Shanna’s bare feet scarcely touched the curving stairs as she raced up them, at the same time tearing off her robe. She wasted no time in locking her sitting room door behind her, but ran through to her bedchamber to snatch open the armoire, pulling from it the peasant garb. Tucking her slender feet into a pair of soft hide slippers, she stepped into the skirt and yanked it to her waist under the short shift which she quickly drew over her head, donning in its place the peasant blouse and a shawl for modesty. She belted the garments about her narrow waist with a sash and snatched a dark cloak from her wardrobe before she fled across the balcony, from there dropping to the ground.
Jezebel stood waiting. Shanna heaved herself again onto the horse’s back and wheeled the animal about to send her flying across the lawn where the thud of hooves would be deadened against the sod.
Ruark came on a run around the end of the manor just in time to see the two racing off through the trees, too far now to be caught or called to. In deep frustration he ground a curse beneath gnashing teeth and with a much slower pace continued around the mansion, past Shanna’s wing, through the shrubberies surrounding his cottage, and made his way across the wooden planks of the porch. Once within, he poured himself a hearty draught of strong brew and stood staring at the clock in the hall, wondering how long it would be before Shanna ran out her anger and returned.
Milly’s words had struck a violent note in Shanna, like the high pitch that shatters a crystal piece. The explosion in Shanna’s mind could have fair resembled the eruption of a volcano, and it was not to be quickly cooled, though the first bright burst had dwindled to a constant flow of red molten rage that pressed her onward with no particular destination in mind.
The vapors began to rise, and the moon, stark and silvery as it shone through a halo of whitened drifts, lent a ghostly eeriness to the island. Shanna rode in the meager light, and where she went she could not say for sure. Her mind was numb. She gave the mare her head, and although not knowing the island, the beast wandered the paths and roads with abandon. Jezebel had been confined to a stall on the deck of a ship for the sea voyage, and at this freedom she stretched her legs out in an exhilarating run. Finding herself at last in a succulent field, she paused to graze a bit. The silent figure on her back sat motionless, sick with an ache that gnawed at her heart.
Shanna would have denied aloud that her pain should be the result of anything more than a casual regard for Ruark.
“ ‘Tis just that I almost gave myself to him in the hay like any little strumpet,” she gritted. “And there all along he had that tart Milly waiting in case I should refuse.” Though she was alone, Shanna’s face burned with the scalding memory. “And for all my caution, he would have had his fun with an audience to witness all.”
Outrage at his duplicity began to sear her, and the ache was forgotten. She sobbed. She cried. She cursed the night and the bastard rake it hid from her sight. The mare echoed the mistress’s unquiet and began to snort and prance. The flare of fury burned out and left the woman hardminded, her warmth unrequited.
Shanna thumped Jezebel with her heels and obediently the horse began to move. They descended a shallow slope and came out upon the beach, pale of sand and wide with the lowness of the tide. Beyond curled the fluorescent line of breakers that marked the water’s edge. Jezebel waded into the sea and dipped her head for a drink, then snorted at the brackish brine, and danced away in disgust. Shanna crooned a soft word and laid her hand upon the silky neck, rubbing gently. The mare calmed and cantered along, sending jets of spray up with her hooves. Jezebel reveled in the freedom of it all and stretched out again in a run, not pressing but racing easily along the beach, her passing making little sound on the wet sand.
A late fisherman pulled his dory up from the surf. He quailed in sudden fear, for, from nowhere, a vision appeared and flew at him—a great dark horse making no noise as it came down the white beach, and upon its back a fury out of hell, face death gray in the moonlight and beautiful beyond earthly flesh, pale hair streaming out behind from a black hood. He would swear she rode with no reins to guide the mount or saddle to hold her on its back. Though he mouthed a rosary of “Aves” and fell on his knees, the rider took no notice of him. Instead, sitting erect and proud, she flew silently by as if bound on a dire mission. For months afterwards he would blame all ills that befell him on the visit of this night-born spectre, and in his cups he would bore his companions with endless recountings of his vision.
The pale lights of the sleeping village ahead stirred Shanna’s mind, and she felt in desperate need of companionship and conversation on her woes. There was but one person whom she could trust, and she made her decision to seek him out. Entering the village and slowing the horse’s pace, she passed the quiet, dark houses like a wraith. If some unwelcome eye had seen this shadowy apparition pass, he would have been loath to mention it for fear of being thought mad.