Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(119)
“He said I’m free to choose my own husband when I will,” Shanna murmured, and Ruark realized she watched him, too. “What am I to do with you?”
Ruark came to stand at the foot of her bed. “I have no wish to seek the hangman out, Shanna, but I find little to fear of the truth.”
“Well enough for you to say.” Shanna was irked that he should take the matter so lightly. “But I might yet find myself the bride of some popinjay if my father is angered again.”
Ruark laughed caustically. “Madam, if the truth is out, you will find yourself well wed and most assuredly with husband. Me! Thus until my neck is stretched, you need have no fear of other men. Indeed, if my services are of value to your father, he might extend my debt to the cost of barristers and a defense.” Ruark leaned forward and grinned wickedly. “Consider this, my love. It could well be my game to get you with child, that your father might not be disposed to see his heirs the offspring of a hanged man.”
“How can you suggest such a thing?” Shanna gasped in astonishment. Her rage flared as bright as a bolt of lightning across a darkened sky. “You’re a vile rogue! A cad! A thrice-damned, bloody, half-witted guttersnipe!”
“Ah love, your endearments bestir me,” Ruark taunted. “I can only note your pleas in the dungeon were more gentle and you saw your cause so dire that you would yield your maidenhood to see a better end.”
“Vulgar unsired son of a fishmonger!” Shanna railed, her face crimson as she pounded the sheets with her fists. Her burgeoning tirade dwindled to a spluttering search for further epithets. This was unusual in itself, for Shanna had in her youth been exposed to the coarse language of seamen and other laborers and could upon proper incentive tinge the air with a shower of phrases the like of which the meanest urchin would envy.
Ruark leaned closer, and his own rage and frustration began to show. “And now would you have me as your pocket paramour, Shanna?” he sneered. “To be hidden in your chambers from the world and denied the right to stand beside you in the light of day? You decry your fate should all be known and bemoan some fancied punishment, but I, madam, have more to lose. Even so, were it my choice to face your father as your husband or hide in the dark corners of your boudoir, madam, I can assure you that I would rather be your spouse, honored, loved, cherished for all the world to see.” Ruark turned aside, and his voice was bitter. “Were there more to gain other than my death and your undying hatred, I would seek out your father this moment and claim my rights, putting an end to this mockery.”
“Mockery!” Shanna’s voice was ragged with emotion. “Is it mockery, then, that I sought to avoid a life with some doddering count or baron? A mockery that I want to share a life with a man of my own choosing? Is it mockery that I want more than that in life?” Her tone took on an accusing snarl. “Yea, you mock me when I only seek to live out my days with some hope of happiness.”
“And you are certain that life with me would bear no happiness?” Ruark stared at her, waiting for her answer.
“The wife of a bondslave?” Shanna was incredulous. “You could not afford one of my gowns.”
His scowl was dark, brooding. “ ‘Twould not be so for long.”
Shanna scoffed. “Aye, your neck would soon be lengthened beyond your endurance. Then I would truly be a widow.”
“If I believe you, then I must abandon all hope.” Ruark gave her a wry smile. “Your pardon, madam, if I continue, as you did, to seek a better end than fate would indicate.”
“You test me with your inane bravado.” Shanna’s tone was hard, but she could not meet his eyes. “And you tire me with your theories.” She lay back on the pillows with a sigh, turning her face away from him.
“Of course, my lady.” Ruark spoke with exaggerated concern. “If you would be so kind, my shirt and hat. I value my meager garb since ‘tis all that belongs to John Ruark.”
Petulantly Shanna reached beneath the sheets and flung the shirt to him without a word. She had more difficulty locating the hat. Then, as a look of dawning flooded her countenance, she raised her hips from the bed and drew the hat from beneath her. She sailed it toward him and, with a flounce, presented her back.
Ruark caught his hat and surveyed its flattened form for a long moment before he swept it across his chest in a stiff bow.
“Your leave, my lady,” he jeered. “I shall not bore you further with my woes.”
Shanna lay still, listening for the sound of his departure. Finally she rolled onto her back to see what delayed him and was amazed that she was alone.