Shanna

  “These are the marriage documents,” Ruark informed her as he turned them in his hand. “You will need them to prove that we are wed.”

  Shanna sat up a bit and would have reached to accept them, but he took them beyond her grasp.

  “Ah, madam,” he laughed, “the price has not yet been paid.”

  With something akin to horror in her eyes, Shanna stared at him. Would he threaten to destroy them if she did not yield? If they were thrown onto the well-washed road outside, they would be rendered useless.

  “Ruark?” she asked wonderingly and withdrew her feet from him, tucking them beneath her. “Would you—”

  “Oh nay, madam. That bargain is well made and sealed.” His eyes raked her boldly, and Shanna braced herself for the worst. He smiled slowly. “And I would not question your intent or honor. But this is a new one. I would extract from you—” he paused and tapped the papers against his chin, gazing thoughtfully at the lantern—“a kiss,” he said suddenly, decisively. “A loving kiss of a wife as bestowed upon her newly vowed husband. Is the price too steep, madam?”

  He raised his brows in mocking question. With some relief Shanna gathered herself, drawing the cloak against his wandering eyes, irritated that her knees kept slipping down to rest against his thigh.

  “Very well,” she sighed as if most reluctant. “If you insist. I am too frail to battle you for them.” She bent forward slightly. “At your pleasure, sir. I am ready.”

  She closed her eyes to wait, and his low laughter made her fling them open again. He had not moved. In fact, as she stared, he casually doffed his coat and opened his waistcoat before leaning back in his corner of the seat.

  “Madam,” his smile taunted her, “the bargain was that you should give the kiss. Do you need assistance or instruction?”

  Shanna bristled beneath his gibe and glared at him. Did he think her to be some simple serving maid not to see his ploy? She rose upon her knees, determined to set him back upon his heels. She would give him a kiss worthy to be taken to his grave!

  Coyly she reached out to place her arms on his shoulders. Again his gaze crept downward where she wanted it. She would make him cringe in utter frustration before this was over. Her fingers lightly caressed the back of his neck as she moved nearer. Then suddenly he raised his head, and his eyes met hers, his brow gathered in concern.

  “Try to make it good,” he admonished. “I realize your experience may be lacking, but a wife-to-husband kiss should be a thing to warm the pride and not a peck of shame.”

  For a moment Shanna went rigid with the fury his words stirred in her, and she almost raked both hands across that leering face. Seeing his amused regard, she hissed, “Think you that I have never kissed a man before?”

  His eyebrows went upward in a tiny shrug. “In truth, Shanna,” he rubbed his neck against her hands, “I was wondering about that. A childish peck upon the cheek could only be from a fatherly tutor.”

  Deliberately Shanna leaned forward until her breasts rested on his chest; and seizing upon all her imagination, she lowered parted lips and moved them slowly, warmly upon his. Her eyes flew wide as his mouth opened and twisted across hers, his tongue thrusting through as his arms went about her, crushing her in his embrace. Her world careened crazily as he slowly turned until she half lay across his lap, her head pressed back against his shoulder. His mouth was insistent, demanding, relentless, snatching her breath as well as her poise. She was caught up in the heat of a battle she could not hope to win. Her broadside was spiked, her weapons dulled, her wits fled. She should have found his blistering kiss repulsive, but in truth it was wildly exciting. The hard, muscular chest, warm through the cloth of his shirt, tightened against her meagerly clad breasts; and she was aware of the heavy thudding of his heart while her own throbbed a new frantic rhythm.

  Slowly Ruark’s face retreated. With trembling effort Shanna collected herself, and, as he stared at her, she drew a deep, ragged breath. She struggled to rise from his grasp, succeeded—then found herself seated on his lap.

  “Is not the bargain met, m’lord?” she questioned in an unsteady voice.

  Without comment Ruark handed her the papers, and she tucked them safely in her muff. She would have slipped quickly from his lap then, but his arm was about her waist and held her firmly in place. With the panniers further restricting her movements, she could not escape him. Her eyes searched the golden flames smoldering in his eyes.

  “Was there more to your bargain than you spoke?”

  “Nay,” Ruark smiled leisurely. “But I would be onto the first one now.”

