Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(200)
“I’ll stay a while longer,” Shanna sighed as she sank wearily into the nearest chair.
Hergus shook her head in exasperation. “Canna ye even take a bite and a bath? Why, ye’re to skin and bones now with those pirates starving ye. And look at ye! Ye’d scare the mon sure if he came awake now and saw ye.”
Self-consciously Shanna ran her fingers through her tangled hair, realizing she had not combed it or seen to her appearance since she last dressed aboard the Hampstead. It seemed an eternity ago.
“And yer poor pa downstairs, fretting, wanting to see ye yet saying naught. The bonnie lad there can hold his own now. See to yerself and give yer pa a kind word or two. It nearly laid him low when he learned ye’d been taken by those pirates.
“ ‘Tis more likely papa flayed the countryside with his rage,” Shanna corrected with levity.
Pitney wrinkled his brows together as he remarked gruffly. “Aye, and he vowed to hang Mister Ruark after the bondsmen came back with their tales.”
Shanna grimaced gingerly. “What did they tell him?”
“They said he fought for ye and claimed ye as his,” Hergus rushed to answer. “Even that he killed a mon to have ye.”
“Is that all?” Shanna questioned carefully.
The maid cast a wary glance toward Pitney and, noticeably more reluctant, replied, “Aye, there was more of it.”
Pitney was more brusque. “The lot of us were present when the bondsmen agreed that if ye were ravished at all, ‘twas Mister Ruark doing it to ye.”
He waited effectively as his words sank in, watching her closely as the sea-hued eyes widened in distress. Then he shrugged, taking himself to the door.
“But the bondsmen also admitted there was no way for them to know for sure, since he carted ye off upstairs.” Pitney stroked his broad jaw thoughtfully and added for good measure, “Still, if he had no intentions of bedding ye, why would the man fight for ye?”
Shanna groaned despairingly and sank deeper into her chair. “Perhaps I’d best go down”—her smile was weak and pained—“and explain to papa.”
Hergus’s skirts swished in her haste to follow Pitney out. “I’ll see to yer bath.”
Entering her own chambers after assuring herself that Ruark was resting peacefully, Shanna was met by a stubborn Hergus who firmly bade her, “Bathe!” and carried the command through by helping her into the tub, scrubbing her back, and seeing her hair washed, towel-dried and combed.
“Yer pa’s coming up,” the maid informed as she brought the young woman her nightshift and wrapper instead of the chemise and gown Shanna had expected to don. “He didna think ye would be up to giving Sir Gaylord yer best company. And I’ll fetch ye a tray, so’s ye’ll not miss yer dinner. Ye’ll be needing the strength to face yer pa.”
Shanna glared her gratitude and the woman shrugged, unconcerned.
“Serves ye right, lowering yerself to bed a common bondsman with the lords and all who’ve begged yer hand and the foin schools and learning ye’ve taken in. Mind ye, I have na a thing agin Mister Ruark. He canna help being taken wit‘ ye. And he’s a bonnie-faced mon, to be sure. He’s given ye his best—but—”
Shanna mumbled under her breath as she belted her wrapper tightly around her slim waist, but the maid either missed or ignored the ungrateful attitude and plunged on, heedless of Shanna’s frown.
“What will ye get from him but a fat belly every year and no good name to dub the brood? Ruark?” Hergus wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Sounds Irish, and ye know there’s no good in them folk, just mischief and mayhem, abrawling and aloving. If ye had yer wits about ye, ye’d find some Scottish laird with a loin name to equal yer poor dead husband’s and settle yerself down.”
Shanna sighed in exasperation.
“I do not expect you to understand about Mister Ruark and myself, Hergus, but I am painfully hungry and you promised to fetch me a tray. Would you see me starve while you preach on propriety?”
The maid finally relented and fetched the evening fare, and as Shanna sat at her small table eating, her father knocked lightly and entered. He appeared a little at a loss, and after a terse greeting, he strode about the room, hands folded beneath the tail of his coat. An occasional grunt or two emitted from deep in his throat as he paused beside a curio then stopped to examine a volume of verses. With the tip of his forefinger, he lifted the ornate inlaid top of the music box Ruark had given her and listened for a spell to the tinkling melody before closing it again with care as if he were afraid of breaking the piece.