Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(159)

With a quiet word to her, Ruark stepped away a short distance while Shanna stood in some dismay, wondering where she might find privacy for her own needs, at least more seclusion than Ruark appeared worried about. Such intimacy she had never had to contend with before and was not willing to indulge in it now. Determinedly she strode along the edge of the pool toward a thick cluster of brush near the far end but stopped abruptly as Ruark called a warning.

“Not too far.”

Shanna’s back stiffened, and she stood with clenched fists, silently fuming. Without turning, she asked tersely, “Am I not allowed some privacy, ?”

Ruark’s chuckle was soft in reply, “Stray too far, my love, and you might have more company than you wish. We are too close to the inn for you to be wandering off alone.”

Shanna was unappreciative of his reminder and gritted between gnashing teeth. “Then permit me to see your back turned, sir. At least that much privacy, I beg you.”

“Done.”

Cautiously she looked over her shoulder to see if he had really complied with her request. He had, and she fled into the protection of the trees. Shortly she returned to find Ruark wading in the pool. He had removed his weapons and vest and left his sandals and hat beside them.

“Would you share a bath, my love?” he inquired as he gave her a laconic grin.

Shanna’s sunburned nose snubbed him. However, the pool offered the only relief in sight, and the temptation to join him was almost overwhelming. She trailed a toe in the water and watched surreptitiously as Ruark sought out the deeper part. In a slow, leisurely motion he swam across the pool, returned again to the shallows near her, and peered up at her expectantly.

“Well?” He came to his feet and stood beside her. “Are you coming in?”

He slapped the sodden breeches that covered his lean hips then plucked the clinging cloth away while Shanna twitched under her woolens. Droplets of water clung to his bronzed skin and tinier beads sparkled in the dark furring on his chest.

Shanna shrugged, noncommittal. Taking her reply as affirmation, Ruark waded out into the deeper part again until the water played in widening circles about his chest. Shanna made her decision. She reached behind her to the laces of her gown, but paused as she heard the clanking of a bell coming closer. A pair of big-uddered nanny goats appeared with their bleating kids trailing at their heels, and not far behind them, humming a tuneless air, strolled Carmelita. Espying the group that had preceded her, she gave a cry of greeting.

“Eh, gov’na, I sees ye got me spot. Well, move it over then, laddie, cause ‘ere I come.”

Her clothes seemed to take flight of their own and landed on a nearby bush. Then with open abandon, a total lack of modesty, her ponderous foreparts naked to the breeze, she cleaved the air in a joyous dive and landed upon the formerly glass-smooth surface of the pond, raising a geyser that left Ruark’s hair dripping across his face and ears and dampening the still shocked Shanna no small amount.

Ruark waded to the shallows and stood gasping and wiping wet hair from his eyes. He looked up in time to see the last twitch of Shanna’s shirts before she disappeared up the trail. He called after her and heard what he thought might have been a wild goat snort in anger for a reply. Hastily he bent to pull the sandals onto his feet.

“Damn little fool,” he muttered. “She’ll find trouble yet.”

He snatched the rest of his gear into his arms and was trying to thrust an arm into the jerkin as he ran after his charge. Behind him a disappointed Carmelita, great dark-peaked bosoms floating before her like twin short-fused bombs, leaned back and stroked the water.

“Bloody rude beggars,” she mused. “Couldn’t stay for a little fun. Huh! Had his britches on anyways.”

Ruark had caught up with Shanna as she stalked along. Shrugging his sash over his shoulder, he settled the sword to his hip and patted his hat in place, restoring himself to his jaunty image. Her pace was now the one that made him hustle and he had to stretch out to gain his position in front of her. Shanna strode along in silence, her gaze fixed straight ahead, her lips clenched tightly in vexation. Ruark made it through the door of the inn in front of her, but as he paused inside she pushed by and without a break in her gait took to the stairs and fled into their room. Luckily the place was empty save for Mother, who dozed in his chair. The huge man started and roused and stared at Ruark for a moment then, just as quickly, returned to his slumbers.

Shanna still stood just inside the door as Ruark closed it behind him, surveying the chamber in surprise. It had been scrubbed clean and smelled of strong lye soap. The wooden floor showed damp spots from a recent mopping, and every piece of furniture gleamed with a sheen of light oil rubbed on it. The stained feather ticks from the night before were gone, and fresh new ones replaced them; clean linens were neatly tucked in at the corners. Large, soft pillows in clean casings were propped at the head of the bed, and every piece of clothing had been put in its place. Even the tub had been scoured and glowed softly like a fine jewel at the end of the room. One small table was stacked high with linens and towels and close beside it another bore a rich assortment of scented oils, attars, sundry perfumes, and salts. A clean chamber pot was in the bottom of the washstand, and the pitcher on top brimmed with clear cool water beside a basin that had miraculously lost its coating of scum.