”

Ruark's eyebrow raised as he contemplated her. “I do not cheat your father, Shanna. Have no fear.” He gestured with his thumb toward the back of the store. “I brought a wagonload of black rum from the brewing house since I had to come in and finish some drawings for your father. Mister MacLaird is testing the kegs now. If 'tis a chaperon you wish, he'll be in shortly.”

Shanna flicked her quill to the open ledger. “For a wagon driver you seem highly paid. And there are other amounts here which puzzle me.”

“Tis simple enough,” he explained. “In my leisure hours, I work for other people on the island. In return they either do a service for me or repay me with coin. There's a woman in the village who washes my clothes and bedding for—”