Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(181)

“We’ll set these fellows on their heels,” he chortled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “A blow or two for vengeance, eh?”

Ruark remained aloof from the man’s eagerness, and his brow knitted. “I fear I shall have to forego our journey, at least for tonight,” he stated solemnly, and the servant’s face fell. “The pirates seem restless, and I am wary of some treachery afoot.” He halted near the door and listened for a moment. “They are all too quiet to please me.”

Gaitlier grinned in renewed elation, and his eyes twinkled beyond the tiny panes. “ ‘Tis only that they are all besot,” he chuckled. “Carmelita grew tired with their play and served them only strong black rum. ’Twill be some hours before they recover.”

Ruark contemplated the man for a moment. He opened the door and crept to the head of the stairs to see for himself. The common room was dark with only a few short stubs of candles burning for light, yet he could make out a full dozen dark shapes scattered about in ludicrous positions of slumber. Mother was sprawled upon his belly, full length on the table, and snored loudly with a deep grumble and high-pitched whistle.

Satisfied, Ruark returned, bolted the door, and then slid a heavy iron-bound chest before it. At his nod, Gaitlier began to secure the ladder to the iron grillwork outside the window. Ruark doffed all but his breeches. After checking his pistols again, he laid them at full cock on the table where they would be handy to Shanna’s need. Gaitlier, too, stripped to his pants and hung a heavy cutlass from his rope belt. Ruark ducked beneath his sabre’s sash, and the two of them rubbed lamp soot over their bodies and limbs. As Shanna stood brushing her hair, Ruark peered over her shoulder into the mirror and smeared the black, greasy stuff over his face. A gay laugh of amusement escaped her as she faced him and, with rich enthusiasm, helped him spread the soot on his chest and arms.

“I always thought there was something of the blackguard in you. ‘Tis at last beginning to show.”

Ruark drew a blackened finger along the slim, delicate line of her nose in revenge and chuckled as she gasped in feigned outrage and scrubbed heartily at the sooty streak.

The candles were doused except for the one in a ship’s lantern, which they set upon the table. Brushing Shanna’s lips with a kiss, Ruark closed the door on the lantern, bringing the room to blackness. Shanna felt a last squeeze on her hand, then heard the ladder rattle down. She waited until she was sure they were gone and then retrieved the ladder as Ruark had instructed her, tucked it inside the rail, and closed the shutters before she opened the lantern.

Now it was only a matter of waiting. Ruark had tried to tell her what they planned, but she had been anxious to be assured of his safety and missed much of what he said, remembering only that it had something to do with the pirate’s powder magazine and gathering brush in the gully. Without thinking Shanna mimicked Ruark’s actions as she checked the pistols, saw to their priming, then laid them down again; she tested the edge of the small dagger and then slipped it into her waistband; restlessly she paced the room and the only difference was that, in a woman’s way, she tidied here and there.

Ruark’s jerkin lay across the arm of a chair and lifting it, she smoothed its soft leather over her arm. It was odd how the garment already seemed a part of him, like the short breeches. It even bore his scent. She rubbed her cheek against it, savoring the manly smell of leather.

“What have I become?” Shanna murmured, in some wonder. “A wife waiting for her man? Is it always thus with wives? Do they seize upon some manly garment and relive past moments of bliss while they bide the time?”

She glanced about the room and was bemused by her mood. “Strange, I feel him gone. There is that which is missing now. I never felt his presence as much as I feel his absence.”

It suddenly rankled Shanna that she should find life incomplete unless she could reach out her hand and touch him.

“I will not be trapped,” she assured herself and hung the jerkin neatly on a chair back. She had set a glass to mark the time since no clock graced the room, and she now noticed it was only half run through. She gave a deep sigh to ease the lonely ache that sprang up within her bosom and began to pace again.

A gust rattled the shutters and made her jump. Large drops of rain began to fall again, and the wind curling around a cornice gave a low moan. The inn creaked as the storm renewed its attack upon the island. Her eyes fell to the hourglass, and her spirit showed its shallow depth as she saw only a small amount of sand remained in the top. “Nearly an hour gone! Has aught come amiss?” Nervously Shanna began to nibble at a fingernail. “Have they been found out? Or perhaps fallen upon some evil fate?”