Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(171)
His scowl darkened on her. “ ‘Tis not I, my love, but you who cannot settle on one.”
Shanna lifted her nose disdainfully. “ ‘Tis only that I have yet to find my proper mate.”
Ruark snarled. “Madam, may I remind you once again that I am your mate, proper or otherwise.”
She ignored him deliberately. “My father will expect me to choose a husband soon. He wants grandchildren, and I cannot disappoint him.”
Ruark’s insides wrenched with the coldness of her tone. “Dammit, Shanna! Do you think if I had been the chooser, that I would have chosen you?”
Struck dumb by his statement, Shanna stared at him.
Ruark flung an arm wide, encompassing the sea that stretched endlessly into the horizon and sneered, “What were you? The Goddess Shanna from Mount Olympus, raised upon that pedestal of your own construction, that all men must approach you from beneath your level. The haughty Shanna, beautiful, untouched, pure, who strolls this earth for but a passing whim and sighs for that great knight upon a charger, that perfect man who will snatch her from this squalor and take her to some hidden Eden and there with dovelike tones of adoration meekly serve her every wish. Hah!” Ruark snorted. “Beware, my love. That perfect man might also seek a perfect woman.”
He turned away, his brow black with rage while Shanna stared at him, confused and not knowing the reason for this attack.
“What do you say?” she demanded, much stirred by his accusations. “I but held myself for the man of my own choosing, and, God willing, I will yet find that man.”
Ruark whirled and looked at her in wide amazement. Then his scowl darkened thunderously. “You held yourself too high, Shanna. Of course each man has some flaw and once you found it, you rejected him. What did you make of yourself, pray tell? A prime wife? Hardly! A gentle mate to share a man’s life? Nay! Rather the regal Shanna.” He answered his own question. “A challenge to any man, a goal for a night’s toss, and a mark well worthy of the game. That man who could shatter your wall of ice would be an instant hero to every bachelor. You were the high fortress to be assailed but once taken, worthless. You were a fortune to be gained, but of what value as a wife? A worthy man would seek that gentle dame who with calm and sweet repose would thus enrich his life. Have you then so greatly enriched mine? I was given as a slave to pirates at your command. Now your father thinks me not only a flown bondsman but a pirate, and he has in all likelihood placed a high reward upon my head. If taken by his men, I might yet find a rope my final unearned reward. And that because of you, my loving wife.”
Shanna met his words with a stiff back, standing straight and unbowed. “You say that truth will out. But do you say you love me?”
Spreading his arms, Ruark faced into the breeze and spoke as if to the open sea. “Madam, at this moment you are the last one to whom I would admit my love.”
It was a twisted truth, for love her he most certainly did. But there was much to pass before he would place that weapon in her hands.
He glanced over his shoulder to see her reaction but found her walking slowly away from him, her head high, the wind whipping her skirt, her shoulders erect, her pace carefully measured. He wanted to run to her, to take her into his arms or grovel at her feet and tell her of this all-consuming desire that gnawed at the roots of his being, but he let her go, hoping the challenge of his denial might spur her to some new consideration of herself and him.
Shanna walked along the beach toward the edge of the water, away from the village and the inn. From where he stood on the jetty, Ruark observed her solemnly, feeling more than a trifle unsure. He could not help but wonder what her mood might bring. Would his words find his intent or would she turn away from him in injured pride and reject even his attempts to help? Briefly she glanced back at him, then, facing forward again, went further away. Reaching down, she caught the rear hem of her skirt and brought it forward between her legs, tucking it in the wide waistband like a fishwife. She removed her sandals and slung them over her shoulder. Wading in the shallows, she kicked idly at wave tops and rolled shellfish and rocks with her toe while Ruark continued to watch, unable to ease the ache in his chest.
It was some time later when a shout came from behind him, and Ruark turned to find Harripen and several of the crewmen rowing out to the Good Hound. The pirate waved, and Ruark returned the gesture, wondering what they were about. Harripen and another man boarded the schooner, and the longboat was positioned beneath her stern. The crew caught the end of the cable Harripen tossed to them and made it secure to their own boat, then, rowing heartily, began to swing the slim, dark ship so that her stern was to the dock. Harripen barked an order forward, and the other man struck loose the latch on the anchor capstan. Now the dozen men in the longboat strained, bending their oars, and slowly the Good Hound began to move inward toward the slip, playing out her anchor cable as she came. As the ship neared her berth, the longboat swung away, putting slack in the tow and letting the Good Hound‘s own momentum carry her until she bumped gently against the pilings. She scrubbed her side against them, and Harripen tossed down a looped cable, which Ruark made fast to the cleat. Then he ran along the pier to catch another from the man on the forecastle. Harripen called for him to come on deck, and Ruark glanced to see what had become of Shanna. She stood with her hands shading her eyes, having watched the ship drawn in, but as his gaze found her she resumed her stroll in the shallows. Confident that she was well in sight and not so far away that he could not be quickly at her side, Ruark climbed up the tumble home. Somehow he felt Shanna needed this time alone to straighten her own thoughts. He swung his legs across the rail and found Harripen waiting, leaning on his elbows while he stared at the lone figure on the beach.