Miserably she stared back into the dark alleyway. Had he seen? Did he know the sudden naked desire that must have shone in her eyes?
It was a long ride back to the manor.
Chapter 7
SHANNA RODE ATTILA along the beach until he wheezed, yet she found no pleasure in the exhausting pace. In the afternoons she went swimming, but the water was tepid and filled with weeds; she found no pleasure there, either. In the weeks that passed, she took special care to keep to herself, even avoiding her father unless he was alone. His worried frowns and concerned questions began to wear on her. But she could not bring herself to face the man, John Ruark, and so remained alone.
One sunlit afternoon Shanna sought out the privacy of a small hidden cove beneath the cliffs at the western reach of the island. For the sake of caution, she took Attila the long way around, riding the beach and avoiding the road that cut across inland. Urging the stallion belly-deep into the surf, she made her way around jutting rocks, and then she was there. Cliffs towered on three sides. The only approach was from the sea. Feeling secure, Shanna tethered the animal and left him to graze on the tufts of tender grass growing in the lee of the crag.
On a narrow stretch of sand, she spread a blanket in the shade and removed her clothing down to a shortened chemise. Here at last was privacy no one could break. For a time she lay and involved herself in a book of sonnets, combing her fingers absently through her loosened tresses as she read. With the warmth of the day she grew drowsy and, folding an arm across her eyes, slept.
When she woke, she did so with a start, unable to determine what had roused her. Her mind was unsettled, but there appeared no reason for alarm. The cliffs were bare as they had been before. No one was there.
Disquieted now, Shanna sought diversion to settle her thoughts and rose and went splashing into the gentle surf. In a clean dive she cleaved the water and with long, flowing strokes swam a good distance out to sea. Playing a childhood game of seeking shells and starfish, she dove to the bottom. For a time she floated on her back, rising and falling with the gentle swells, her hair spreading out in a giant fan, like some shy sea creature displaying its glory to only a few. A huge gray gull on motionless wings came over her and hung there, drifting close to better view this odd sea nymph.
Tiring of the play, Shanna returned to the narrow, hidden beach. She toweled herself dry, wrapped the cloth about her hair, and lay back. She watched a fleecy cloud drifting by. It touched the top of a cliff and—
Smothering a scream, Shanna came to her feet. The figure of a man stood on the brow of the cliff. A wide straw hat shaded his face; his shirt was carelessly carried over his shoulder. Short white breeches covered his loins, and long brown legs showed straight and lean beneath. Shanna knew golden eyes smiled down at her, mocking, challenging, consuming her.
The shriek that rose in her throat was not smothered this time. It was one of pure rage. Was there no place where she could flee from him? Furiously she snatched the towel from her head, flinging it to her feet.
“Begone!” she cried, her voice echoing in the cove. “Go away! Leave me be! I owe you nothing!”
Ruark’s laughter floated down to her as he strolled along the edge of the cliff circling the cove. He began to sing in a rich baritone, and the words were inane and silly, put to a tune she had heard before:
The high Queen Shanna could find no love.
The high Queen Shanna flirted with a dove.
He watched her as closely as Shanna did him. With a start she realized that her thin chemise was soaked and clinging to her skin like a filmy haze, leaving no detail to be imagined.
Another irate shriek drowned out his song as she pulled her gown over her head, not stopping to lace the back. Tossing her other garments onto the blanket, she gathered it in a roll and threw it over Attila’s bare back. Hauling herself astride, she forced the animal again into the water and around the point then raced full tilt along the beach.
“Good day, my lady.”
Ruark’s shout made her urge the steed faster, and once more the sound of Ruark’s mirth rang in her ears until, home at last, she hid her head beneath the pillow in her room.
The air was heavy, the night was hot. The sheet felt damp and Shanna thrust its clamminess away like the sweaty embrace of some unwelcomed suitor. Sleep was not within her grasp, and she lit a candle, setting it aglow before placing it on the night table. Restlessly she paced about the room, seeking out and verifying familiar shadows, but in every one seeing that lone figure standing high upon the jutting cliff.
Long ago her mother had instructed her that whatever the heat, she was never to sleep naked. It was a command Shanna had not been able to break, but she had compromised, taking a few of her lightest gowns and cropping them off just below her hips. It was one like this she wore, the briefest wisp of a gown so thin that it could barely be given the name.
