Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(104)
Even as she studied him, he decried the “filthy habit” of smoking tobacco and instead, taking a small, silver-chased box from his waistcoat pocket, he laid a pinch of the finely powdered leaf on the back of his hand and delicately sniffed it into one nostril then the other. A moment later he sneezed lightly into his lace handkerchief then leaning his head back, sighed, “Ahh, truly the man’s way.” And at the stares he received, further explained, “One must bear the bite before the pleasure.”
Snuffing loudly, he directed his next remark to the frigate’s captain. “But for all of it, sir, I must admit I could never be a proper seaman. I abhor the narrow space of a cabin when it is well tossed upon the seas and cannot stand the confines of it in a safe harbor.”
With a flourish of his hand, he bent his regard to Trahern. “Good squire.” His nose was at an arrogant height. “It hardly seems possible that there is not some good inn or tavern where I might find proper lodging for the days I am here. Or perhaps some gentlefolk have space in their home?”
He raised his brow and let the question hang.
Trahern smiled. “There is no need, Sir Gaylord,” he assured the man. “We have more than ample space here, and it shall be my pleasure that you reside with us.”
“You are most kind, Squire Trahern.” The knight almost simpered with the success of his own ploy. “I shall send a man for a few of my belongings.”
Trahern raised a hand and shook his head. “We can see to your immediate needs, sir, and should you desire something more, we can have it fetched on the morrow. You shall be our guest for as long as you wish.”
And though Trahern knew he had been maneuvered, he was still pleased at the prospect of playing host to a titled gentleman.
Having heard the exchange, Shanna gestured for a servant and in a low voice bade him prepare the guest chambers in the squire’s wing. As the servant left she caught her father’s eye and nodded slightly. Trahern returned to his conversation, assured that the preparations were made and glowing at his daughter’s efficiency.
Shanna concentrated on her tapestry, frowning briefly over a difficult stitch. Then, feeling eyes upon her, she raised her own to seek Ruark out among the men. To her surprise he was not watching her but stared across the room, a frown creasing his brow. Following his gaze, she found herself looking into the eyes of Sir Gaylord Billingsham. They were filled with more than light interest as he obviously admired her beauty. The wide lips twitched then spread into a slow smile which somehow was more like a leer. It was enough to make Shanna glad she had set him a room far from her own. Quickly she averted her gaze. Her eyes swept the room and halted on Ralston. With an enigmatic smile, the man was slyly perusing Sir Gaylord.
Before the evening drew to a close, Orlan Trahern invited all those present and the entire ship’s complement to take part in celebrating the opening of the mill. Since all the townsfolk would be there, he explained, there was little else for them to do but join the festivities on the morrow.
Shanna’s nap in the afternoon delayed her sleep, and for a long, hectic hour she tossed and turned, fighting a vision of Ruark in the bed beside her and struggling to quell the insistence of her own mind which threatened to send her dashing down the lane toward the cottage. Still, she prevailed and finally found victory in sleep, though that, too, was riddled with dreams which left her trembling between sweat-dampened sheets.
Early the next morning Ruark arrived at the mill long before anyone else and took care to tether his mule, Old Blue, well away from the stock barn. The cantankerous mule had a penchant for teasing the simpler and much more handsome horses by nipping them about the rump or ears. This play usually degenerated into a fight at which the venerable old street brawler excelled. Many a fine horse limped off, quite ragged from the encounter. So to preserve peace with the drivers and overseers, Ruark was forced to seclude his steed.
Ruark gave a glance over his shoulder as Old Blue laid back his ears and with a rasping, seesawing voice brayed his challenge to the animals. Ruark jammed his hat down lower over his brow, not overly willing to be a party to any row that might be forthcoming. Pushing open the small door beneath the hopper, he retreated from the mule’s sight. He stood for a moment in the collecting room, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, while he savored the pungent scent of the new woods which formed the greater part of the structure. The rich, warm tones of the unweathered surfaces still bore the marks of ax and adz and reflected the sun to lend the interior a hue of mysterious golden brown. There was an atmosphere of expectancy; everything was new, ready, waiting.