Some of the strumpets poked grimy fingers at her and tugged cruelly at her golden hair. Shanna bristled angrily and snatched away, but this show of temper only aggravated their pestering. Viciously they began to pinch her limbs and buttocks, calling coarse insults, many of which Shanna could only just grasp the meaning of.
By the time she emerged from the press of bodies and snatching hands, Shanna was much the worse for wear. Her appearance no longer bore any resemblance to a highborn lady. Her dressing gown was torn, the remains of a sleeve hung in shreds from her shoulder, and her bare feet were bruised by the pebbles and blistered by the hot sand. Still, she walked with the unbowed dignity of a Trahern and allowed wrath to mask her pain and trepidation.
A sigh of relief almost escaped her when she was urged on no more. Wearily she lifted her gaze to the large, white-washed structure before her. A broad veranda stretched across the front, and a gaudy figurehead carved in the likeness of a heavy-bosomed mermaid hung from a post above their heads. The place was badly worn and shabby, in desperate need of repair, but Shanna had already guessed that most who lived here were hardly more than parasites doing as little as possible in the way of work and honest labor.
Beneath the coyly smiling nymph, a monstrously huge man, every bit as tall as Pitney and half again as wide, called a greeting to the victors. His bald pate glistened with sweat above long sideburns which were braided into queues with bright ribbons adorning the ends of each.
“So, ye scurvy swine!” his oddly tenor voice rang. “Ye’ve gone to Trahern’s isle like ye said ye would, and I see ye return whole.” He giggled in glee as he surveyed the crates and chests they unloaded onto the veranda. “And ye’ve even brought back some baggage.”
A quick pull on her tether, and Shanna was yanked before the enormous man and there made to stand while he rudely evaluated her. She shivered in disgust as the man cupped her chin in a hamlike hand then turned her head from side to side, inspecting her much as one might a steed.
“A pretty filly, to be sure, though Trahern left me little enough to appreciate her with. But why bring her here?” he questioned his cohorts.
Pellier grinned slyly. “This is the plum of Trahern’s orchard, Mother, his own daughter. She’ll bring us all a fine lot of coins.”
“Aye, if we live long enough to enjoy them,” Harripen snorted.
“ ‘Tis impossible for him to get a big enough ship through the reefs without going aground. We’re safe enough here,” Pellier argued.
The giant pursed his lips and let his gaze scan the horizon, seeming to grow nervous.
“H’it’ll set Trahern on edge, to be sure,” he half mused in a worried tone. Then he gestured toward the prisoners who huddled behind Shanna and mumbled, “We may need extra hands if Trahern decides to make himself felt. Bring the wench inside, hearties, and we’ll have us a mug.”
The sun rested on the horizon, and night would soon spread its velvet cloak of darkness over the island. As she was led inside Shanna threw a glance behind her, but she saw no sign of Ruark. Resentfully she wondered if he had already found some wench on the dock to fill his time.
A short stairway led down to a tavern room where lanterns were lit to ward off the coming shroud of night. The large, flat stones beneath her feet were cool and a welcome relief from the burning sand. Pellier crossed the long, dark room, yanking her along with him, and he joined Mother at a long table. A fist crashing down on the wooden planks startled Shanna as their host bellowed for ale. Immediately two women appeared and from barrels lining the wall filled immense tankards. Harripen caressed the bovine breast of one and grinned into her face.
“Carmelita, ye’re as pretty as ever, me lovely. Care for a toss?”
A voice chortled loudly from the rear of the common room. “He bet on ya, Carmelita. And he’s trying to win the wager.”
With a fling of her dark head and a wanton smile, Carmelita roughly pushed a mug into the Englishman’s groping hand, sloshing a share of the contents over his breeches.
“That should cool yer loins ‘til me work is done, ye lusting rogue. I’ll bed whom I please, and ’tis not likely to be you, you scrawny gander.”
Loud guffaws sounded around the table until Harripen glared his fellows down. Eager to demonstrate his own prowess with women, Pellier threw an arm about Shanna’s waist and sought to snatch her to him for a quick kiss and a long-awaited fondle. In violent reflex Shanna swung out with her bound hands clenched into fists, intending only to hold the stinking, sweaty body away from her. The blow struck him just beneath the ribs. Startled and gasping for breath, the half-breed stumbled back. As he fought for balance, one foot waving precariously, Shanna saw her chance. She caught her toe behind his heel and kicked hard. Pellier spun about then dusted a full six feet of the floor as he slammed down upon it.