Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(132)

The pirate captains seemed satisfied with his plan and let Ruark return to his bed of rope. It was in the darkest hour of night that the crew was turned out to weigh anchor and set sail. The ship had barely begun to move when Ruark found the Englishman and the half-breed, Pellier, standing over him with drawn pistols.

“We make two changes in the plan,” the Frenchman laughed. “You stay onboard as hostage to your good information, and we pick our own spot to land.”

Ruark stared at them, and a deep-seated fear began to gnaw at his belly.



It had almost been dawn before Shanna returned to her chambers from Pitney’s house, sinking almost immediately into an exhausted sleep, but this lasted only a few hours before she was jarred abruptly to awareness by her father bellowing a command that echoed through the whole manor.

“Well, dammit, find him for me!”

Leaping from bed, Shanna scrambled to dress herself and hurried down, carefully slowing her pace before she entered the dining room where a vast assortment of men were gathered. Overseers, several bondsmen, Elot holding Ruark’s flattened hat, Ralston, and even Pitney made up the number who stood around the table facing the squire, who was anything but happy.

“Papa, what is it?” Shanna feigned innocence as she approached her father’s chair. Trahern quickly tossed her a glance that showed a black, thunderous scowl.

“ ‘Tis the lad! He’s gone—missing!”

Shanna shrugged sweetly. “Papa, of what lad do you speak? There are at least a score or more—”

Trahern interrupted with a bellow. “ ‘Tis the good lad, John Ruark, I speak of! He’s nowhere to be found!”

“Oh, Papa.” Shanna laughed lightly. Her acting was brilliant. “Mister Ruark is no lad. A man, surely. Have we not discussed such some months ago?”

Trahern roared. “I’ve no ear for simpering wit when there’s work to be done! And there’s naught that can be done without Mister Ruark!”

“But surely, papa,” Shanna laid a soft hand upon her father’s arm, “these men here are as worthy of the task. Can they not continue with Mister Ruark’s work until he can be found?”

“He’s gone!” Ralston’s firm statement came quickly on the heels of her question. “He’s fled from bondage. He’ll not be caught lest a fleet be sent out to search for that colonial ship anchored off the way yester morn.” Ralston was quick to cast blame elsewhere before any remembered it was he who brought John Ruark to Los Camellos.

Pitney slowly sipped a morning toddy of rum and remained coldly remote as he watched father and daughter.

“Elot found his hat in the stables,” one of the overseers rejoined. “He was tending the mare which was brought.”

“Aye,” Ralston sneered. “A mare for a bondslave. Is this what these treacherous colonials think is a fair trade? They’ve taken Mister Ruark under their wing and spirited him off, right beneath our noses.”

“Be at ease, Mister Ralston.” The squire fixed the thin man with an introspective eye. “I do not blame you for his presence or this trouble. Indeed, we have all benefited from Mister Ruark’s talents. ‘Tis more that we have a project under way and cannot complete it without him.”

Ralston was no more willing to accept this approach, for it seemed Mister Ruark might return without harm and that went strongly against his grain. He could think of no retort and sputtered into confused silence.

It was in the midst of this discussion that Sir Gaylord sauntered in, looking well rested, his pinkened cheeks boasting of his health.

“I say, there seems to be much ado.” He glimpsed Shanna’s momentary frown. “Can I be of assistance?”

Shanna nearly growled in his face but knew the folly of that with her father near. Instead, quite primly she took a cup of tea to sip as she answered. “It seems, sir, that Mister Ruark has been misplaced. Perchance have you knowledge of his whereabouts?”

Gaylord’s brows lifted in surprise. “Mister Ruark? The bondslave? Egad! Gone missing, you say? Why, I haven’t laid sight on him since—ah, let me see—‘twas night before last, at this very table. My gracious, has he been gone that long?”

Trahern gave a heavy sigh of impatience. It took considerable effort on his part to gentle his words. “He was to be here at my table early this morn. I have never known him to be late.”

“Mayhap he’s taken ill,” Gaylord offered. “Have you sent to his quarters—”

“The lad’s not there,” Trahern interrupted tersely. “I have sent about this island and none have seen him.”