“Oooh, John,” she sighed. “Ye’re so strong. Just looking at ye can make a tiny girl like meself feel weak and helpless.”
Ruark bit back a harsh speculation as to where her weakness might lie and attempted to pry her fingers loose from his shirt.
“Come now, Milly, I’m in a hurry,” he half growled.
Milly was insistent. “I packed a good basket of vittles with a leg of mutton, John. Why don’t ye come and have a bite to eat with us?”
“My regrets,” Ruark hastened to deny her plea. “The squire has bade me join them at his table.”
He almost freed his arm, but Milly had still another ploy to work.
“Oh,” she whined and leaned heavily against him. “I think I’ve bruised me foot a bit. Will ye ‘elp me to our cart, lovey?”
A broad shadow joined them, and they both glanced up to find Mrs. Hawkins standing before them, arms akimbo and a frown clefting her brow like the blade of an ax.
“Huh!” the woman snorted before either of them could speak. “Bruised foot, indeed! Well, I’ll help ye to the cart. Come along, ye shameless twit. Throwing yerself at Mister Ruark like that. Ye ought to be ashamed.”
Mrs. Hawkins took her daughter by the fat of the arm and, with a quick glance of apology to Ruark, led the girl away. Milly limped until her mother’s hand swung low with a loud whack, startling a yelp from the girl. The bruised foot forgotten, Milly did an amazingly spritely scamper all the way back to their cart.
Ruark chuckled in amusement as he witnessed the haste of Milly’s flight, but he sobered as he turned back to Shanna. She stared at him with a quizzical quirk playing about her lips and a wondering dip to her brow. Ruark knew her well enough to read the storm warnings and hurried forward to allay her wrath. Alas! Such was not to be his luck, for with a shout of greeting Trahern rushed to intercept him, and Ruark was swept aside by Trahern’s bulk just as he reached Shanna. Again Ruark found his arm clasped in another’s grip and, much to his chagrin, he was steered by Trahern back toward the mill. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Sir Gaylord return to Shanna’s side. The knight took her elbow and bent low over her shoulder to whisper some witty comment in her ear.
“Now, Mister Ruark,” Trahern was saying, “let’s get this mill opened and allow these good people to get to their feasting. My daughter will cut the bunting, but I’d like for you to share in this moment.”
Ruark lost the rest of what the squire said as Shanna’s laughter rippled behind him. The sound of it bit at his heart like vinegar in a thirsty man’s throat.
In a salute to King George, tankards of ale and rum and various other brews were raised while the women chose a mild wine to sip. Dedicating the mill led to a series of other toasts, and by the time Shanna was led to the wide doors fronting the place, spirits were high. She was not unaffected by the gaiety, but her elation stemmed from an entirely different source. A few tiny sips of wine could hardly make her so heady with joy. She could not fathom the reason for her own buoyant emotions as she moved to where the bunting was secured, but the realization abruptly dawned when she gazed at Ruark standing with her father. This mill was Ruark’s achievement, and it was ecstatic pride she felt at his accomplishment. Tears suddenly brightened her eyes, and she smiled until the unbidden moisture subsided. Laughing happily, she yanked hard on the hidden rope that held up the mass of bunting. The knots slipped, and the many yards of colorful cloth fell with a multitude of flutters to the platform.
Ruark’s hand joined hers to push aside the heavy bolt, and before this vast audience they both sought hard to ignore the contact. Their eyes met briefly before Ruark stepped away to open the doors, and Shanna was the only one who knew her blush was not completely from the excitement of the moment.
When the doors were flung wide, the people stared into the gaping storeroom which in its emptiness gave more the impression of a cathedral. The noise of the crowd died to a low murmur of amazement; then their attention was drawn away by a shout from the milling gates. Two of the wagons were already being backed into place above the hopper that guided the cane downward. Another shout rent the air, and a team of oxen were prodded into movement in a circular path, setting into motion a great cog above them. It meshed with a large spoked wheel which rotated a shaft that in turn ran into the building. The man who drove the oxen waved to another beside the bin who bent his back to lay a huge lever forward. A loud thump was followed by another, and then the rollers began to turn with slow, ponderous majesty. A heavy rumbling seemed to tremble the very ground, and it caused a feeling of exhilaration in Shanna’s breast. Her heart swelled almost to bursting, and she felt like laughing and crying at the same time. A buzz of voices rose from the people as they watched the first cane taken into the rollers. Restlessly they waited until the lever was moved again, this time ceasing the motion. The rumbling stopped, the oxen were halted. The sudden silence lasted for what seemed to Shanna a very long eternity—then a rattling came from inside the mill. Slowly, one at a time, four great hogsheads of juices were wheeled out onto the platform to be viewed and sampled by all who cared to do so.