Shanna

  A light gasp made him raise his eyes, and he saw Hergus standing shocked and still in the wide French doors where Shanna had passed but moments before. The woman had a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were wide, though whether from fear, horror, or surprise he could not tell. For Ruark it was like being drenched with icy water.

  “We’ve got company,” he muttered and withdrew from the kiss, setting his hands to Shanna’s ribs and moving her back a step. As she whirled in bemusement, he turned his back to the maid, since his tight breeches lent him nothing of concealment for his once raging desires. He snatched a robe from the armoire and hastily donned it as Shanna found her tongue with a fury.

  “Hergus! Do you spy upon me? What is the meaning of this?”

  The maid could only stutter, shamefaced and painfully aware of her mistress’s meager garb. It was one thing to be alone with Shanna in the altogether, but another to see her nearly so in the presence of her lover. Hergus was a modest person, and her motherly fondness for Shanna made her embarrassment all the more excruciating.

  “ ‘Tis obvious you have no excuse for spying on me,” Shanna snapped, stamping her foot in outrage. Whirling angrily, she flounced to Ruark’s bed where she threw back the coverlet and turned down the sheet. The irate, non-widow Beauchamp plumped her round bottom upon the soft feather tick and threw up a hand in disgust.

  An amused smile twisted Ruark’s lips as he began to fill his pipe. It was his most fervent desire of the moment to join his wife on the bed, but there was yet the Scotswoman to deal with, and she seemed not to have the least intention of leaving.

  “Mister Ruark,” Hergus groaned, a worried tone in her voice. “There is no time!” She wrung her hands in anguish and hurriedly came to him to whisper, “Squire Trahern said that he would himself come to see her safe abed.” The servant moaned in dismay. “And if the squire should find her here—Oh, Mister Ruark, ‘twould be dreadful!”

  Ruark looked up from lighting his pipe. “How long were you there listening?”

  A red flush of color brightened the woman’s cheeks, and her eyes fell to her twisting hands. “I didna come to spy, only to warn her that her pa is coming. I only just come. I wouldna lie to ye, Mister Ruark.”

  “I know that, Hergus.”

  “I wouldna speak a word of it.” Then she added quickly. “Or of anything else, sir. I think ye—”

  She halted and stared past him in amazement. Following her gaze Ruark turned to see his wife curled like a child upon his bed, her dark lashes resting against her cheek in deep slumber. He set his pipe down and nodded to Hergus.

  “Fold down her bed.”

  As the maid willingly fled, Ruark crossed softly to the four-poster and carefully lifted Shanna. Feeling his arms close about her, she sighed like a soft kitten and snuggled to him, at once at ease and most content wherein she lay.

  Shanna’s own sheets were being tucked about her when footsteps sounded in the hall. Ruark quickly took his leave by way of the balcony, pausing outside in the darkness so that his own passage would not be noticed. He heard the door to Shanna’s room open and then Hergus’s voice, hushed and much relieved.

  “She went out like a snuffed candle, sir. I was just putting away her clothes.”

  Trahern’s grunt sounded. “Good enough.” A long pause followed, then he said, “Hergus, have you seen much of a change in her of late?”

  “Ah, n-nay, sir.” The maid’s words stumbled slightly. “She’s grown up a lot, that’s for sure.”

  “Aye, that is sure,” Trahern repeated thoughtfully. “I wish her mother were here. My Georgiana was always better with the child than I. Still, I have learned much these past few months.” His heavy sigh came soft and wistful. “Perhaps between the two of us we will yet see the best of all of it. Good night, then.”

  The door closed, and Ruark leaned back against the wall in relief. Hergus came close to the French doors and, spying him, marched out to stand before him.

  “You’re a fool, John Ruark. And you make a traitor of meself. The good squire trusts me to see what is best for the lass, and I warn ye now I canna twist me tongue around another lie.”

  Ruark’s frown was hidden in the shadow, but his tone bore the pain her words inflicted. “Lord willing, I shall not have to ask you again. There is, indeed, a time to live and a time to die, but sometimes it seems the time to live is far outweighed by the other. Have patience, Hergus. I can only swear to you that all I do and all I intend is for Shanna’s good, for you see, Hergus,”—and his voice became a hoarse whisper—“I love the lass beyond all else.”

