Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(190)

His eyes searched the horizon to port, and Ruark lifted himself as high as he could.

Ah, there! Low clouds with a dark shadow beneath. That heralded an island. He felt Shanna’s hand upon his ribs and glanced down to see her watching him, a worried look on her face.

“We’ll soon be there,” he assured her, mistaking her distress. “No need to fret.”

Shanna opened her mouth to deny his thoughts but silenced the words before they were spoken. How could she explain her own feelings when they were a mystery even to her?

Ruark looked pointedly toward her bosom. “That garb has served you well, but it does not seem right for you. A bit too mannish would be my opinion.”

Shanna smoothed the rumpled shirt and straightened the loose breeches over her hips.

“If my memory serves me right, Carmelita left without her clothes. Perhaps they might be taken in here and there—”

“Bah!” Shanna cut him short. “I threw them overboard last night. Do you think I would wear anything of hers?”

Shanna set her back to him, raising an impertinent nose to scan the sea. Ruark reached out to tug a tress until she faced him again. White teeth gleamed against the darkness of his skin as he teased her with a smile.

“You’re a devil, Ruark Beauchamp!” Shanna declared but softened and rubbed her cheek against his knuckles. She raised on tiptoes and brushed a kiss upon his lips. “You must be hungry. I’ll go see what’s left in the cabin.”

As she strode from him, Ruark stared after her with warm attention, observing the graceful swing of her hips.

It came to his mind there was no possible way a sane man could mistake those curves for anything but woman. That only left two possibilities. The citizens of Mare’s Head were either blind—or terribly mad.

Chuckling at his thoughts, Ruark slipped the lashing from a spoke then leaned against the chest-high wheel, whirling it around and trimming the schooner against the wind. The ship plunged along the gently rolling sea, and as he replaced the lashings to hold the vessel on the new course, Gaitlier left Dora and ambled aft.

“Captain?” The man appeared bemused. “Is Trahern as bad as Mother complained? Will I be taken as bondslave, too? Which master will I serve, you or him, sir?”

“You’ll have no master, Mister Gaitlier,” Ruark returned boldly. He was unable to say what his own fate would be, but he could assure this man a return to dignity. “Mayhap you might find the island to your liking and wish to remain. If not, I am sure that Trahern will give you passage to any port of your choosing. He will be grateful for your help in rescuing his daughter, and a tidy sum might be forthcoming.”

“And what of you, sir?” Gaitlier laid the question to him, but Ruark chose to misunderstand his meaning.

“I have no need of money.” He looked at the man. “However, there is one thing I would ask of you, Mister Gaitlier.”

He nodded. “Anything, sir. Anything at all.”

Ruark rubbed a thumb against his unshaven cheek. “Trahern knows me only as bondslave. Unless Madam Beauchamp tells him differently, I would ask your silence in this matter of our marriage. I am, to those on Los Camellos, John Ruark, and the lady is Madam Ruark Beauchamp, a widow.”

“Rest your fears, sir. Dora and I will say naught of you and the madam. I give my word to that.”

The four of them shared a leisurely repast around Ruark’s pallet. Shanna was quick to see to his comfort, gently propping his leg on a pillow, filling his plate and taking his cup of pale wine as he reached to place it on the deck. His hand rested possessively upon her thigh as she sat cross-legged beside him, while he explained to Gaitlier about handling the ship. It was a quiet time, a restful time, and when it was over, Ruark limped again to the wheel. Raising the brass-bound telescope, he studied the still distant island off the port bow. It was the last of the chain; high bluffs dropped sharply into the sea at its eastern end. Once past it, they would turn toward Los Camellos.

Returning to his pallet, he stretched out full length again. His leg ached, and the muscle began to jump in his thigh, sending white-edged shards of pain through his body. He rubbed his hip and thigh to ease the throbbing and found his hand brushed away by Shanna’s as she took up the chore. Beneath the tender care, he dozed and dreamed of soft pink lips bending near and caressing his.

The island was low on the horizon behind them, and the sun hung high overhead when Ruark set the course for Los Camellos then stumbled back to his pallet. Gaitlier had rigged a shade for him, and Shanna now shared that small spot of coolness with him. His leg ached agonizingly, and each time he rose, the effort was greater. He sampled the rum again, but this time its fire did little to ease his discomfort.