  Shanna struggled, but his arms were about her, pressing her close to his body. His voice was a hoarse whisper in her ear.

  “Madam, strain your mind and try to realize what it is like to stay in a small, gray room and count the stones for the thousandth time, to know the nearest measure of it, its length and breadth and height; to see again the days that have passed as scratches on an iron door and to know that morning will add another mark and that each moment passing draws you closer to a noose; and to wonder helplessly if the pain will be terrible or quick. Then into that narrow world is thrust a beauty such as yours with its dream and its hope. Aye, Shanna, my wife, I did lust in my dungeon, but mark you this,” his eyes gleamed as his face drew near to hers, “before the door opens again you will be a wife in every way.”

  And Shanna realized his hand was already beneath her skirts and boldly high on her thigh. Her gasp was neither light nor coy, and she grasped his wrist and tugged it away with much determination, only to find that behind her back his fingers were loosening the laces of her gown.

  “Ruark!” She twisted and brushed his arm aside.

  Suddenly it seemed he had twice the normal number of hands, and her own flew in a flurry to maintain her modesty. Finally she caught both of his and hugged them tight against her midriff in an effort to keep them still. Then a new realization dawned. In the struggle, her skirt had been pulled from beneath her, and her bare buttocks rested full against his loins. His manhood beneath the silk breeches was bold and hard against her. Even now his hands were slipping away from her grasp and creeping up her sides, pulling her closer to him.

  “Sir, you are no gentleman!” she gasped in outrage.

  “Did you expect to find one in a dungeon?”

  “You are a cad!” she panted, trying to pry his hands away.

  Ruark laughed softly, and his breath brushed her throat. “Only a husband,” he replied, “well warmed and willing.”

  Shanna fought to reach the small window so she might fling it open and cry out, but her wrist was caught and held to her side. She struggled with renewed energy. Then his hand was hot upon her naked breast, and her free hand snapped forward like a striking falcon but was stopped a bare inch from his laughing face. His grip was iron hard but gave her no pain, and with easy strength he clasped both her wrists behind the small of her back. Shanna drew a breath to shriek in anger, but his mouth smothered her outcry. Her head whirled in an ever quickening eddy, and she struggled against the intoxication of his kiss.

  “Ruark! Wait!” she gasped as his lips lifted from hers. His fingers were at the dainty ribbon on her chemise, freeing her bosom.

  “Nay, Shanna. Yield to me now, love,” he murmured thickly against her throat. His face lowered. His mouth was scalding upon her breast, and she was devoured in a searing, scorching flame that shot through her like a flaring rocket.

  “Oh, Ruark,” she panted in a whisper. “Oh, don’t—please—” She could not draw a deeper breath. “Oh, Ruark—stop—”

  The warmth spread until her skin seemed to glow. Her hands were free now but could only press his head closer. He moved and was hot and hard between her thighs. Her lips were dry, and her tongue flicked out to moisten them. In a last weak effort at modesty she tried to shield herself from the probing staff.

  “O, love—love,” he rasped, taking her hand and leading it to him, closing his lean fingers over hers. “I?
??m a man. Flesh and blood. No monster, Shanna.”

  His mouth was upon hers again, and his tongue was insistent until she met it with her own, first with hesitancy, then with welcome, then with passion. He was pressing her down upon the velvet seat.

  Her sanity argued, this is madness! Her passion whispered slyly, let him come!

  And he came to her, a first sharp piercing pain that made her gasp followed by a warmth deep inside that made her sob with pleasure. He began to move, and he was kissing her, caressing her, loving her—

  Suddenly from without, Pitney’s shout roared above the pelting rain, and the pace of the carriage changed. Cursing, Ruark raised his head, realizing they were stopping. Then he heard another voice answer the hail from Pitney; and he recognized it as that of the third guard, the one who had stayed behind with the prison van.

  “Ahhh, damn!” Ruark groaned in frustrated agony. “Damn you deceiving little bitch!” He snatched from her roughly and flung her away. “I knew you couldn’t hold to our bargain!”

  With much urgency Ruark began to secure his garments, his teeth showing in a savage snarl as he cursed her viciously. Shanna cowered in the corner, her hands clutched over her ears as he vented his wrath in searing words. In the dim light his sneering eyes raked her cruelly, marking her pale, quivering breasts and the soft lovely thighs still naked to his gaze.

