Harripen leaned back in his chair, watching her every movement, his eyes testing the soft curves hidden beneath her oversize gown. With a flip of her wrist Shanna brushed a curl off her cheek, and his heated gaze turned to the loose bodice which lay against her round breasts. Reflectively he let his perusal leave her to pass over the robust Carmelita, who sliced meat with an energetic motion, setting her heavy breasts swinging. He sipped his wine and began to eat again, having decided that at the proper time he would ease his needs—but not with the slut.
The mulatto showed no such patience. As Shanna came near him, he grasped her wrist, causing her to slosh wine over his knee. Fearfully Shanna tried to snatch free, but he pulled her ever closer until he chanced a glance toward Ruark. Then he froze, seeing those golden eyes hardening with that same piercing coldness he had seen glowing behind the flintlocks. With a pained smile he set her from him, and Shanna made haste to step beyond his reach.
Ruark waited until all had been served then motioned to Shanna, who came quickly. She leaned over to pour wine into his goblet, and in a careless moment her breast lightly brushed against his shoulder where the sleeveless jerkin left it bare. The contact caught them both unawares, startling each with a quick excitement that rippled through their bodies. Their eyes met with a suddenness that made a blush suffuse Shanna’s cheeks. Unsteadily she straightened, clutching the pitcher against her bosom in painful confusion.
Having witnessed the whole of the encounter, Harripen burst out into loud guffaws, grasping the shirt of the Dutchman, who joined his glee when the Englishman pointed to them, drawing everyone’s attention.
“ ‘Ey there, Mister Ruark, ye’ve trained her well.”
Ruark slipped an arm about Shanna’s hips, placing his hand with bold familiarity upon her buttock, and returned a grin to the leering men. “Aye, but she has a mite to learn yet. ‘Tis like breaking a good mare. I can’t leave her alone too long.”
He felt Shanna stiffen and could guess how his words must rankle.
“Aye,” the Englishman bellowed. “ ‘At’s the way of it. But here, lass, let Carmelita show you a thing or two.”
Carmelita came forth eagerly, swinging her broad hips, and leaned against Ruark’s chair, oblivious of Shanna, who slowly burned while brown fingers curled in Ruark’s dark hair. In the face of the smaller woman’s glare, Carmelita laughed.
“Take it easy, lovey. He looks like he’s got enough to please the both of us. The mores the merrier, I al’ays say.”
Shanna’s eyes narrowed as the woman fell giggling into Ruark’s lap, causing his breath to leave with a “whoof.” He struggled to sit up beneath the weight and seemed somewhat pained as Carmelita spread eager kisses over his face and chest. Twisting upon his lap and crooning in his ear, she pulled his hand to her breast and settled her own hand intimately upon the bulge of his manhood.
Something within Shanna snapped, like a dry twig beneath a heavy foot. With a low, rising shriek of rage, she reached out and gave Carmelita a heave that sent the woman sprawling to the floor. There Carmelita sat, somewhat dazed by the attack of this supposed lady. The roaring laughter of the pirates, however, would not let this affront go unpunished, and a long, slim blade suddenly appeared in Carmelita’s hand.
Ruark rose to his feet as it again looked as if he would have to intervene, but a shattering of glass brought his attention around to Shanna. His brow raised in mild wonder as he saw that she faced the larger woman with a cloth slung through the handle of a broken pitcher. He removed his chair and himself from Shanna’s way, though not far. She stood her ground, swinging the sharp-edged shard on the length of towel. It made an excellent mace. The graceful line of her jaw was set with the same stubbornness he had often witnessed before. He could not but admire the savage beauty her wrath brought forth as her sun-streaked hair swirled in glorious disarray around her.
Carmelita retreated a step, her uncertainty written plainly in her face. Even if she managed to cut Shanna, the jagged edges of the shattered pitcher could mar her for life, and in this place, having to make her living from men, she could ill afford the loss of any part of her meager beauty. She saw the determination in Shanna’s eyes, the fire in the bluish-green depths. She had not been bested before, but she thought it wiser, for the moment at least, to retreat.
She tucked away the knife, and relaxing, Shanna set her own weapon down. Harripen chuckled as he reached out to pat Shanna’s rump in approval, then almost swallowed his tongue in surprise as the open palm of her hand struck him smartly across his face. Ruark held his breath, awaiting the Englishman’s reaction; but Harripen, after the first shock, gave a hearty roar of laughter.