  Hergus lowered her gaze as she struggled to maintain her anger and find a scorching answer. Then she realized she was alone.

  Preparations approached the frenzied point as the sailing date neared, and the mill was readied for its first load of logs. Ruark was left to see to the final inspections, and this was his labor just days before the journey to the colonies was to be launched. With the overseers, he conducted an exacting last check, seeing that all bearings were well greased and all cogs, wheels, and walking beams were sturdy and set as directed. The huge water wheel was checked; it was perfectly balanced and turned with no more than the gentle pressure of a hand upon it. The new saw had been laid in place and awaited the first load of logs coming by wagon from the south plateau.

  Ruark was well pleased with all of it. It was an accomplishment he took pride in. He dismissed the overseers, then others, then walked the flume back to the pond, carefully looking over the gates and bed as he went. Everything was in readiness.

  The seesawing heehaw of a mule higher up the embankment drew Ruark’s attention. The first wagon driver had halted his load of logs on the road above the mill and made his way down afoot to be sure where they were to be dumped. The team he had left for the most part dozed in the shade, lazily swishing flies with their tails, except for Old Blue, the rear animal on the far side who brayed discontentedly, laying his ears alongside his head. Old Blue was his cantankerous old self even under Trahern’s ownership. The squire had bested Mister Dunbar’s offer, and Ruark chuckled as he wondered if Trahern was beginning to question his wisdom in purchasing the beast.

  Ruark paused at the pond’s edge, gazing out over the mirror-smooth water. All noises were subdued, and there was a tenseness in the air, a sense of expectancy, that in another moment would be crushed beneath the din of activity. The gates were ready to be opened, the logs ready to be dumped. It only awaited his signal.

  A splintering, snapping sound intruded upon the quiet, rising quickly in volume and rate. Ruark looked up at the wagon and to his horror saw the side stakes slowly folding beneath the weight of the logs. With a last final crack they gave way, spilling the load down the hillside. They gathered speed as they bounded toward him, thumping and jarring the ground on which he stood. There was no place to flee but the pond.

  Ruark leaped high and stretched out. His body cleaved the air in a shallow arc, and he struck the smooth surface almost flat. As the water closed over his head, he bent and dove deep, clawing downward with all the strength he could muster. The butt of a log plunged past him, so close he could see tiny bubbles clinging to its coarse bark. Then its buoyancy checked the descent, and it was gone. Rocks brushed his belly painfully, and he bumped into the slope on the far side. Rolling once, he could see the unsettled, frothy turbulence high above. Another log almost touched the bottom before it shot upward to leap clear into the air like a hooked fish, then fell back to crash and bob upon the surface.

  Ruark’s lungs burned and were near to bursting. He kicked off the bottom and headed for a clear area above, broaching like the log. Falling back to tread water, he gasped precious air into his lungs. Shouts and angry curses came from the shore where he had stood, and as he struggled to clear his eyes, he saw the foreman and the driver backed by a crowd who anxiously scanned the water for some sign of him. Clinging to a nearby log, Ruark waved his arm and heard the answering shout. He rested a moment and then began to swi
m slowly back toward them.

  “I never meant to inspect the pond quite so thoroughly as that,” he gasped as he crawled up on the shore.

  “The damned fool left his logs unchained when he came down,” the foreman raged.

  “Like hell I did!” the driver declared. “Do ya take me fer a bloody boob? I checked ’em good an’ they was chained.”

  “No harm’s been done.” Ruark took the foreman’s offered hand and hauled himself to his feet. The sound which had preceded that of the dumping logs did not lend to his peace of mind. “But I’ve a mind to look at that wagon.”

