Shanna (4 page)

All his senses completely involved with her, Ruark felt an overwhelming desire to take Shanna in his arms. Her fragrance beckoned him, her soft, ripe curves made him ache with the want of her. Her breathtaking beauty quickened his very soul, stirring his mind with imaginings of what loveliness lay hidden from view. There was a need in him to feel the warmth of her beneath him, to sweep her up in his trembling arms and ease the lust in his loins. But he was painfully aware of his own rags and filth.

And, too, there was a puzzling glimpse just beneath the surface of her beauty of something to which he could not lay a finger, a hint of sarcasm, a brief flash of insincerity, a strange touch of arrogance. Still, he was convinced that had she any other choice she would not have been here. He knew Orlan Trahern was a man of power
but found it difficult to imagine that the man would so constrict the life of his only offspring.

Shanna could bear it no longer and whirled to face him. “Do you find it so distasteful, then, this sharing of your name? Do you say me nay?” Why in heaven's name did she have to plead with this cloddish knave?

Ruark drew a ragged breath and by an extreme effort of will replied casually. “There's much to consider here—Shanna?” He peered at her questioningly, arching a dark brow, and at her nod of consent, continued. “My name is all that I have left, and there are those who would be greatly pained at seeing it further dishonored.”

“I promise you, Ruark, that I have no intention of misusing it,” she hastened to assure him. “I will but borrow it for a time and when I have found the one I can love, then ‘twill all be over. If you agree, you'll be buried with all respect in a well-marked grave in a churchyard. Can those for whom you care then long remember your shame?”

“And for my last days you promise me ease, Shanna?” It was as if he had not heard her. “Yet that will take away my one enjoyment—the challenge of Mister Hicks.”

As if disturbed, Ruark paced the cell, seemingly deep in thought He paused before the cot, and again his gaze was inquiring.

“Might I sit, Shanna? I apologize as there is no chair for you. If you wish, you may join me here.”

“No—no thank you,” she quickly answered. She glanced down at the filthy straw and could not suppress a shudder.

Taking a seat in the corner, Ruark leaned back against the damp stone wall, drawing up a knee to let his arm rest upon it, the hand dangling limply. His eyes fastened on her, and Shanna steeled herself for the final act. She must make it good. At least he had not yet openly laughed at her.

“Do you think I lightly consider this, Ruark? My father is a man of iron will, and, though he has been called many things, I have never heard a man question his word. I have no doubt that he will do as he said and force me to marry a man I despise.”

Ruark's contemplation was steady, but no words parted his lips. It was her turn to be nervous and pace, and doing
so furthered her cause no small amount Shanna Trahern moved with the natural grace of one who led an active life and bore nothing of the affected daintiness so often displayed by beauties of the courts and salons. There was a sureness in her stride that lent a smooth, fluid grace to her every movement. Ruark admired every side of her, and for the most part her words missed him, for he had already set the price in his mind and only waited the moment.

Shanna stopped, and, resting her hands on the table, leaned toward him. The gown opened enticingly, and she saw his eyes fall where she wanted them.

“Ruark,” she said firmly, and his gaze raised reluctantly to meet hers. “Is there something about me which you find distasteful?”

“Nay, Shanna, my love.” His voice was hushed but sounded hollow in the cell “You are beautiful beyond my imagination. And I have enjoyed this repast so much I would not see its end. But please consider this. If your cause is really so dear, I will bargain with you for my name, but the price will be high, Shanna. And I ask you say me yea or nay before you leave, for that suspense I could not bear.”

Shanna held her breath in fear of what he was about to say.

“My price is this.” His words echoed through her brain. “The marriage will be one in fact as well as vow. I am condemned to hang, and I would elect the chance to leave an heir. The cost is that you spend the night with me and consummate the vows in deed as well as words.”

Her breath came out in a rush and her eyes flared with anger. She gasped in stunned rage at his affront That he should dare! Shanna was set to shriek her fury in his face, but his laughter rang in the cell and brought quick death to her ire. Swinging both legs onto the cot and clasping his hands behind his head, he was as relaxed as if he were in some inn swigging ale.

