“Hm! Gadgetry!”
Shanna held her silence, sensing he had something worrisome on his mind. She watched his meanderings while she continued to eat, taking a bite or two of her food and sipping her tea, but scarcely tasting anything.
“You look none the worse for your ordeal, child,” he finally remarked. “Indeed, if it be possible, you are more lovely. The sun has agreed with you.”
“Thank you, papa,” she managed quietly before hiding further comment behind her cup.
Trahern came upon the jerkin folded neatly on the chaise and the dagger and pistol lying on top of it. Taking up the latter, he squinted dubiously over his shoulder at her, and Shanna could only shrug.
“It served its purpose.”
Trahern came to stand before her table, and Shanna put down the cup, folded her hands primly in her lap, and lifted her gaze to meet his.
“You did fare well?” he asked with concern.
“Aye, father,” she replied, slipping into the more formal address. She braced herself inwardly for the coming interrogation.
“And none of the pirates—touched you?” he questioned gruffly.
“Nay, father. You have heard it that Mister Ruark killed a man for me. ‘Twas two, if you’re taking count of his deeds. I survived only because of Mister Ruark’s cunning and skill with weapons. Had he not been there, I would not be here today.”
“And this Mister Ruark—” He let the question hang as he sought for the words to speak of that which nagged him sorely.
Shanna suddenly rose to her feet. She could not face him and moved to the French doors leading onto the balcony and set them wide to catch the night breezes, for suddenly the room was stifling.
“Mister Ruark is a most honorable man. He has brought me no harm, and I am no different from when I left.” She faced him with a sweet smile curving her lips and spoke honestly, for truly none of what she had said was a falsehood. “My greatest distress at the moment, papa, is for his welfare and even that seems to be much improved.”
For a long expanse of time Trahern stared at her as if considering her words. Abruptly he nodded his head, willing to accept her story.
“Good enough, then.”
Satisfied now, he started toward the door, but Shanna’s voice halted him.
“Papa?”
Trahern turned and raised his brows questioningly.
“I love you.”
With much blustering he stammered out a good night and glanced quickly about as if he had forgotten something. His hands searched his sides, then he snorted.
“Hmph, he’s got the damn cane.” At the door he paused for one last glance. “Good to have you home, child. Good to have you home.”
It was the sound of her name being called that brought Shanna into full wakefulness. For a moment she lay still, wondering if the voice were real or if it had been some spectre from a dream. Then it came again, this time clearly.
“Shanna! Shanna! Don’t go!”
It seemed a call of distress, lonely in the silence of night, and she could not mistake the voice. She flew from her bed and out onto the balcony, not pausing for her robe, and entered Ruark’s room. He tossed upon the bed and fought against invisible bonds, some imagined restraint. His brow was dappled with sweat, and the nightshirt they had managed to clothe him in was damp with perspiration. Shanna almost laughed in relief as she wiped his face with a towel. His skin was moist and cool. The fever had broken. By the light of the single dim candle, she could now see that his eyes were open and regarding her with some bemusement.
“Are you really there, Shanna? Or does my dream befuddle my sight?” His fingers closed lightly around her wrist and brought it against his lips. Kissing her soft skin, he murmured, “No maiden of my dreams could taste as sweet. Shanna, Shanna,” he sighed. “I thought I had lost you.”
She bent low to press her trembling mouth upon his. “Oh, Ruark,” she breathed against his lips. “I thought I had lost you.”
He laid an arm about her nape and pulled her down beside him, searching her eyes in the meager glow.
“I’ll hurt your leg!” Shanna protested in concern.
“Come here!” he commanded. “I would know if this is a dream or more heady stuff.”
His eyes grew lambent, sending her senses reeling, and there was a soft union of tongues and lips as their mouths parted and clung with a leisurely sweetness that held still the very moments of time.
“I do believe the fever’s gone,” Shanna breathed, nestling against him. “But it must have left you addled in the head. Your kiss speaks much more of passion than of pain.” She slipped her hand inside the nightshirt and rubbed his furry chest, reveling in the strength she felt in his lean, muscular ribs.