Ruark had followed slowly along, halfheartedly selecting another ale to sip as he regarded the posturing Sir Gaylord. The knight dabbed repeatedly at his forehead with a lace handkerchief and seemed generally to be suffering from the heat. Ruark was not above hoping the man would collapse from it. But at least with Trahern’s close presence, Sir Gaylord held his gaze to something less appealing than Shanna’s bodice.
“I say there, John Ruark.”
Ralston hailed him with his riding crop and came toward him, glancing briefly over his darkly clad shoulder toward the Trahern party. Ruark paused to wait for the man, though his eyes, beneath lowered brows, never left that bit of pink almost hidden by the tall, lanky form of the knight. Ruark was not aware that Shanna returned his perusal, gazing past the Englishman’s arm as she smiled and nodded at the man’s senseless chatter. Ruark only saw Sir Gaylord again lead her away to the end of a separate table where the servants were placing their plates.
“John Ruark.” Ralston demanded his attention in a curt tone and grew red-faced with anger as Ruark responded slowly, finally turning to meet the cold, penetrating glare. “I suggest, Mister Ruark, that you try to keep your yearnings under control, though I well understand the cause.” Ralston gestured casually in the direction of Shanna. “Remember that you are a bondsman and do not think you can exceed your status while I’m about. ‘Tis long been my duty to turn riffraff away from the Trahern door. Indeed, you seem to lack for duties. I suggest you see the pressings to their proper disposal. ’Twill be a shame for the juices to be lost, for this first should become a selected brew.”
“With due respect, sir,” Ruark’s tone was measured and tightly controlled, “the master brewer approved the laying of every stone and has established his skill. ‘Tis unseemly that I, with less experience in the matter, should oversee his work.”
“ ‘Tis more than apparent to me, Mister Ruark,”—the title was a sneer—“that of late you presume too much. Do as you are told and do not return until the labor is done.”
A long moment passed as haughty glower met carefully blank stare. Then Ruark nodded and strode away to do what he was bidden.
When all the guests were seated at their plates, Shanna found Sir Billingsham at her side and, gazing around the table in wonderment, she noted that Ruark’s plate had been pushed to the foot of the table, far away from his usual place near her father, and that his trencher was as yet unattended. She was quick to note Ralston’s arrival, and the smug smile playing about his normally taciturn lips.
Seating himself at the middle of the table, Ralston gazed with obvious satisfaction at Ruark’s empty place. “For once,” he thought, “that rogue is where he belongs, doing what he should, laboring that his betters might take their ease.”
Lifting his eyes, the agent found Shanna staring at him with a frown gathering on her brow. Hastily Ralston bent his attention to his food, neither marking nor caring that it was not the simple English fare he favored.
Ruark’s day had reached its zenith with the success of the mill. Thereafter, it began to sink with a series of rapid plunges to its nadir. However, that point was not reached until later in the evening, when, returning from his errand, he overheard Madam Hawkins and Mister MacLaird discussing the advantages of the squire’s daughter marrying a lord. He listened for a while and then turned away in disgust, only to find himself again an unwilling eavesdropper as Trahern expounded upon the touted virtues that a knight might present as a son-in-law. The low ebb was truly found when Ruark overheard the captain of the frigate and the marine major discussing Sir Gaylord’s decision to journey to the colonies with the Traherns. He had even made arrangements for part of his baggage to be taken to the manor, while the greater portion would be carried on the frigate to Richmond to await his arrival there with the Trahens. It was their premise that the knight was looking for a worthy wife and had settled his sights on the squire’s lovely offspring.
The handwriting was not on the wall, but it blazed furiously in Ruark’s mind. The scene was set for that mincing, foppish knave to be proposed to Shanna for a husband. As Ruark drained his cup for the twelfth time, he growled to himself that even she had not seemed too displeased with the gentleman, indeed had been most gracious the entire afternoon.
Ruark made no excuses as he withdrew from the gaieties. Snatching up a large, full flask from the table, he sought out his old mule, mounted its back, and sent it plodding down the hill.
As usual Shanna was the center of much attention. The officers of the frigate came to pay their compliments and lingered long, enjoying the fresh draught of feminine pulchritude after long weeks at sea. Musicians mounted the platform and played for the pleasure of the crowd. A young marine captain led Shanna through a rigadoon, encouraging the other officers to ask for the same favor. The evening should have made her gay, as Shanna had always enjoyed dancing and the lighthearted company of men. However, this evening there was a strange note of discord in her pleasure, and when the rare moments occurred in which she could be alone, Shanna puzzled at her own mood. Events began to drag out interminably, and she became wearied with the tedium of them. She postured and smiled graciously through it all, but her relief was immense when her father finally suggested that the townsfolk be left to enjoy themselves and formed his entourage for departure. For Shanna, it seemed the ride back would never end, and even the breathtaking view of the moonlit surf failed to stir her. Upon their arrival at the manor, she quickly excused herself from Sir Gaylord, drawing a frown of disappointment from the man, and sought the peace of her own chambers.