Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(207)

Shanna brightened. “Of course, Sir Gaylord,” and rose to her feet, smoothing her gown of airy lawn over the hooped panniers. “Would you care to join us, Mister Ruark? I think an outing might do you good.”

The Englishman’s face sagged into a distasteful, pinched frown. “Wouldn’t if I were he. Might slip and break his other leg.”

Ruark stood up with an ability that amazed Shanna and flashed the dour knight a wicked grin of dazzling whiteness.

“On the contrary, I agree that the exercise would be good for me.” He swept his arm before him in a half bow. “After you, madam, of course.”

“We’ll go through the front,” Shanna offered sweetly. “ ‘Twill be easier for Mister Ruark to go down the steps with the balustrade to aid him.”

She glided to the drawing room door and paused demurely for it to be opened. Gaylord was fast of foot and, bowing gallantly, held it wide for her. He was about to take a place at her side when he was interrupted.

“Thank you, Sir Gaylord.” Ruark brushed by him and took a place close behind Shanna. “You’re most considerate.”

Gaylord found himself with no choice but to fall in behind them like some attending lad. Even the sight of Milly still lingering in the hallway did not alter Shanna’s sense of relief at having outmaneuvered him.

“Aye, gov’na,” Milly’s voice echoed in the immensity of the hall as she caught the coin Ralston tossed to her. She immediately tied it safely in her bodice and sauntered to the door, calling back, “I’ll be there.”

Ralston greeted the three of them soberly and in the presence of Shanna barely managed a brief nod to Ruark. His eyes crossed Gaylord’s face, and he hurriedly returned his regard to Shanna.

“I came to fetch some papers from your father’s study. If you will excuse me, madam?”

“By all means,” Shanna consented coolly. “Shall I send Jason to help you find them?”

“No need, madam,” the agent replied stiffly. “Your father instructed me on their whereabouts.”

The small group ambled out the door onto the portico while Ralston stood and watched, his face dark with loathing. His fist was knotted about his quirt as if he longed to use it on the questionable Mister Ruark and it was a long moment before he turned and made his way toward the squire’s chambers. Taking a place in the squire’s chair, he casually began sorting through papers and sketches scattered across the top of the mammoth desk. He studied the drawings of the two mills closely. The construction of the sawmill had taken a hold on Trahern’s fancy, and Ralston noted recent markings on the parchment that could only have been made by the bondslave. No doubt the anxious squire had hastened to Mister Ruark’s bedside to discuss the project before aught else could delay it. At present Trahern was at the site, taking the place of the architect as much as he could.

Though Ralston carefully followed each line and read each notation, he could understand little of the plan and dismissed the drawings as a weapon to discredit the designer. Arrogantly he leaned back in the chair which seemed to diminish his narrow frame and mused on the success of John Ruark. It grated against his own sense of self-importance that the man had risen to such a state of worth to the squire as to be thought indispensable. Someday, Ralston promised himself, he would have the chance to deal with that bondslave in the manner deserving such a one.

Sir Gaylord also found it difficult to cope with John Ruark and his interference. However crippled the bondsman truly was, he somehow managed to maintain a position between the lady and himself. Gaylord longed only for a private moment to court her and was deeply aggravated to find himself forever speaking around the cocky knave. Finally he begged to be excused.

“Arrogant slaves and servants,” Gaylord muttered to himself as he crossed the lawns with his long, gangling gait, “should be horsewhipped, the lot of them.” He sneered to himself. “But come the marriage, I’ll see them well instructed on the subject of good servitude.”

Ruark leaned on the blackthorn staff and watched the man depart. “At least that oaf has the wits to know when he’s not wanted.”

But as he turned his gaze to Shanna, she was already moving away, strolling among the shrubs, plucking a dead leaf here, pausing to pull withered petals from a blossom, bending to clean a weed from the neatly raked soil. Ruark trailed along behind her, trying to work the stiffness from his leg, setting his weight upon it carefully before taking a step, relying as little as possible upon the cane.

Once they were left alone, Shanna had difficulty maintaining even an outward show of serenity. Her heart hammered in her breast, and she felt like a young girl smitten with her first suitor. Cautiously she kept her gaze averted from his and centered on the flowers and greenery. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stumble and, glancing at his face, caught the quick grimace of pain before he could hide it. Her stilted composure flew from her, and she was at his side in a second.