Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(11)

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.





Chapter 2




THE 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.