“The others had decided to do away with you at a convenient moment. That is why Harripen freely gave you the purse. He expected to regain it soon. But you killed Pellier, which all of them desired to do, and became one of them, thus gaining some measure of respect and freedom. ‘Tis fully expected that you will leave. We find that young, energetic men who find their way here are soon gone. We only hope your going will not cost us dearly, and most will be glad to see you go, for you are a constant reminder of the youth and vigor we have lost. Go your way, my young hearty, but trust no one, not even me, and do not press us beyond what we can bear. As you may have guessed, even our own lives are less than desirable in this hole and are held rather cheaply. I, myself, only mark time and hold my freedom until the day death releases me from this shallow existence. Perhaps that is why we dare danger and challenge death for the very luxuries we crave.”
Ruark could make no denial or comment on Mother’s insight and felt a small measure of respect for the mind trapped within the hulking body. Thoughtfully he stared at the pipe he held in his hand. There was no further word from Mother, and, for all Ruark knew, he had lapsed into slumber, having exhausted his moment of sanity. Ruark got to his feet, counting himself far luckier than any man on the island, despite what they might have termed poor luck in being imprisoned for murder and sold into bondage. In truth, if he hadn’t been in the gaol, he never would have married Shanna, and he counted all the abuse he had suffered there well worth the gain of such a wife. There were matters to be settled yet, but by God’s grace they would be settled and be all the sweeter for the trials.
In a thoughtful mood, he climbed the stairs and bolted the door securely behind him. He stripped, careful not to wake Shanna, and sat on his side of the woolen barrier, his back braced against the baroque, carved headboard, an arm slung across a drawn-up knee. For a long time he contemplated his sleeping wife, taking solace in the fact he didn’t have to leave her with the coming of dawn. Her gilded tresses spread like a wide fan over the downy pillow, touching her pale shoulders. Her slender hand lay in the midst, and in the gentle glow of moonlight the single band of gold upon her finger gleamed with its own luster.
“You are my wife, Shanna Beauchamp,” he whispered. “And I will have you as that. There will come a day when you’ll proudly declare our marriage to the world. God help me, you will.”
The warmth that came with the dawn was an insidious omen of what the later hours would bring. Shanna lay asleep with the sheet covering all but her head, and Ruark again slipped from the bed. Donning his breeches, he went below to the common room to see what he might find in the way of food for them. He knew Shanna hadn’t been able to eat much before Mother’s harsh command. He would assure this time that a modicum of peace accompanied their meal.
The night of merrymaking by the pirates had reduced the place pretty much to shambles, a situation Dora, the young serving woman, was trying to remedy. Mother, dozing heavily under a series of loud snores in the chair, was the only other one present. It seemed the eunuch had given up the use of a bed long ago, so Harripen had explained. Mother found only acute discomfort with his great weight pressing down upon him and feared that he might be somehow trapped in those muffling confines. A living nightmare, Ruark mused.
He bent his attention to the girl, a thin, bony thing with straggly brown hair and a plain face that betrayed the smallest hint of charm when she smiled, but that was rare indeed. Gaitlier had said she would do chores for a copper or two, and Ruark wondered if she preferred that method of earning her keep to Carmelita’s.
Pausing beside her, Ruark asked for a tray of food, and at his first words the snoring halted abruptly in mid-snort. From beneath the shadow of his beetled brow, Mother fixed his small eyes on them. Then with a grunt he heaved his large shape from the chair and padded out of the room.
The door slammed behind the obese man, and Dora scurried to fetch what Ruark had requested, setting out fruits, bread, and meats, while she brewed a pot of strong tea. His show of patience on this morning quite bemused her, for he had nearly scared the wits out of her the previous day with his bellowing. He was handsome and moved like a dream, yet she had seen him kill a man and threaten others just last night—although that was not an uncommon occurrence on this island, nor the first she had witnessed. Still, she was fearful of him and went to great pains to avoid raising his ire. But because of his awesome presence, she was awkward and more inept than usual, and in her haste she dropped the hot kettle, nearly scalding herself as the steaming water flew upward like a geyser.