  He led the way up the slope. The chains were held in place by a pin through a link and a bracket on the wagon’s bed so that the pin could be tapped out and the load dumped. Wooden posts on each side further restrained the logs, but these now lay on the ground with the pins and the small sledgehammer each driver carried. Someone had deliberately knocked the pins out after removing the posts. The partial track of a booted foot was marked into a soft spot of earth, and Ruark could only surmise that Old Blue had had something to bellow about after all. As the men around him wore the flat soles of sandals or work shoes, there was no doubt in his mind that another man had been here. Ruark followed the trail some distance along the road and around a curve protected by thick brush and trees. Here he found another impression of a booted heel along with the masks of a horse’s hooves. He frowned in silence, realizing someone had meant to kill him.

  Ruark glanced up as Ralston’s small carriage came briskly around the bend. The thin man halted beside the workmen who had gathered around Ruark. He climbed down from the high seat with a triumphant sneer on his face.

  “Hah! Dawdling again, I see. Squire Trahern may yet be convinced that sterner measures are needed to extract worthwhile labor from slaves.”

  The man’s boots were meticulously clean, or Ruark might have accused him then and there.

  “There was a slight mishap,” Ruark explained tersely, watching Ralston narrowly. “And it seems ‘twas no accident, but intentional.”

  “Probably the carelessness of one of your precious bondsmen.” Ralston gestured with the quirt. “Am I to believe it had something to do with your condition?”

  “Aye, ye might say that,” the foreman piped in. “Mister Ruark was below when the logs let go. He saved ‘imself with a dip in the pond.”

  “How touching,” Ralston smirked and regarded Ruark with a jeer. “You are always in the midst of some foolery, aren’t you?” He caressed the end of his quirt and seemed to grow museful. “Yet you turn everything to your betterment. Perhaps you, more than the others, are in need of some discipline.”

  Ruark stared at him coldly. He did not intend to let the man use that bloody little whip on him. Milly might have cringed and whimpered beneath her merciless beating, but if Ralston had been her assailant then he faced a man now and not some helpless girl.

  A clatter of hooves on the road drew the attention of all. Attila came thundering around the bend with Shanna on his back. Seeing the group that had gathered, she hauled the beast to a skidding stop while the more fearful workmen scattered from her path.

  “Mister Ruark!” Her eyes went down his sodden attire as she leaned forward to stroke the gray’s neck. “Have you taken to swimming in your garments?”

  “ ‘Twas an accident, mum, and he were caught in the middle of it, he were,” one of the men volunteered.

  “An accident!” Shanna gasped. She disengaged her knee from the saddle horn and found Ruark’s hands about her waist, lifting her down. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  The questions came out in a rush, and her worried frown told Ruark she was in no mood for humor. He was about to reassure her when he was roughly shouldered aside by Ralston.

  “Keep your distance, fool,” the agent raged, waving his whip dangerously close to Ruark. “I shall remind you but once, Mister Ruark, that a bondsman is not permitted to touch a lady of circumstance.”

  Ralston paused for some reaction from the man he berated, but finding a hard, penetrating stare his answer, he whirled to Shanna.

  “Madam, it is not wise to trust these rogues overmuch and most rash to be so familiar with them. They are the scum of civilization and hardly worth your concern.”

  Shanna was rigid with rage, and her eyes snapped green sparks. “Mister Ralston!” Her voice could have sliced the heart of the staunchest oak. “You abuse the title of man and disregard that of a gentleman! You have thrice stood in my way and sought to chide me for my manners!”

  Ralston’s face flushed dark crimson at this public chastening, but Shanna gave him no pause. Stepping forward and tapping his chest lightly with the tip of her own quirt, she snapped, “Never, never confront me again! There is much I will have out with you someday, but for the moment get yourself from my sight.”

  Ralston sputtered, but could only obey. In livid fury he stalked to his buggy but before mounting he glared about. “You men!” he roared. “Get back to work! You have dallied enough. I will see the next laggard flayed where he stands!”

  The road was emptied as Ralston got to his seat and whipped his horse into a full run. Ruark watched him go and then gestured for the driver of the wagon to pull on so others could pass.

  “Are you hurt?” Shanna asked quietly, her eyes searching him for some sign of injury.

  Ruark tossed her a grin. “Nay, love.”

  “But what happened?”