Even this heat was better than foggy, wet London, Shanna mused as she pulled at the cloying fabric that stuck to her damp skin. She passed out onto the veranda, where she leaned her hip against the cool, carved wood of the balustrade.
The night was still, but she spread her arms and slowly turned her whole body, trying to catch the cool touch of a stray breeze. Thrusting her arms straight over her head, she stretched, arching her back, feeling the gown tighten over her breasts.
A long sigh slipped from her. She enjoyed swimming in the clear blue waters, racing among the trees, and sitting on the back of a laboring horse as he sped like the wind along the lanes. In England it was unseemly for a lady to so exercise, and Shanna reveled in her freedom to do so here. But of late there seemed something lacking, as if some other play might more fulfill the design of her person. She could not name it, but when this feeling came it was usually accompanied by a memory of warm, golden eyes smiling into hers.
Bracing her hands on the balustrade, Shanna leaned outward, staring into the dark night sky. Fleecy clouds flitted by on gusts of wind. A quarter moon, bright and sharply horned, gave light to the grounds below, peeking briefly here and there then hiding coyly, giving silver halos to the fleeing wisps of vapor.
She perched on the rail, placing a slim bare foot upon it and raising her knee. Her gaze leisurely swept the yards beyond. Great patches of blackness gathered under the banyan trees whose tall spreading tops made dense shadows. Spots of light were painted across the lawn by the rapid brush of the flippant moon. One passed beneath a tree. Shanna gasped, for there beside an ancient trunk was a shadow darker and of more manly shape than the rest. Coming to her feet, Shanna leaned against the rail, staring hard at the figure which squatted on its haunches. The shadow unfolded as the man rose, and she could see he was naked but for short, white breeches.
“Ruark!” the whisper rushed between her lips unbidden.
Turning his back, he kicked at the turf with a sandaled foot and then strode casually away, a light and airy whistle trailing a tune behind him. Shanna was certain now. She knew that walk, that graceful half-animal saunter.
“Damned rogue!”
Whirling, Shanna dashed back into the bedchamber, her pride suddenly nipped that he had not come to stand beneath her balcony and. ardently entreat for her favors. She blew out the candle and flounced onto her bed and there sat glaring back at the leering windows.
“How can I sleep with him ever about, sneaking beneath my balcony, spying on my every moment?”
In sore aggravation she flopped upon her stomach and propped her chin on folded arms.
What did the knave want of her? Ha! No question there! The bargain! Ah, damned bargain! And he did sorely want the bargain out. And what a price! A night with him, at his every beck and call!
Shanna tried to feel much abused and angered, but the thought of that whole night stirred something more akin to—
“ ‘Tis but curiosity,” she vowed. “I have meagerly tasted of the brew and only want to sample it more fully. ‘Tis naught but what any woman would want. Aye, and I am a woman and bei
ng in a well and hearty condition would seriously test that rogue’s ardor. He charges that I am less than woman, not bent to give myself to any man. More fool he, for I do yearn most fervently for that kind and great and noble man who will come and take me in his arms and thus bend my fullest passion to his charms.”
Closing her eyes, Shanna tried to form an image of that one of yore who would come to her so readily. He came, this time with raven hair and smiling amber gaze. Her eyes flew open, and anger arched her brows.
“He spies upon my very mind!”
Enraged, Shanna rolled and threw a pillow at the post. What manner of man was this Ruark Beauchamp, who crept into her dreams?
A fortnight passed, and on Sabbath afternoon Shanna straddled Attila’s bare back and ran him along the beach some distance beyond the village. She had dressed in a light, casual gown and a wide-brimmed straw hat which protected her skin from the burning rays of the sun. No shoes hindered her slim feet as she urged the powerful steed into deeper water, raising the hem of her skirt well above her knees and tucking it beneath her. The wind snatched her hair free from its mooring until she released the long curling tresses to let the golden-lit mass fly riotously behind her. She clamped her hat tighter upon her head and laughed gaily as she raced faster along the shore, bending low over the stallion’s neck.