“Ah, yes,” he chuckled derisively. “I thought that might see the real price of your predicament. You seek my name for a cause so dear, this name which is my last and sole possession and mine alone to give. When I ask the same of you—that the cost be what is yours alone to give—then
the price is much too dear. So you reject the price, deny the bargain, and will be seen to that end your father wills.”

Ruark seized the flask and raising it high, gave the toast. “To your wedding, Shanna, love.”

He drank deeply and then sat staring at her with a wan smile, feeling his loss. Shanna returned his gaze with little warmth in her eyes.

That damned filthy fool! Did he think he could best her?

She came toward him, swinging her hips like a gypsy dancer, hair tumbling and eyes flashing with green fire. She had been stung and felt a need to set his smirk awry. Anger ruled where good sense trembled in fear. She stood before him, feet spread and arms akimbo and slowly reached out a finger to rest it along the straight line of his nose.

“Look,” she sneered. “I dare touch you, filthy though you are, swine though you are to mock my need. And if I bed you, what then do I gain? To trade my father's will for your brat?”

Leaning his head back, Ruark laughed into her glare. “Your father's will, my love, seems to be a sure thing that, like death, you will not escape. And, what then, when husband dearly found weds the widow and finds her virgin still? What will he say? That she gave a lie to her father? And my brat, if that be the case—it may or may not take. God wills that. If not, then you are nothing out and have much gained. If so, then a truly widowed wife no father could deny.” He sighed deeply. “But ‘tis all to naught, for I see that you are not the sort to take the chance. You want my name, and all the bargain in the boot while I have naught to gain, at least not that which I would treasure to my dying breath, a memory that would truly ease my last days. But alas, enough of this. You are indeed most captivating, my Shanna.”

He laid a hand upon her arm in a tender caress.

“Do you know that you are mine until I die? Tis the price a woman pays to seek out a man and to ask for him in marriage. So the sages say that she must belong to him until his death.”

Shanna stared at him in disbelief, aware of the trap that closed slowly around her.

“But my need is great,” she whispered and realized some truth in what he said. She would not feel free until he was dead. “I came prepared to plead.” Her voice was low and husky. “I did not come to yield, but yield I will. Tis a bargain then.”

Ruark's bearded jaw dropped for barely an instant He had not expected this. Suddenly he was elated. It would almost be worth the hanging. He rose to stand before her, though still not daring to touch her, his hands pressed flat against his thighs as he fought the urge. His voice came gentle, almost a whisper.

“A bargain. Yea, a bargain. And be it known that the first to wed you, my lovely Shanna, purchased the right with the dearest price of all.”

Staring into those warm amber eyes, Shanna could find no reply or other words to speak for the moment Taking up her cloak, she numbly accepted his assistance in donning it She arranged the veil and pulled the hood forward, carefully covering her hair.

At last, ready to leave, she faced him but almost pulled away as his hand rose to touch her. To her surprise he only tucked in a stray curl that had fallen free and slowly fastened the catch that held her hood in place. Shanna gazed into his face. His eyes were soft and yearning and touched her everywhere.

“I must make arrangements,” she spoke firmly, bracing up her courage. “Then I will send Pitney for you. It won't be more than a day or two. Good night”

With hard-won poise Shanna turned and left At that moment Ruark could have shouted for joy. Even Hicks could not dampen his happiness as later, once more in the dark, Ruark stretched himself on the cot and engaged in his pastime of late, chasing fleas.

T
HE DAY DRAGGED OUT INTERMINABLY
, a matter Ruark Beauchamp would have done something about normally. Within the confines of his narrow cell, he could do nothing but await his end. The remains of his morning meal dried on a trencher, yet he knew a sated hunger not often experienced behind the iron doors of Newgate. The same fare would have eased the lot of any poor soul who had had the misfortune to be locked away in the gaol, whether he was sentenced for a debt unpaid or a worse offense which would lead eventually to a hangman's noose at Tyburn. It was a grim three-hour ride from Newgate to the triple tree at Tyburn, and one could think over a lifetime in that span of time, though usually the way was lined with sightseers and hecklers anxious for the killing.

