Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(110)

Ruark came awake with a start. One moment he was asleep, the next wide awake. He could find no reason for it. He was alert and seemed in the best of health, though he had dozed off in the chair where he had been sampling from a jug. Pulling the cork, Ruark sniffed then grimaced at the bitter pungency of the oily black rum. He had never acquired a taste for it and much preferred the lighter, gentler brews.

The tall clock behind him in the hall gave a single chime, and, turning, Ruark verified the hour as the first of the morning. A frown drew his dark brows together. Rising from the chair, he went to stand beside the window. Old Blue was in his own small yard, though the gate stood wide, dozing beneath the open shelter Ruark had built.

Loosening his linen shirt and slipping it over his head, Ruark went to the washstand in the bedchamber and, having naught else to do, shaved and washed the sweat of the day from his body. He rinsed the bitter taste from his mouth and then donned a pair of shortened breeches before going out onto the small porch to catch the coolness of the night. Though slightly lightheaded, as if some of the effects of the rum were still with him, he had a sense of well-being and clarity of mind.

The moon was low and skimmed the treetops. Where it penetrated the high canopies it lit the cool but oddly tense night with an eerie gray cast. There was an urging in him that made Ruark uneasy. The night seemed to call, the shadows to beckon. Stepping from the porch, he felt the dampness of dew beneath his bare feet. He passed the shrubbery and wandered beneath the tall trees. The manor house drew him. Its great dark hulk squatted in the midst of slimmer trees. All the lights were gone now, and he knew that the revelers had returned and were abed.

A familiar bulk loomed beside him, and reaching out his hand Ruark felt the bole, identifying the tree that stood before Shanna’s balcony. He leaned a shoulder against the comfortable bulwark of sturdy wood and stared upward toward the open doors that marked her room. His mind wandered until it touched on a scene of Shanna sleeping beside that hulking English knight. The vision was most distasteful, and Ruark banished it quickly from his mind. Thus freed, his thoughts trod gently backward to a night when he had watched her in slumber, her honey- and gold-streaked hair spreading in careless cascades across the pillow, framing her perfect face. Her lips parted slightly with her breathing as she slept in innocent trust upon his bed. Then there was a time in the cottage when she had knelt above him naked and leaned across to kiss him, her breasts in silken tresses caressing his chest until he nearly dissolved in bliss. And once she had curled close beside him, cuddling her body against his, her warmth touching a warmth deep within him, stirring his passions to a soaring flight like a covey of quail from an upland lea. The burning inside him grew hotter until it became an exotic torture, and he found himself beneath her balcony, stretching upward to grasp the vine.

Shanna floated in a deep well of dream stuff, a limbo, an endless void. She was swimming in a gently rolling sea, bright turquoise water shattering with the easy strokes of her arms. A small panic began to build as she realized there was no land in sight, not even the green-hued clouds that reflected its presence, but then the fear fled. Beside her, a man’s golden, bronzed arms matched the movements of her own, stroke for stroke. The man turned, and the visage was Ruark’s, his white teeth flashing in a tantalizing grin. His lips moved in a voiceless plea, then he rose and arched his muscled back to dive beneath the waves. With a playful laugh she followed, going deep where the light faded into dark green and endless tendrils of seaweed twined about them as they came together in a timeless kiss. She felt no need to breathe. They were like two nymphs drifting in an oceanic nirvana, deeper, deeper. Then suddenly she was alone—

Ruark’s face returned in gigantic proportions drifting above her. It came ever closer, yet she could not touch it. She blinked her eyes and moved her head, trying to banish the vision. Suddenly she realized she was awake, and he was there. His arms, braced on either side of her, trembled beneath his weight. His lips hovered over hers, and his voice was soft as he spoke, like a small boy pleading for a favor.

“Shanna—love me, Shanna—love me.”

With a small, welcoming cry, she reached silken arms to draw him down to her, her heart flooding her body with warm gladness. It was like a time for things meant to be, like the trees, the sand, the sea, the sun, and the stars. It was a thousand twinkling stars blending to a single sun, the naked hunger that caught them both into a sweet, violent whirlwind. Shanna arched against him, opening her thighs and meeting his deep thrusts with all the vigor in her trembling body, holding no reserve. They were one, belonging and possessing, giving and taking.