Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(156)
“Will you lace me?”
“Aye, love,” he readily replied, setting the razor down, before facing her. He suddenly appeared pained. His eyes slowly descended and his tone reflected his lack of appreciation. “Where did you manage to find that?”
Innocently Shanna shrugged and waved a hand toward the chests. “Over there.” She smoothed the gown where it was loose around her waist. “Am I covered well enough?”
For a reply Ruark only snorted derisively.
Shanna pouted defensively. “ ‘Twas all I could find.”
She lifted the long, heavy tresses from her neck and presented her back where the unfastened garment revealed the smooth, creamy nakedness of it. A long, quiet moment slipped past as Ruark performed this service for her, time enough for Shanna to reflect upon the advantages of having a husband. There was almost a domestic tranquility, or more rightly a truce, between them in this moment when her need dictated his attention.
“Have you found a brush for your hair?” he asked over her shoulder.
Shanna shook her head, all too aware of its unsightly state. She felt his hand against it, smoothing the snarled mass, and stepped away, not wishing him to be repulsed by the feel of the wind-ravaged locks.
Sweeping the dampened tresses into a large knot on top of her head, she went to the bed and perched on its edge. The heat of the day had increased, and it was distressingly warm. The prickling of wool against her soft skin as she secured her hair was a forewarning of what was to come. She could not help squirming beneath it and glanced at Ruark to see if he noticed. He had returned to his shaving, and her eyes found his tall, slender back. She looked away and caught sight of herself in the mirrors. A Puritan’s wife, she mused in disdain. But then, that end would be infinitely more acceptable than what the pirates intended for her. She tried to imagine the kind of life a woman would have in Puritan clothes, living by Puritan manners. She envisioned a small plot of land, a cabin in the wilds, Ruark behind a plow while she, large with child, trod the furrows behind him, spreading a handful of seed. Shanna had meant to make mock of the idea, but strangely the illusion was not so distasteful as she had guessed, and she was baffled. Much in justification of her own lifestyle on Los Camellos, she stubbornly concluded that she would soon pine away for luxuries.
Ruark finished shaving, and Shanna watched him make preparations for his role of pirate. Her red silk tether was thrown over his shoulder and across his chest. Tied in a knot over his left hip, it became a sash from which to hang the heavy scabbard. He selected a handful of medals from the armoire to adorn his jerkin, and in his hat he stuck a long, red plume. He spread his hands, presenting Shanna a clear view of his outlandish creation, and she groaned. He portrayed a truly roguish pirate.
“But, madam, I must be a pirate.” He glanced down at his array of arms. “Is there something lacking?”
“Nay, Captain Pirate,” she sighed. “I vow no strutting cock could outshine your display.”
“Why, thank you, Shanna.” His teeth flashed in a bright smile. “Shall we be about our business?”
Striding to the door, he laid his hand on the latch, looked back at her, and gestured imperiously with his finger.
“Come along, madam. A step or two behind, as a good slave should.”
Before Shanna could grit a reply, he was in the hall, leading the way with a jaunty confidence in his step. Shanna struggled to her feet and followed humbly down the stairs, having lost the heart for argument beneath the discomfort of the wool dress.
The group was already swilling ale in the common room and for several moments Ruark and Shanna were the center of amusement. Ruark played his charade to the hilt. With open arms and great gusto, he greeted them. He flipped the medals and related impossible, lurid tales of how he had earned them. His entertainment was supreme, and the other picaroons soon held their sides in pain, while Shanna stood quietly and quailed at their overly vivid retorts. When the greeting had worn thin, Ruark bellowed for food and banged the table loudly until Dora scurried in fear to do his bidding. He tore a joint of roast goat from the carcass that was brought to him, took up a loaf of bread, and tossed a bit of both to Shanna. With a hearty whack on her rump, he sent her to a corner where she crouched and halfheartedly chewed on the noisome fare, observing Ruark with a jaundiced eye. He did not settle himself to a seat but strode around the table and exchanged banter with the men between bites and swills of ale. Pausing, he set a foot on a bench and gestured for them to gather about. Shanna could not hear his words, but she knew the tale was lusty, for the pirates leaned forward eagerly as it progressed and doubled over with gales of laughter at its finish. Ruark smiled at them, then waved an arm in farewell. He snapped his fingers loudly as he passed Shanna’s corner, and she quickly rose and fell into place behind him.