Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(135)
“You damned witless fools!” Ruark roared, stopping Pellier’s loud guffaws. “Do you not ken what you’ve done? This is Trahern’s brat, and he’ll be after you with a sail full of vengeance!”
“Aye, and I’ll see he hangs you first!” Shanna railed. “Then I’ll laugh when he feeds your foul carcass to the sharks!”
Before her blazing glower, Ruark bowed in mockery. He well knew the depth of their precarious situation. With only himself to worry about, escape would have been relatively simple, but to get them both away to safety would take careful planning.
Three other prisoners were pulled aboard, and Ruark recognized them as bondsmen. They were thrown roughly to the deck against the rail and lashed together there. They would continue to know slavery, Ruark surmised, but now beneath the ready whip of less than humane masters.
Ruark made a turn about Shanna, a careless swagger in his walk. He gave her a lusty perusal as if his mind held lewd thoughts. At the moment Pellier and Harripen were more interested in the material treasures which were being hauled aboard from the small boats and had left their lovely captive to be guarded by several of the men.
“You traitor,” Shanna hissed as her eyes followed Ruark.
“No traitor, milady.” His voice was low and reached her ears alone. “But a simple victim of fate and a woman’s whimsy. I bend with the winds of chance and make the best of what they offer.”
Shanna was furious. That she had even felt a tiny inkling of remorse for her actions was now bitter gall to swallow.
“You beggardly wretch of a knavish whoreson!” she sneered. “You bastardly rakish cur!”
Beneath the onslaught of her insults, Ruark laughed sardonically. Her robe hung open, forgotten in her plight, and the shortened batiste nightshift she wore underneath little impaired his wandering gaze. Ruark could see that she was causing a stir among the crew, for they were beginning to come forth from different parts of the ship to better view this dazzling beauty whose hair tumbled in magnificent disarray around her shoulders and shimmered like gold in the lantern’s glow. His task was laid out for him, to be sure.
Suddenly, Shanna felt Ruark’s hand bold upon her breast, seizing her in a rough caress, and in choked outrage she flung it from her, snatching the dressing gown tightly about her narrow waist and belting it securely. She saw the challenge in his eyes and rose to it in a vengeful fury.
“This time you’ve betrayed my father,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “And he’ll hunt you down like the dog you are.”
“Betrayed!” Ruark laughed caustically and continued in derision, “Nay, madam. I pray you consider. I but sought the favors of my own wife. ‘Twas she who callously betrayed my trust—”
“You filthy guttersnipe! You gallivanting cock!” Livid with rage, Shanna flew at him and sought to claw the smirk from his handsome face, hating him with every fiber of her being. Snarling, Ruark caught her wrists and jerked her close, crushing her brutally against him. Shanna gasped in pain, feeling the terrifying strength of his lean, hard body and her own helplessness. Her ribs creaked beneath the strain, and breathing seemed futile. Though she mustered every bit of her energy, she could not escape and finally collapsed limply against him. Her tears trickled through thick lashes, and Ruark heard her mutter in bitter defiance:
“Hicks should have hanged you, and I wish he had!”
Cupping her lovely chin in his hand, Ruark forced it up until Shanna stared into those savage amber eyes. His dark face was rigid, and his words snapped into her like bolts from a crossbow.
“Little thanks to you, I have thus far survived this last bit of your treachery.” His tongue gave his words added venom. “But if my luck holds, I’ll see this matter to my advantage as well.”
He pushed her into the bony hands of Gaitlier, Captain Pellier’s wizened manservant.
“Hold the wench and keep her from mischief,” Ruark commanded. He stepped to the rail and climbed onto the ratlines to peer toward the village.
“Pellier, give me your glass,” he called after a moment. He received the instrument without delay and through it scanned the port. In the bright moonlight he could see the dark masts of a ship and barely discerned movement on it. He tossed the glass to the Frenchman. “They’re already warping the Hampstead out. You will soon be feeling the cast of her guns.”
Ruark had seen the carnage a broadside could wreak aboard a ship and knew it played no favorites. He could guess that Trahern’s rage at this attack would be at its fullest, and he wondered yet how it had come to be. If the squire were aware that they had kidnapped his daughter, he would proceed with caution, but Ruark could not take the chance. The Good Hound bore two bow chasers and two stern chasers with several small falconettes on swivels along the rail. The small guns would be no match for the armed brig setting to the chase, but the schooner was trim and with her blackened sails could easily slip away.