  Ruark shrugged and casually told her of the occurrence, and the evidence of tampering. He related the near disaster at the distillery as well. “It would seem, my love, someone is not pleased with my presence.”

  Shanna’s hand trembled as she placed it on his arm. “Ruark,”—her voice was ragged and tight—“you don’t think I—”

  She couldn’t finish, but Ruark saw her tears as he looked at her in surprise. He smiled gently and shook his head.

  “Nay, love. It never entered my mind. I trust you as I would my own mother. Do not fear that.”

  For a moment Shanna was unable to speak as she struggled to control her shaking, but then she managed. “But what reason would anyone have to harm you?”

  Ruark laughed. “Several of the pirates might have cause, but I would doubt their courage to venture here.” He tried to ease her worry. “I shall be more wary henceforth.”

  A workman scrambled up the slope to them, holding a ragged, dripping twist of straw in his hand.

  “Yer hat, Mister Ruark.” He gave over the mangled mess ruefully. “ ‘Twould o’ been the same fer ya, had ya not been so quick o’ wit.”

  The man did not wait for thanks but turned and slid down the hill again. Ruark contemplated the thing in his hands, trying to see some shape in it, then lifted his gaze to Shanna, and his eyes gleamed with humor.

  “I could be a free man now were it not for the cost of new hats,” he quipped.

  Chapter 24

  THE DAYS BEGAN TO RUN TOGETHER as the Hampstead and the Tempest took on supplies and goods to barter. Attila and the mare would be taken along, and provision was made for them on the deck of the Tempest, this time under Ruark’s direction and with padded stalls to protect the beasts. The rush and furor of preparations filled the dwindling days with activity. Hergus scurried in and out of Shanna’s chambers like one possessed; once she paused in the hall under Ruark’s amused smile, her arms laden with woolen capes and furs.

  “Put the winter clothes away. Take the winter clothes out,” she said breathlessly. “Seems it’ll never stop.”

  Then the days were gone, and all was aboard the ships which rode at anchor out in the small bay. Amid final shouts and farewells the passengers stepped into the lighters and were rowed out to spend the first night on board to await the first breezes of early dawn.

  And the dawn came. The sails creaked aloft to slap and sag until the wind freshened. The anchors were raised as the first sail billowed full and, though motion was difficult to detect, soon a curl of white foam formed beneath the prows
, and they were underway. The masts heaved with a loud creaking as the Hampstead rose on the first swell clear of the cove. A shot echoed from the island, and Shanna watched the cloud of smoke drift away from signal hill. The Hampstead answered the farewell salute with her stern chaser, and a moment later the Tempest followed suit.

  Los Camellos was only a smudge on the horizon when Shanna finally went below, piqued that Ruark had not seen fit to visit her at the departure. At the morning hour there were only her father and Pitney to greet her at the table with Captain Dundas, a squarish man, much like her father, large and heavy but a bit leaner and more solid from his years on the quarterdeck. Over the meal the conversation was mostly about what raw materials might be found for the mills in England. In fact, Shanna rather gathered from listening to the men that the colonies were full of palisaded forts and crude log cabins. Her imagination failed as she tried to conjure painted, half-naked savages roaming the wilderness. She missed the rich voice of Ruark, and his absence from the table made the morning seem somehow lacking. It puzzled her that her father had not asked him to join them.

  Strolling on the main deck moments later, she still saw no sign of him and grew petulant, because she could not go below in search. She felt neglected that he hadn’t even taken time to share his company with her. She set herself by the quarterdeck rail where she could survey the entire ship, and it was some time later when she felt a presence by her side and turned hopefully, only to find Pitney regarding her, an expression close to pity in his eyes. Shanna nodded briefly and came to the point.

  “I’ve seen naught of Mister Ruark as yet. What is he about?”

  Pitney squinted into the distance. “About two miles, I’d say, give or take a quarter.”

  Shanna frowned her bemusement, for she could find no sense in his words. Then Pitney inclined his head and pointed. She followed the direction of his arm to where the Tempest stood off the starboard beam. It was a long, bewildered moment before the truth sank in. Shanna slowly regained Pitney’s gaze, her eyes wide in stunned realization.