  “Cover yourself,” he ground out derisively. And then more harshly, “Or do you wish the guards to take my place?”

  Shanna snatched the cloak tightly about her as if to shield herself from his ridiculing jeer and penetrating glare. A second later the door was jerked open, and the wide muzzle of Pitney’s oversized pistol gaped its raw threat at Ruark’s chest.

  “Out!”

  Everything in Ruark rebelled. He had been pushed, shoved, beaten, prodded, goaded, tempted, and finally betrayed at a most degrading moment. A ragged growl tore from his throat, and before anyone could react, he kicked the gun aside and launched himself, feet first, against Pitney’s chest. The force of his attack sent them both sprawling to the mud. Cries of alarm sprang from the guards.

  “Catch the bloke! Hicks’ll ‘ave our ‘eads rolling!”

  Shanna cringed as they fell upon him. Muffled oaths and grunts of pain detailed their battle. The guards were bulky, large and heavily muscled; Hicks had chosen them for strength to see the prisoner back to his cell. Each outweighed Ruark by at least two stone, and Pitney was larger than any of them, but Ruark displayed an extensive knowledge of brawling. He fought like a man possessed. It was several moments before they could subdue him, and even then he was only slightly more battered than his captors, two of whom held him secure now on his knees in the mud with both arms outspread, while the third hurried to fix the manacles to his wrists.

  Pitney stood nearby, trying to scrape some of the mucky soil from his cloak. He massaged his shoulder as if it pained him and flexed his arm. Glancing up, he paused as he saw Shanna’s face illuminated in the lantern’s glow, and, following his gaze, the guards also halted their labors. The third, stepping closer, spoke in humble apology.

  “Sorry for the delay, mum. Me wagon got stuck in the mud by the pond, else I’d have met ye sooner, like ye wanted.”

  Slowly Ruark raised his head and stared into her eyes. His face was bruised, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Shanna’s throat tightened convulsively, and she drew back into the shadows, snatching the deep hood of her cloak around her face so she would not have to meet his gaze. But his voice came, thick with unsuppressed wrath.

  “If I fall under the mercy of Almighty God, madam,” he grated out, “I shall see our bargain carried through—”

  His vow was silenced by the swing of a meaty fist. Shanna flinched, hearing the thud as it met its target. When she could bring herself to look again, Ruark hung limply in the grasp of the guards. They finished chaining him and flung him roughly into the wagon. The bar slammed home behind him, and his bloodied face showed briefly at the small window before the wooden door shut.

  Shanna sank back against the cushioned seat and with unsteady fingers began to rearrange her garments. Except for the fact that she had lost her virginity, her plans had gone according to her wishes, but she could summon no smile of satisfaction. Instead, there seemed an overwhelming emptiness about it all now, and her treachery lay like a dead weight upon her mind. Her young body burned with a yearning she had never experienced before; but there was no solace for it now, for beneath the enveloping cloak her arms were achingly empty.

  Her carriage door was gently closed, and Pitney’s weight on the coach made it rock slightly as he took the driver’s seat. The coach lurched into motion, and as they passed the wagon and splashed through the mud into the looming darkness, an almost unhuman, raging howl rose from the wagon accompanied by repeated thuds against the heavy wooden door. Suddenly Shanna could believe that Ruark Beauchamp was a madman.

  Clenching her eyes tightly, she covered her ears with her hands. But the image of his battered face was scored into her brain, and nothing could force the image to flee.

  Chapter 4

  A DEATHLIKE STILLNESS hung over the eerie corridors of the gaol. Then a heavy door slammed, its bolt rattled, and the sound of scuffling feet and an ominous dragging broke the quiet. Hicks started from his slumber. Beads of cold sweat dappled on his brow, and he stared with fear-glazed eyes into the shadowed and contorted face bending over him.

  “Nay! Nay!” he blubbered pleadingly as he fought the tangled blankets and thrust up fat, pudgy fingers to ward off the ghost of his dreams looming above him.

  “Blimey, Hicks, settle yerself!”