Ruark had not been trusted with a razor, thus, a full growth of beard still covered much of his face, but with the clean garb Hicks had brought, he presented a neater appearance. A linen shirt, breeches, hose, and a pair of leather shoes could be greatly tolerated after three wretched months in the same filthy rags. In that time his bucket of water, laced with a portion of rum to keep it from souring, had been used both to quench his thirst and for what cleanliness it could provide. But since Shanna's visit, fresh water seemed in good supply, and a bottle of wine accompanied the evening platters.

It was impossible to imagine anything which would turn Hicks's nature for the better or budge his grotesque shape for another's sake other than the promise of a purse, whether small or great. The arrival of clothes and food and the gaoler's good manners were a fine indication that all had not gone astray.

Still, in the dim, lonely cell, Ruark paced restlessly. The shadow of the noose darkened the days that slipped
by, and doubt and fear tortured his mind. He had no way of knowing whether Shanna Trahern would hold to her word and send for him. Just to see the world outside again would be a heady draught, but his thoughts were occupied with a vision of that most beautiful maid in his arms. Perhaps she would yet change her mind, deciding she could abide her father's will more than she could a night with him. Or had he imagined it all? Was it a dream that he had conjured from the depths of hopelessness? Did Shanna Trahern, a most delectable figure of a woman and the ethereal goal of every unwed swain here and abroad, actually enter his cell and make such a pact with him? The one vision that totally eluded him was of this proud woman yielding herself to a man branded a murderer.

Pausing before his cell door, Ruark rested his forehead against the cold iron. The haunting image of soft, perfect features, honey and gold tresses swirling around fair shoulders, and ripe, curving breasts swelling almost free of a red velvet gown was branded on his memory with minute detail, stirring an agonizing impatience which could only be relieved when she was truly his—if that moment was to be. He realized that where Hicks's brutality had failed, the illusion of Shanna came close to breaking him. Nevertheless, he held the vision, for when it faded it was replaced by a gruesome one of the triple tree and its fruit.

He paced. He sat. He washed. He waited.

Finally, in increasing frustration he flung himself to his pallet, weary of the agony of uncertainty. He rubbed his hand across his bristly beard and then winced as his own shabby appearance was brought painfully to mind. The best Shanna could have thought him to be was a barbarian.

He flung his arm over his eyes as if to shut out those torturing illusions and dozed fitfully. Even then he found no peace and woke in a cold sweat, a gnawing ache in the pit of his belly.

He was still struggling to contain his emotions when footsteps echoed in the stillness. Ruark came fully awake as the sound halted just outside his cell. A key rattled in the lock, and Ruark swung his long legs over the edge of
the cot as the door was thrown open. Two burly guards with drawn pistols came in and motioned him out Glad for any break in the boredom, Ruark hastened to obey. He stepped out of the portal and found himself face to face with Mister Pitney.

“'E's come for ye, ye scum.” Hicks poked at Ruark's lean ribs with the long cudgel. “I care not for the likes of ye to be nobbin' wit' gentle folk, but the liedy is set to wed. Yell be going wit' the man and me own good lads 'ere, John Craddock and Mister Hadley.” He leered at Ruark's raised eyebrow. “Just to see, of course, 'at ye do not take to some fancy highjinks.”

The corpulent turnkey chortled as heavy irons were fastened on Ruark's wrists. The ends of the chains were handed to Mister Pitney, who grasped them in his hamlike fist With a gesture to follow, Hicks led the procession through the gaol and halted only when they reached the waiting wagon which was drawn up close before the outer gate. The conveyance much resembled a large, ironbound oaken box on wheels with only a small, barred window mounted in the side door. A third guard was high in the driver's seat with the reins already threaded through his thick fingers. His cloak was pulled close around him against the chill of the drizzling rain, and he gave no heed to them other than the lowering of his tricorn upon his brow.