Suddenly a whistle pierced the air, and the horse slowed. The shrill call came again, and, despite her efforts to direct Attila otherwise, Shanna found herself being carried toward a clump of trees that edged the swamp. Without a bridle she could not enforce her commands upon the steed.
Ruark stepped into the sunlight and whistled again, softly this time, offering out his hand to the horse. Attila snorted and came willingly, taking the sugar.
Shanna’s lagging jaw snapped shut, her glare boring into Ruark’s amused and mocking stare. Casually he caressed Attila’s nose while his eyes boldly roamed her bare thighs and the dampened gown that clung to her breasts.
“You’ve ruined a good steed!” she cried, infuriated that he had gained Attila’s trust so readily.
Ruark smiled slowly. “ ‘Tis a fine stallion and smart. ‘Twould have taken me many months with another. I’ve only taught him to come when I whistle. ‘Tis more than you will do.”
Shanna seethed, and her bosom heaved with her indignation. “If you think I’ll ever come when you beckon, then you are more than addlewitted, sir!”
It was as if he did not hear her stormy words. His smoldering gaze moved caressingly over her meagerly clad body, and his desire quickened. He well remembered the softness of her naked skin.
“Will you stop staring at me like that?” Shanna railed, feeling devoured by those burning eyes.
Without a word Ruark stepped beside her and with a quick movement was up behind her. Shanna gasped in outrage, struggling briefly, but his arms came around her, and his hands took the horse’s mane.
“Get down! Are you mad?” she protested, but her mind was invaded with the press of his hard, naked chest against her back and his long thighs showing dark, lean, and muscular beside her own. His loins pressed intimately against her buttocks, and she was suffocated by the manly feel of him against her.
“What are you about?” She tried to twist away from him. “If ‘tis rape, I’ll have you hunted down. I swear I will.”
His voice sounded hoarse in her ear. “Be still, Shanna, and let me ride with you for a space. You’re accustomed to a lady’s saddle and so is Attila. He needs to be taught obedience by his rider, whoever that may be.” Then Ruark added in a jaunty tone. “You’ll then be able to restrain him when I whistle. Now watch and I will show you both how a man rides.”
Shanna’s spine stiffened at the humor in his tone. She snatched her hat from her head as she sneered, “And what if we’re seen? What then, Mister Ruark?”
“With the swamp on one side and the coral reefs on the other?” He chuckled lightly. “I doubt it and so do you. Now be at ease, Shanna. Your virtue is safe with me. Who could be more concerned than your husband?”
His low laughter had an edge to it that cut sharply.
“Safe!” Derision rode heavily in her words. “When you are near me, I am constantly pawed, and I feel as if there’s but one thought in your mind.”
“Because there’s but one thought in yours, my love.” The whisper came close to her ear as he smoothed her tumbled hair between them. “And you know what the result will be. I’ll have the bargain done in my own time, my own way, and fully met.”
“You are a rogue to so force a lady!”
“Rogue? Nay!” Ruark shrugged. “I have only the desire to see payment for a service rendered as was promised me. As to force—never! I do not wish to hurt you, Shanna. Rather, I would say, I wish to share a blissful moment and introduce you to the tender touch of passion.”
Shanna twisted around to stare at him, a play of wonder and anger fighting for her face.
“Enough!” Ruark settled her in his arms and took a firm grip on the mane. “Today you are safe. ‘Tis but a lesson in riding I wish to give you.
“Watch.” He grew more purposeful. “Place your knees higher and let the horse feel your heels against him. Then . . .”
He tapped Attila’s flanks with his heels, and the steed moved slowly, prancing. Ruark leaned forward, and the stallion quickened his pace. Ruark guided him through a series of maneuvers, and Shanna was amazed. She could feel the movements of the man, and the horse responded as if they were one. Then the knees beneath her tightened, and with a leap Attila stretched out along the beach, and they were racing with the wind.
Ruark whispered in her ear, and Shanna turned a questioning stare to him.
“I asked if your father expects you back soon.”
Shanna shook her head, and her hair flew over his shoulder.
Ruark shifted her closer against him. “Good. I’ll take you along a trail I found in the swamp. Not frightened, are you?”
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 t
o 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 fish-monger’s daughter, for the easing of his plight. The girl was willing and not unpretty, but she smelled a bit like fish.