“Yours!” Shanna stared incredulously and took a step toward him. “Do you think me your slave?” She snatched the red silk from her throat and trod upon it in a high temper. “So much for your slave’s collar, Mister Beauchamp. You do not own me.”
“Must I abide the sight of lecherous hands upon you and say naught?” he retorted, shrugging the vest from his shoulders and throwing it across the room. “By damn, woman! You are mine! My wife!”
His statement seemed to inflame Shanna. “I am not your wife! I am a widow! And I no longer wish to be encumbered by your wandering lust!”
“My wandering lust!” Ruark laughed caustically. “Madam, I have watched you swing your hips through a knot of men and lead them amincing after you, frothing in anticipation. Aye, you must feel a need to stand amid your stable of rutting consorts and find it too difficult to limit your attention to your husband”
Shanna’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered with a low shriek. “You accuse me when you roam the hills like a horny goat and bed each willing wench?”
Her eyes raked him again, and the torment came to her, knowing he had welcomed other women into his arms while he used her like any common wench he could find in a brothel. She had been humiliated, and she wanted to hurt him. She struck out in defense and blurted, half in hysteria, “Why can’t I be free of you? Is there no end to your persistence?”
The amber eyes snapped. “You tried well enough! But good Pitney’s simple soul has no mind for murder. So here I am to play your game once more. I killed a man in your behalf, but do you thank me? Hell and gone! You’d see me run through as well if not for your fear that the others would take you.”
“You’re a devil!” she half sobbed. “A spawn of Satan sent to torture me!”
“Nay, Shanna!” His tone cracked sharp. His own ire brought penetrating golden lights to his eyes as he caught her by the shoulders, none too gently. She stared full into his face, seeing the rage there, and her own abated in the face of it. Ruark shook her angrily.
“Nay, Shanna, ‘tis only I, that one who has twice felt the bite of your betrayal! Your husband, well and rightly vowed, whom you would diligently set away—not kindly by the law, but with my blood upon your hands!”
Shanna’s exhausted mind could not bear this attack from Ruark, and it brought her trembling to the brink of collapse. Her eyes grew wild, and she gave a mewling moan as she struggled against his grip. Mouthing a curse, Ruark shook her hard until her teeth clicked and her eyes regained some sign of sanity.
“You will be my slave,” he gritted with deliberation.
Shanna opened her mouth, but he shook the denial from her.
“You will be my slave when there are others about. You will obey me. You will be meek and loving for the benefit of those oafish knaves.” He tossed his head toward the door before continuing more harshly. “And if you disobey me, I will treat you like a disobedient slave. Do you understand?” He shook her again but more gently. “You will be my slave as long as we’re here.”
Shanna stared at him blankly as he waited for an answer, and in the silence of the room, the timid knock on the door echoed loudly. Ruark threw a glare over his shoulder at the offending portal, angry with the interruption, then turned and faced Shanna again. Her head rolled listlessly against her shoulder, and she had not the strength to stand but sagged in his restraining hands, oblivious to her open gown. Some of Ruark’s rage fled and with gentle care he placed her in a chair, where she sat unmoving, her hands folded, like one stricken of mind. Ruark covered her nakedness with a light quilt before he strode to the door.
Snatching the sabre from its sheath, he lifted the bolt and threw the portal wide. The man Gaitlier stood before it, straining beneath the weight of two wooden buckets filled with water. Under Ruark’s glare, the man shrank away and was quick to offer explanation, staring at him over a pair of square, wire-rimmed glasses.
“Sir—ah—I was Captain Pellier’s man, and now they tell me you are my master. Ah, captain, I brought water. Maybe you’ll be liking a bath?” he asked gingerly, his gaze flitting toward Shanna, now asleep in the chair. Brusquely Ruark gestured him in, and the man hastened to comply. Ruark watched him narrowly, lowering his sabre and leaning on it.
“How come you to be a pirate’s man?” he inquired. “You speak like an educated man.”
Gaitlier paused and cast him a glance, somewhat hesitant to answer. “I was a schoolmaster in St. Domingue. I taught Captain Pellier in his youth, though I warrant not very much. Several years ago I was on my way to England in a small ship when it was taken by him.” He stopped and rubbed his hands in a nervous gesture. “It was his pleasure, Captain Ruark, to make me his slave.” He nodded toward Shanna. “There are others like her, brought against their will and forced to stay.” Gaitlier heaved a sigh. “Will there be something more you wish tonight, sir?”