“Now ye do as Mister Pitney says,” Hicks bade his men. “And ye bring this scurvy bloke back ‘ere live or dead.” His black, beady eyes glared at the prisoner. “Mind ye, if ‘e makes one move to escape, blow ‘is head off.”

“Your kindness is exceeded only by your grace, master gaoler,” Ruark told him lightly. Then he squared his shoulders. “Can we be about our affairs, or are there more matters you wish to discuss with these gentlemen?”

Hicks waved him into the wagon. For the deepest cut he knew where to thrust. “Git in, ye bloody rogue. I warrant good Pitney will keep ye from doing in ‘is liedy like ye did ‘at wench in the inn—an' ‘er carrying yer babe.”

Ruark's eyes hardened as the gaoler pushed a slobbering grin up to his face and snickered mockingly, but the
younger man remained mute even beneath Pitney's frowning perusal. Offering neither nod nor explanation, Ruark stepped past him, reached to the top of the doorway, and swung himself and his chains into the wagon. In the dark, barren interior of the van, he slumped into a corner to seek what comfort could be found. The door was barred, and Hicks rapped his staff against the wooden sides.

“Ye take good care o' this piece now,” he admonished them all. “And I would not mind a lump or two if 'e so much as turns a bad eye to ye. I'll be seeing ye after the high gate is closed. Mind ye now, see 'at this comes ter no ill.”

With a lurch, the heavy wagon jolted on its way. The hour was close to noon. Ruark could
not
guess how long the ride would be, or where they were bound. Glimpses of leaden sky and rooftops wet with cold drizzle flitted across the narrow scope of the small, high window. They journeyed beyond the outskirts of London, and the horses were urged into a faster pace. Through the iron bars, Ruark caught sight of farm cottages in the distance topped by thatched roofs, and fields, with the remains of fall crops stubbling them, separated by hedges or low stone walls. The winding muddy road swept past hamlets and country manors, but hardly a body was seen, for the rain held the people from work in the fields and kept them off the streets. The wagon sped on with no eyes to mark its passage, save for those of a squealing pig running from the path and of horses leisurely grazing on the damp turf.

It was some time later when the van suddenly swerved from the road and entered a small clearing, narrowly missing trees which grew thick along the way. The wild ride nearly turned Ruark out of his corner, but he managed to brace himself against the jostling. His tensed body relaxed only when the wagon came to a halt beside a green stagnant pool.

“We be well hid now, me hearties,” came the booming voice of the driver. “Give 'at bloke a hand out.”

Pitney climbed down the opposite side as the two burly guards jumped to the ground and hauled Ruark out by the chains, giving him no opportunity to object or resist. For a brief moment, Ruark was crushed between them
and grunted in pain as their elbows found his lean ribs. Then with a hearty shove they sent him sliding into the scummy mire bordering the pond. Guffawing in vindictive glee, they clapped each other on the back with howling good humor.

“Rise yerself, yer lordship,” the larger one crowed and kicked at him. “Yer liedy's waitin' fer ye.”

Angry amber eyes glared from a begrimed face, and Ruark came to his feet with a snarl, gathering his chains into a long loop and swinging it in open threat The smaller guard, John Craddock, staggered back in surprise, clawing at the pistol in his belt.

“Now, me hearties,” Ruark ground out in a determined warning, “I've already got a rope around my neck, and they'll hang me no longer if I take a few of you with me. You can use that pistol, but I for one would not be of a mind for explaining to Mister Hicks why he won't be getting his fat purse. You can take your pleasures on someone else, for if you put a hand to me again, I'll lay these links to your heads, then let the devil take the hindmost.”

They were simple men and looked on their prisoner with a new respect. He had a nasty way of turning a bit of fun awry and taking the enjoyment out of it. Still, Craddock held his pistol at the ready as Ruark climbed to solid ground and once more assumed the role of proper captive.

Mister Pitney had leaned against the rear of the prison van and taken in the whole of the episode. He chuckled to himself as he recognized that here was a man who just might match Shanna Trahern for spirit. It might prove damn good sport to see his mistress nose to nose with this one. At least, more sport than what was going on. It rankled him to watch a bound man being baited.

