The grains of sand raced in eager frolic for the bottom of the glass. “Does he lie dead somewhere with this storm beating down upon him?” She shuddered at the thought. “Oh, I must be calm. He will come soon.”
Deliberately Shanna placed her hands to her sides where they made small fists, but they opened only to clench again—and again—and again. For the thousandth time she paced the chamber but returned to watch the last grains trickle to the bottom. She reached out to turn the piece over then froze as a small sound intruded over the noise of the wind-driven rain; as she listened, another pebble struck the shutters.
Smothering a cry of joy, Shanna whirled and flew to the shutter latch then suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to close the lantern. Rushing back, she did so quickly then ran to the window and threw the ladder over the railing. She could not see below and for the sake of caution stood back in the shadows, training a pistol on the top of the rail until she recognized the dark head and broad shoulders of Ruark. He came through the window with a bound and turned to boost Gaitlier over the railing. Shanna only intended to touch Ruark’s arm and ask him of his success, but somehow as he faced around, her arms went about him, and she held herself to him with all the strength she was capable of. Ruark felt the trembling of her body against him and tightened his embrace securely about her, lifting her chin to kiss her, oblivious to Gaitlier, who busied himself retrieving the ladder, closing the shutters, and cautiously opening the lantern.
The two finally parted, and Gaitlier handed a towel to Ruark and began to dry himself. It was as if their entry signaled the storm to return in all its furiousness, but Shanna no longer cared about the tempest. She curled herself in a chair as the men huddled over the charts and talked in hushed tones. Her cheek rested against the leather jerkin, and its smell filled her head. The barest hint of a smile played across her lips, and her eyes glowed with a warmth no one could explain, least of all Shanna.
When their discussion ended, Gaitlier clothed himself, mumbled a last good night, then let himself out. Ruark barred the door after him as Shanna rose and went to stand beside the bed. Her fingers tugged at the lacing of her waistband; suddenly there were willing hands to help. When the skirt and blouse had been joined on the floor by her shift, Shanna turned in Ruark’s embrace and slid her arms about his neck, seeking his lips with feverish abandon.
Morning came, and Shanna felt Ruark leave the bed. She listened to him move about as he dressed. There was something wrong, but she could not quite put a finger on it. Opening her eyes, she stared at the peeling walls where his shadow played with odd distortion in the bright sunlight streaming in the windows.
That was it! Bright sunlight! The room was silent as it had not been for several days. No wind whistled. No storm thundered. She rolled onto her back and saw only the blue sky beyond the open shutters. An occasional fluff of cloud spoiled an otherwise unblemished sky and lent a counterpoint of dirty white to the crystal blue.
Ruark came to the bedside, fully arrayed in his pirate attire. He placed two weapons on the table, a small flintlock and a huge horse pistol.
“Gaitlier scavenged these from the pirates while they slept. They’re loaded, primed, and ready,” he admonished carefully. “I must go and lay the fuses so all will be in readiness for tonight.” His brow furrowed with worry. He did not like the idea of leaving her, but Gaitlier was unfamiliar with the workings of gunpowder. During the storm he and Gaitlier had prepared a contraption which would hopefully divert the pirates’ attention and allow them to escape. All that remained to do was to place the oiled fuse and gunpowder beneath the brush in the gully on the hillside above the blockhouse, which was used as a magazine. The brush was held in place by slim poles. Hopefully the lot of it, put on fire by the gunpowder and aided by heavy logs above, would roll down against the wall of the magazine when the charge was set off and cause a general alarm to be raised. He could make no test, but only trust in his design. It was as ready as it could be, and fate would see the whole thing out.
“Gaitlier is watching the door, and the pirates are still asleep below. I’ll only be gone for a short time, and I must leave while the moment is ripe.”
He bent over her, and his mouth took hers in a fervent kiss. His hand passed along her arm and squeezed it reassuringly before he straightened. With a last glance over his shoulder, he slipped from the window, dropped to the ground. His eyes searched the quay. The schooner was still out in the bay though she had dragged her anchor a bit, but if anything the Good Hound was better aligned for their purposes than before. Ruark made his way quickly around the structure to the back. In his haste, he did not see the lone figure leaning in the shadows of the rear doorway. A long moment passed, and Ruark was gone, and the silhouette staggered into bright sunlight to become a man. The red, watery eyes squinted down the path and blinked painfully.