Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(20)
Shanna steeled herself against any outward show of withdrawing while his mouth softly tested hers, playing lightly, teasing, but the stiffness of her body was like that of one waiting for doom.
“You must learn to relax,” Ruark admonished, his breath falling softly upon her lips.
His arm slipped about her waist as he straightened, drawing her possessively against his side, and reluctant though she was to have it there, Shanna accepted his attentiveness as he escorted her to the vestry.
While the minister laboriously completed the documents and entered the event in the record book, Mrs. Jacobs went to fetch refreshments. As they waited, Pitney’s frowning perusal centered upon the colonial, who he felt displayed a more zealous regard for his bride than necessary. An arm resting lightly on her shoulder, a featherlike caress along her ribs, a single stroke of her arm where it was bare; the long, lean fingers made their claim on her. Pitney could well imagine the trap his young mistress found herself in to stand for this unwelcome pawing.
Pitney’s scowl darkened, and, when he caught Ruark’s eye, he beckoned the man to him. “We’d best make haste. The storm is building, and we might be caught here.”
Ruark paused to listen to the sound of the wind blowing about the corner of the church. It rose forlornly and whistled eerily at a higher pitch. Raindrops splattered against the windows and then ran down them in streams. Candles had been lit to illuminate the gray shroud of the storm.
Ruark studied the other man carefully as he replied. “Aye, I’ll tell your mistress.”
The square jaw tightened. “Keep yer hands from her, lad. She’s not for the likes of ye.”
“You are a loyal servant, Pitney,” Ruark returned with measured words. “Perhaps too loyal. I am her husband now.”
“In name only,” the large man retorted. “And that fact will remain true ‘til ye’ve seen yer end.”
“Even if you must show me that end before my time?” Ruark queried.
“I’ve warned ye, lad. Leave her be. She’s a good lass and not the sort ye might find in an inn giving a man comforts.”
Ruark folded his hands behind his back and looked Pitney squarely in the eye. He spoke with much conviction. “That is my wife, whatever else you may think. Now, I am not a man to start a quarrel with another in such a place as this, but I’ll leave you this word of advice. If you intend to stop me from giving Shanna my attention, you’d best draw your pistol now and be done with it. I have naught to lose, and she’s worth whatever fight you’d give me.”
With that, Ruark turned on his heels and strode to the windows to look out on the rain-swept landscape, leaving Pitney to stare after him with a thoughtful frown. Shanna was observing her new husband as well. There was a quiet alertness in his manner, like that of a cat or a wolf, its strength ready to explode but, for the moment, docile. She was reminded of a large black panther she had seen once in her travels. In repose the animal’s muscles were long and supple; yet when the beast moved, the sinews had flexed and stretched and rippled in a fantastic rhythm of life that mesmerized. Ruark was slim yet sturdy and moved with almost sensuous grace. There was a sureness in his stride as if he carefully planned where each foot would fall. At the moment he appeared relaxed and at ease, but Shanna sensed that he was aware of everything that transpired around him.
Turning to her again, he came with that same sure stride, and even in her predicament, Shanna could not help but admire the fine figure he made in the costly garments. She had described him to the tailor as a man lean, muscular, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, trim waist and flat belly. It was rather satisfying to see the results were near, if not, perfection. In fact, the breeches might have been indecent had the tailor taken a tighter seam, for they did fit extremely well—
With the sudden realization of where they roamed, her eyes flew upward to find Ruark’s amused gaze warmly upon her. As he came to stand beside her, he murmured just loud enough for her ears alone.
“Wifely curiosity, my love?”
Shanna colored hotly and turned away in sudden confusion. His hand slid about her waist, and she started slightly as his hard chest pressed against her back.
His deep voice seemed to reverberate within her very soul as he announced softly, “ ‘Twould seem our wedding day will see the best of a good drenching.”
In that moment Shanna’s thoughts were far from the storm outside and much centered on the tempest within herself. A white hot bolt of doubt had blasted her confidence, and she was suddenly unsure of her own ability to deal with Ruark Beauchamp.
Chapter 3