Fishing in his waistcoat for the key, Pitney came toward Ruark, but passing close behind Craddock, he appeared to stumble. As a solid shoulder caught him squarely in the back, Craddock gave an explosive squawk and lurched forward, trying to keep his balance as the mud sucked at his feet. Grunting, he fell against his mate, Hadley, and both of them sprawled headlong into the slimy pond. Spluttering and coughing, they came up while Mister Pitney contemplated them calmly.

“Gor! Three of ye lookin' just alike. Now which be the
one—Huh, I guess the one with the chains is me man.” His mirth drew glares from the two guards, and he gestured to the water. “Blimey, mate, you've dropped Mister Hicks's pistol.”

As John Craddock fell to his knees and groped in the mud, Pitney made his way to Ruark. Hadley began to trudge to shore until his companion swiped at his shins.

“Watch yer step!” John Craddock hollered. “‘At thing were cocked, an' h'it'll blow yer blooming foot off!”

Pitney smiled and, having Ruark's attention, threw a thumb over his shoulder.

“There be an inn down the road a piece where ye're to wash and groom yerself for the wedding. These lads will have a time to dry themselves out.” His voice rasped as he sternly warned, “Mind ye, hold yer tongue 'bout why ye're here and where ye've come from. And ye're to speak naught of me mistress to any but meself. Do you ken?”

Ruark wiped mud from his bearded chin and peered at the man. “Aye.”

“Then I'll set these irons from ye, and we'll be on our way. The day is awastin', and me mistress is awaitin'.”

They gained entrance to the inn by a back stairway, and none knew of their coming as they made their way to a small room tucked high beneath the rafters. After spreading their cloaks before the fire to dry, the two guards reluctantly took up posts outside the door, leaving Ruark to the care of Pitney. Pitney gestured to a wooden tub in the corner of the room.

“The chambermaid will fetch water for a bath. There's a mirror for ye to mark yer appearance.” He opened a small leather chest and displayed the contents for Ruark. “The mistress sent garments to fit the occasion. She begs ye to groom yerself with care so as not to bring shame upon her.”

Ruark glanced askance at the brawny man and laughed without humor. “For one who has gone abegging, your mistress seeks much.”

Pitney gave no sign that he heard. He pulled a timepiece from a deep pocket in his waistcoat. “We've no more than two hours to dally here.”

Stowing the watch, he cocked his head slightly and regarded Ruark with a rare smile.

“In case ye're ponderin' on what I would be, there's two ways out of here. Through yonder door, with the good men outside just waitin' fer a chance at ye, and this window.” He beckoned to Ruark and pushed open the shutters. It was a straight three-story drop to a pile of jagged rocks. “I have only to sound me pistol, and the other guard will bring the wagon around with all good speed.”

Ruark shrugged as the man closed the window against the chill drizzle and strode to a spot before the hearth.

“But either way, first ye must get past me.” Pitney doffed his heavy cloak and opened his coat to show a pair of oversized horse pistols tucked in his belt. After only a brief consideration and with complete honesty, Ruark assured him such ideas were far from his mind.

The chambermaid was a small but buxom lass, not quite plain, not quite pretty. If she claimed a score of years, it was a lie by four, and she betrayed her lack of age in her obvious reluctance to approach anywhere near the filthy patron. But having made all the preparations, she could delay only a bit more.

“I'll shave ye in a minute, sir. But me razor's a bit blunt. Let me fetch a strop.”

Her pale eyes flickered down Ruark's torn and grimy clothes and warily came to rest on his mud-caked beard. An expression of disgust was all too evident on her face, and her freckled nose wrinkled at the stench of the mire on him. Quickly she skittered out upon her errand.

“Could be the wench doubts I'm human,” Ruark remarked wryly.

Pitney grunted as he lounged back on the bed, bracing his shoulders against the headboard and sipping from a mug of ale. “Ye needn't fret none. Ye won't be tarryin' long enough to try her.”