Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(118)

Her father fixed her with a baleful eye. “Do you know that you have affected Sir Gaylord sorely?”

Shanna froze.

“He has been mewling about all afternoon, and finally after you left the table, he made so bold as to petition me for your hand.” Orlan read the sudden startled look in Shanna’s eyes and hurried to allay her fears. “I told him the first condition he must meet was to win your approval. So do not fret, daughter. I promised your mother that I would find you a worthy husband, and I shall not yield on that account.”

Then it was Trahern’s time to lower his eyes, and he rubbed his palm awkwardly on a buckled shoe.

“There is something that troubles you, papa?” Shanna asked in awe, for she had never seen her father so much at odds before.

“Aye, much that has troubled me for some time.”

Shanna’s heart went out to this large man whose words came with painful slowness.

“I have for my own ends brought upon you some pain and sorrow. This was never my intent.” He looked straight at her, and his shoulders seemed to hunch about his thick neck. “I am old, Shanna, child, and getting older.” He raised a hand to still her protest. “I have a strong need to see my dynasty continued with a flock of bouncing babes.” The chuckle rumbled again. “A dozen or so if you would meet my mark. But I am moved to believe that whatever wisdom guides our fates will see to that in all good time. I defer to your choice, as I have found no man worthy of your hand. I will press the matter no further, and I bid you seek out your husband wherever you would find him.”

“I understand, papa.” Shanna spoke with love heavy in her heart. “And I thank you very much for your understanding.”

For a long moment Trahern stared at his daughter and then gave a single, loud sniff before he rose to stand where his face would be hidden in the dark shadow.

“Enough of this chatter,” he said gruffly. “I’ve kept you awake beyond your hour.”

The minute dragged out until Shanna spoke, her voice tiny like a small child’s.

“Goodnight, papa.” And as Trahern turned to leave, he barely heard her continue. “I love you.”

There was no answer, only another loud snort before his footsteps hastened through the sitting room and the door closed gently behind him.

Shanna stared in the shadows, her eyes unusually moist, her mind lost within itself. It was a long time before she lifted her gaze and found Ruark standing at the foot of her bed, gazing down at her, an odd half smile twisting his lips.

“You heard?” Her inquiry was barely audible.

“Aye, love.”

Shanna sat up in bed and hugged her knees, resting her head upon them. Wistfully she sighed, “I never realized he was so lonely.”

It was a giant step from self-centered youth into caring adulthood and awareness of others. The transition was great and painful, and Ruark remained silent, letting her take it at her own speed. Shanna weltered in the depths of her newfound maturity. It was a new experience and not all unpleasant. She was assured her father loved her, and that knowledge warmed her heart, yet beneath it burned the memories of harsh arguments and the sting of his angered words spurring on her own stubborn willfulness. Her vision of a handsome lord kneeling to beg her hand was suddenly trite and childish. Beneath the attack of reality, it faded slowly from her mind. A blur of faces flew before her mind, hauntingly vague and nondescript. They all faded before the memory of her father sitting at her bedside, lonely and apologetic. His tirades had only stirred her determination the more, but this almost humble declaration bound her more firmly to his desires.

He wanted her married and with babes. And who would she choose? Sir Gaylord, a foppish caricature of her envisioned knight? In the shadows behind him another figure stood, dark and mysterious. There her peace dissolved like snow beneath spring’s pelting rains, and her mind struggled to grasp the significance of her unrest.

Slowly Shanna lifted her gaze to Ruark. Her dragon. Had he snatched away the quiet spirit of her soul?

Ruark had wandered aimlessly about her chamber, pausing to run a finger along the edge of her dressing table whereupon lay her brushes and combs, her powders and perfumes.

The outward substance of a woman, he mused silently. Soft hair, beauty, tantalizing scents. But how much more fascinating was the underlying person? The quicksilver moods, responsive to her world; the whimsical wit, quick to humor and as quick to anger; the softness of her body and the unsuspected strength when the demand was made; the incredible warmth of her caresses and the bliss of her lips on his.

He turned, and his eyes went to Shanna where she sat huddled on the bed lost in thought. She seemed so small and defenseless, yet he knew if challenged she could rise with determination and stand forth with a fury that would dim the rage of a wounded tiger. At the moment she was soft beauty in repose, and he longed to give her some bit of wisdom that would calm the turmoil of her mind.