  The shadow straightened and became more of a man. Hicks blinked as he focused on the group standing before him. Awareness finally penetrated his mind, and his pinched stare turned to one of gaping surprise as he noted their condition. John Craddock gestured to the prisoner.

  “The bloody beggar tried to escape, ’e did.” He managed to swagger only slightly. “ ’E gave us a run ‘fore we caught him.”

  “Run!” Hicks snorted. With a heave of his massive body, he rolled to his feet and surveyed his beefy crew. Craddock nursed a split lip, Hadley displayed a blackening eye, the third guard tested his sore jaw. “Lor’ help ye if ’e ever turns to fight!”

  A smirk of satisfaction marked his thick lips as he mused on Ruark’s sorry state.

  “So! Ye thought to cheat the ‘angman, did ye?” The gaoler chortled, and there was a gleam of cruelty which brightened his small, beady eyes. “Ye can bet yer old doxy won’t care a mite if I lay me stick to yer back now.”

  Ruark returned mute defiance to the man’s challenge. His bruised and bloody face had been beaten, but was as yet undaunted.

  Mister Hadley tenderly touched his discolored eye. “Ah, she weren’t no old doxie, mate. She were a real beaut, she were, and him hot after ‘er. Wouldna mind meself ‘aving a piece o’ that.”

  Hicks cocked his eye to Ruark. “She got yer blood up a mite, eh? An’ there ye were wedded an’ not bedded. Serves ye right, ye ruddy blighter.” He lifted his cudgel and poked at the prisoner’s shoulder. “Come on, tell us her name. Maybe she’ll be wantin’ more of a man than what ye are. Come on. Tell us.”

  Ruark’s scornful reply was bitter, harsh. “Madam Beauchamp, I do believe.”

  The bloated jailer stared at Ruark a long moment, slapping his stick across the palm of his hand, but the jeering taunt on the other’s face did not retreat from the silent threat.

  “Put ‘is lordship in ‘is chambers,” Hicks ordered. “And leave ‘is braces on. I would na want him ter hurt ye’s. ‘E’ll be taken care of soon enough.”

  It was two days later, early in, the morning, when a loud pounding on the door again caused the snores of the head gaoler to end in a choking gurgle. Hicks rolled him self upright in the bed and after a rumbling belch cleared his throat. He let his ire at being so rudely roused sound in the tone of his bellow.

  “Aye, ye bl
undering lout!” he roared. “Would ye strip the plank from its ‘inges? I’m up!”

  Hicks thrust his short, rotund legs into his breeches and without tucking in the long tail of his nightshirt stumbled across the room to throw aside the bar on the iron door and tug the heavy portal open. As the guard stood aside, Hicks stared with mouth agape as he saw Mister Pitney, his large bulk filling the narrow passageway. In his brawny arms were a bundle of clothing and a basket well laden and with such a delicious aroma it set the gaoler’s mouth to watering.

  Pitney thrust into the room. “I’ve come from Madam Beauchamp to see to the welfare or her husband. Will ye allow it?”

  Though asked as a question, it was much more of a command, and Hicks knew he had little alternative but to nod and fetch the keys. As he took them from the peg, he gave the man a once-over scrutiny, and his pudgy face compressed into a smirking leer.

  “Whate’er it was ye did to the bloke, ye did it good.”

  The tan brows lifted in question, and Hicks snickered.

  “We had to chain the beggar to the wall, else see ourselves done in. He’s come on like a raving madman. Ain’ even touched a morsel o’ the food ye been sending. Just takes ‘is bread and water like ’e did afore and just sits ‘ere glarin’ at us when we brings what ye’ve sent. If ’e could reach us, ‘e’d kill us, or see us kill him which would be the way o’ it for sure.”

  “Take me to him,” Pitney rasped.

  “Aye,” the gaoler shrugged. “That I will.”

  The scurryings and squeakings of rats, disturbed by the light, intruded upon the silence of the dimly lit cell. Pitney waited for some stir of life from the motionless form sprawled on the ragged cot, and he was quick to observe the chains fastened on the lean ankles and wrists and the length of chain which ran to the wall from the iron collar secured about the prisoner’s neck.

  Pitney frowned into the shadows. “Are ye well, lad?”