Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(170)
She tried to read his eyes, wondering whether he teased or gave a statement of fact.
“I brought a gift for you,” he said suddenly, rising from the bed and retrieving the bundled garments from the chair beside the door. He presented them with a decorous bow. “These should suit the occasion better than what the good gentleman, Pellier, left behind.”
“Pellier was no gentleman,” Shanna assured him as she sipped her tea.
“Well spoken, my love,” Ruark agreed. His handsome brow knitted as if he considered some deep subject, then he pointed out, “You can never declare a gentleman by his collection of riches or lack of them, by a name or lack of one. Now take your father, for instance. He is basically a good man, a gentleman by any twist, yet his father was hanged. What great harm has your father suffered? He is an honest man, rich, powerful. Do you hold him beneath lords and dukes, Shanna?”
“Of course not!”
“And what of yourself, my love? The granddaughter of a highwayman, you have the airs of a grand duchess. Yet if I bore the title or the blood of a noble, I would not think you beneath me. Perhaps if we had children, ‘twould go well for them rather than bad.” He paused at her gasp of indignation and then leaned forward and stared at her as he continued slowly. “Suppose, my love, that I had wealth and came from a family with more than a fine name, could you then love me and be content to bear the fruit of my devotion, giving life to our children as beautiful and honorable offsprings of our love?”
Shanna shrugged, not wanting to answer. “If—if you had been true—I suppose—Oh!” She flared. “ ‘Tis foolishness to speak of these things when we both know they are not so. You can be nothing more than what you are.”
“And what am I, madam?” he persisted.
“You ask me?” she snapped irritably, turning away from those amber eyes which seemed to bore into her. “Of all people, you should be the one to know.”
“Then the reply is, madam, that you could easily accept me as your husband if I were rich and titled? You would find no argument with me if I had these qualities and none of those I have now?”
Shanna squirmed uncomfortably. “You put it crudely, Ruark, but, aye, I suppose I could abide marriage with you, if all you say were true.”
“Then, my dear, Shanna, you’re a prudish snob.”
He said it so kindly, with a sparkling flash of white teeth, that it was not until he uttered the last word that Shanna felt the prick of his sarcasm. She choked on a mouthful of tea then stared at him in speechless outrage.
“Please put your clothes on, madam,” he suggested and turned away to sample his portion of the morning fare.
In a petulant mood, she rose, snatched the garments he had provided and donned them. She retrieved the embroidered black skirt she had worn the night before, though this time she did not hitch it up. She laced the wide waistband tightly over the white gypsy blouse then braided her hair into one long, heavy plait which hung down her back. Lastly she slipped the leather sandals on and crisscrossed the narrow thongs about her ankles.
Her appearance was so stirring it momentarily numbed the wits of Harripen and a goodly number of men who had gathered in the common room. There was no dallying with the pirates this morning, for Ruark felt the need to hasten her from beneath their heavy perusals.
Catching her wrist, Ruark pulled her along after him, feigning annoyance at her slowness. “Get a move on, wench. Do you think I have nothing else to do but wait on you?”
“ ‘At a lad,” Harripen roared with mirth. “Keep that twit ’opping, in bed and out!”
Loud guffaws rang in the room as Ruark and Shanna quickly fled the inn.
“Don’t they ever think of anything but—making love?” she questioned with a derisive glance over her shoulder.
Ruark peered down at her and hastened to correct. “ ‘Tis not love they do in bed, Shanna. They have not learned that gentle art. They release an urge on the one they’ve chosen for the night, like an animal. They call themselves lovers because of the great number who’ve passed beneath them. A bull can do the same. Love is that wherein two people share themselves because of some deep and abiding emotion between them. They cast away all others and seek out the one they have chosen to go through life with, and be it thick or thin, they’ll stand by each other until death.”
“Strange you should be the one to say that, Ruark,” Shanna said coolly and turned her face seaward as they meandered across the dock area. The breezes whipped strands of hair around her face into a frame of soft, feathery curls.