“You seem to have suffered no ill in your witch hunt, Mister Ruark.” Shanna’s eyes scanned him. “No scars? No festering wounds from the witch’s fangs?”
A rakish grin spread lazily across his mouth. Taking her slender fingers into his, he made a show of examining her long, carefully tended nails while Shanna watched in amusement.
“Nay, none to be seen, milady. ‘Twas only a bit of skin she came away with when she clawed at me.”
Shanna tossed her head in a playful scoff and disentangled her hand from his grasp. “You are speaking nonsense, sir. I remember nothing—”
“Shall I tell you what you whispered in the dark?” Ruark interrupted, speaking in a hushed tone as he bent slightly to her. His smile was tantalizing as he gazed down into her wondering, searching eyes.
“I said nothing—” Shanna began defensively, but she was curious. Had her thoughts betrayed her? Had she spoken some unbidden words?
“You sighed in your sleep, ‘Ruark—Ruark.’ ”
A light blush touched her cheeks, and Shanna quickly turned away, not wanting to meet his close perusal.
“Come in, Mister Ruark. I believe I hear papa coming down the hall. And Mister Ralston should be here any moment. You’ll not have long to wait.”
Thus dismissing his words, Shanna led him to the dining room and there some moments later greeted her father, brushing a light kiss upon his cheek as Ruark looked on, still as much unable as ever to fathom her moods.
Sir Gaylord was a late riser. The conversation at the morning table had been leisurely and well marked with varied opinions of the lumber mill, but he did not make an appearance until well after Ruark and the squire had left to inspect the sawmill being built. So it was that Mister Ralston, after being coolly bid good day by Shanna, remained the only one to greet the swaggering Englishman as he came into the dining room.
“I say there, ‘tis a bit of a balmy day without,” Gaylord remarked, taking a pinch of snuff and sneezing into his lace handkerchief. “Mayhaps I should invite the Widow Beauchamp on an outing this morn. No doubt she will be anxious for some gentlemanly companionship after these months of widowhood. Such a lovely, young woman. I am endeared to that sweet face.”
Ralston folded his accounting books and studied the man. A calculating gleam brightened his dark eyes.
“If I might suggest a bit of caution there, sir—I have known Madam Beauchamp for a considerable part of her life, and she seems to have a natural aversion to most men who come courting her. I can tell you much of her, though I am considered in the ranks of those she detests.”
Gaylord dabbed at his sweat-moistened upper lip. “Then how, my good man, do you propose to help me if you cannot help yourself?”
Ralston’s thin mouth almost smiled. “If you should succeed in wedding the widow with my advice, would you be willing to divide the dowry in return?”
Ralston had guessed rightly. Gaylord was eager to strike up any agreement that would lead toward his gaining riches and reestablishing his family’s depleted wealth. The knight was not ill-advised on the Trahern fortune, and he was determined to make the most of it, through marriage to the lovely widow or through dealings with the squire. His inherited shipyard was badly impoverished and needed a goodly amount of coins to set the whole of it right. With Trahern providing the purse, he could share a simple dowry with this man.
“As gentlemen,” Gaylord stretched forth his hand, and the bargain was made.
“First of all I would suggest impressing the squire with your importance at court and your good name,” Ralston said. “But you must be warned. If Madam Beauchamp suspects you have taken me as your counsel, all is lost. Even convincing the squire of your merits will not mend that error. So take care, my friend. Take special care in courting the Widow Beauchamp.”
Chapter 13
A PAIR OF SEA EAGLES nested on the bluff along the east shore of the island. Shanna had often watched them hang on motionless wings as they rode the currents of air high above the crashing surf. Her spirit soared with them. Even with the renewed assurance that motherhood was not forthcoming, she gave little thought to the consequences of letting Ruark invade her chambers again. Her mind was filled with the pleasurable remembrances of when he had come to her in the deep ebony of night and tomorrow had ceased to be. She was content to live moment by moment, surrounded by an airy castle of bliss. She was in tune with her world, and she felt an overriding sense of peace and a strange aura of confidence that all was as it should be. The realization that this state was due to Ruark’s daily presence in the manor did not seem to disturb her as it had in the past. She was like a flower, a rose, unfolding under the warm rays of the sun as she bathed in the glow of Ruark’s eyes.